Long Leaned on Poems
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"Do what you have to do the lame police officer
Uttered to the abusive man standing beside me
"Speak to your JP she said to the man who has abused me. I still cannot get over the shock of the abusive man
Standing with axe, you come here to use me
And do everything to confuse me, you twist my body
In the gate and try to break my hands before the heartless crowd but heavens stood by at the cry of mercy , no one came to rescue me, instead they stand and stare visciously at me as if they too were going to attack and murder me.They leaned on the wall and looked as if they were going to start a brawl.It started
Early in tbe morning when I sat quietly inside meditating
And the devil was outside shaking, he leaped at me with a angry swing, with angry eyes jumping out of the socket
I could see hate moving around and his expressions
Jumping on his face like a clown.He shouted at me with the Devils spin and I tried desperatly to get away from him but he slammed my body in the iron gate
And sware to chop off my head when he come again
Abusive men give birth to abusive children
And those children become a nusiance in the city
Men with nasty mouth ,men that is cursing out loud
Men with tainted faces growling like elephant underneath their breath while their faith hangs in the balance
and they canot agree with anyone
There is a big network around the town,
and I dont know where they are grounded;
politicians pulling strings
And police men doing aerobics in thr gym
Dancing to the tune of their thiughtless rythm
My heart is playing a sad tune while my spirit dances
Around the moon, it makes my spirit break and cause my mind to shake and in the middle of it all I still stand tall holding my head high.
Here I am in the night wondering where I am going to spend the next moon, I have been waiting for many days for this mystry to break
To want to leave the city without delay
But the more I plead the more they make me absorb my own misery
No tears is left in my eyes and no tear is left to dry.
And the man that is walking around with his sin
Will cause the whole world to grin.
The night is standing like giant above me and the moon is dancing around me.
The music is playing and and the flawless donkey is braying ,
And here I am still waiting for you at the big gate.
In seventeen seventy-seven,
amidst the deep summer’s August heat,
Barry St. Leger, loyalist milita,
and the Iroquois walked on sore feet.
Their mission was clear: move down the Mohawk,
meet Burgoyne and split the rebel states,
except the Americans in Fort Stanwix
were effectively blocking their way.
To advance the fort had to be reduced,
but St. Leger’s force had few big guns,
so he settled into a siege of the fort,
with a mind to hold strong 'til he’d won.
But the patriots knew of the British plans,
and were not content to just sit and wait,
Tyrion County called up its militia
to save Stanwix from a bloody fate.
Eight hundred of them marched for the fort,
under the command of Nick Herkimer,
a palatine German of the Mohawk vale,
an able and determined fighter.
They stopped to camp not far from Stanwix,
and Herkimer counseled that they should hold,
to await a signal from inside the fort
and launch a two-front attack bold.
But the militia saw this as cowardice,
and said,”What else could we expect?
His own brother fights with St. Leger,
we can’t expect him to take the next step.”
Herkimer darkened at his men’s words,
and would not idly receive their scorn,
he ordered the men to be on the ready,
they would advance the following morn.
But the British knew of their approach,
and prepared to put them to the test,
near five hundred set out to intercept,
mostly Iroquois with some Loyalists.
The next day the Americans, on the move,
found themselves passing through a ravine,
unaware that eyes stared upon them
as they drank from a cool, tiny stream.
The British had planned to wait until
the patriots were all stretched out,
but some Indians opened fire too early,
a roar of muskets and loud piercing shouts.
The first volleys hit hard, stunned the militia,
a good many brave soldiers went down,
Herkimer took a ball in the leg,
and from a dying horse pitched to the ground.
So fierce was that first surprise attack,
so many patriotic souls shot dead,
that all sides involved said the tiny stream
was stained by the blood until red.
Some tried to move wounded Herkimer,
but he was still in no mood for retreat,
he took out a pipe, leaned on a tree trunk,
and said,”I will meet the enemy...”
CONCLUDES IN PART II
“Only girls cry!…Boo hoo!”
"Look at you" he taunted me, (as big brothers often do)
Making a mockery. He kept teasing me, heckling me,
as I whined, and cried, and planned revenge
Neither of us would have won a prize, for being Mom's angelic pride,
of Kirby street that hot July...
“You Thug!”..I cried,…a laughing stock...his mocking me,
and worst of all, our bitter brawl played out for all the world to see.
No recourse, no remorse..(poor me!!)… As the butt of his demeaning jokes
By then my temper had been stoked, he had poked me once too often!
So HUGE, was my disdain for his smug, big thug, that grinning face,
in retaliation, for my humilation, (as an enraged little sister might do..)
I grabbed one of his model airplanes….and threw……THREW HARD...
It broke into shards, big shrapnel pieces…I dashed for cover...
Hovering behind the hedge…waiting for his own revenge!…
Instead it left a gash, a bloody angry wound, I was aghast....!
Well, of course our Mother got involved.. .
It was resolved by iodine and bandages
And a tongue lashing...
“You could have put out his eye!! ….and then we cried, …the two of us
Well we would repent, and spent the day becoming friends...
The afternoon out in the yard….
One sudden, unguarded moment ….
there was a car,.... came ‘round the bend
and as our game was 'bout to end....his dog, (his mongrel friend) was hit
....and then....
all time suspended........
My brother’s sweet dog, who slept on his bed, was gone
The next hours painfully hung…and long is the memory that still weighs a ton….
Ending with me alone in my bed..
Mute with grief ….remembering his words….”Only girls cry”….
Hearing his sobs……all through the night..
And my parent's cooed comfort, the soundtrack to this tragic movie
That still plays in my darkest theater….all these years later
I shudder still, have a lump in my throat…how that faint little scar, can still emote…
such feelings of tenderness I felt on that day.
Over the years…we have shared many tears…
we have leaned on each other, me and my brother
Big girls will cry, just as little girls do…and big boys can cry,
..and hey,..that’s okay, too
She sat beside the waterfall
where gushing thoughts cascade,
like tears that flowed along her cheeks,
her heart set to invade.
He left alone for pastures new.
A scribbled note in haste
he wrote then fled, as cowards do,
her heart a barren waste.
A lightning bolt out of the blue
that pierced her heart; she bled.
Much later on the ache still hurt;
her feeble wings unspread.
She dared not heed the tumbling sound
as water crashed on rocks.
How fit to let death end the pain!
She started down the walk.
But just before the water’s edge
a voice called out, “Be Ware!
The road you walk is treacherous;
for God’s sake, stand right there!”
He turned her round, and saw her face
spill tears upon her gown.
He whispered in her windswept hair
“One misstep and you’ll drown.”
“Please, let me go, you do not know
what burns here in my breast.
I need to douse these flames and find
my sweet eternal rest.”
She struggled then against his arms,
the longed for end so near,
and yet he held with all his might,
spoke words to still her fear.
And when all limp she leaned on him,
this man she did not know,
he soothed her as he said these words:
“I will not let you go.”
Drained of resolve she let him lead
from rock to lush verdure,
as reassurance kindled trust,
his hand was firm, secure.
They sat beneath a shady tree.
Engrossed, they talked at length,
and in the process she revealed
his presence gave her strength.
He held her hands, looked in her eyes,
his heart worn on his sleeve
as they agreed to meet again
before she had to leave.
She touched his face, with gentle grace,
leaned in to kiss his cheek;
her lips just trembled there a while
enough to make him weak.
“You’ve saved my life, and now I owe
the greatest debt to you.
When next we meet, after we greet,
I’ll give you what’s your due.”
He smiled into her upturned eyes
and said these simple words:
“I’ve been repaid with sweetest kiss
my heart and soul you’ve stirred.
We’ll meet again, and when we do
you will forget the past
for then, my dear, I’ll make a vow
of love that’s sure to last.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
(Paul Callus & Eileen Manassian ~ Sept 2019)
(A Callman Collaboration)
Little adobe house on 160 acres
She grows flowers. I grow corn
Tomatoes, watermelon, etc.
Peace, love, hope, and joy
Grow themselves
Porch faces orange blazes
Draped over the rugged Mules
And a barn owl hoovers over
An old water tank with a bunny
In her talons for her
So-ugly-they're-cute hatchlings
Ladder leaned on it
to climb up and see 'em
Brothers and sisters drive from town
For Bible Study
Every Friday night...
After the Word there's coffee and treats
And men load up the truck
Armed rabbit assassins
Patrol Charlie's alfalfa fields
While back at the house
Women laugh and
Children play
Extra rooms
For friends who want to
Spend the night
Saturday mornings
Coffee and bacon waffles
In Charlie's pond across the road
Bass to catch
Beautiful, glorious days
Last night I dreamed
That in this economy
Where shelter's scarce
I was back at the ranch
With a hundred millenials
All of whom, knew me
The adobe house was remodeled
Terracotta with green and red
Lots of black wrought iron
Railings, fences, and gates
Rooms added onto
Big as a mansion
Dirk came to weld more iron
With his crew
And I was trying to make everyone leave
Then I went out towards the pond
And got lost in a huge coal field
A stranger appeared and I asked
How to go back to the road
And a sheriff stopped me with his gun
We, (well it felt like you)
Took his gun from him
But you wouldn't let me shoot him
And I didn't
I woke up... missing all that we had
Your home-made bread
Love by the fire
After kids went to bed
It was incredible
What we did
What we made
What we grew
Our little boys in their cowboy hats
Playing under the giant cottonwood
Our big sprawling porch every evening
Watching the orange purple fire
Spread itself over the valley
And fade into embers
Sparkling the big black night
Like those sunsets, we raged and died
Time after time after time after time
Until we didn't
My dear, sweet,
Warm, loving,
Beautiful
Ex-
You're still so good to me after all
Praying for your family
In that little old church
Where I lost my faith so long ago
Quit being the man you used to know
Something I still believe in though
And always will
A little red fox
Entered the forest one night
The moon failed to pass through the canopy
A dark crunch he felt, as he walked each time
He wasn’t scared though
He didn’t have a reason to be
His kin would find him
For sure there was no need to grieve
Until he remembered
That they weren’t the same souls he once knew
They’d abandoned him at the edge of the mountain
Nothing absurd or new
He was used to it
The quick silver changes
In their voices as they would play
In their expressions as they would say
“We love you”
But they wouldn’t change for him
“We'll understand you”
But they pushed him away yet again
They treated him like a criminal
When he’d try to be one of them
Don’t break your word, he’d cry
Only to be heartbroken again
“We’ll be kind to you”
Falling for that one promise
He’d foolishly landed up
Here at the edge of the mountain
Where he had once thought their temperament would never change
Hi readers! So the poem ends here but I wanted to attach a little piece from my thoughts. I would be grateful if you would read it and perhaps, you could relate.
I don’t understand why people do what they do. Sometimes they say selfish things, it hurts me but I’m told to get used to the ways of the world. Why must I bend my heart to avoid shattered glass from cutting through, why is it not them who are told not to break it in the first place. Either way, my heart ends up getting cut, and I end up back here to write it in poetry. For in no other way would the world understand if I tore it all apart one fine day. They wouldn’t think I smoked something or went insane, they’d know it was them who made me slowly turn against everything I thought I knew and everything I felt I was. They’d know that I did it not because I hated them, but because I hated the way I was supposed to not mind all the hurt and forget all the times my thoughts were conveniently left unheard. And if my ghost were to take revenge, it’d simply wait beside my grave for all the hypocrites who broke their promises and changed. For it was them whom I had leaned on to make the world slightly bearable, but it was also them who refused to share any burden of my faltering heart and tireless mind.
Finding love is our unsure heart’s goal as edged on by our confident souls.
Some journey through life with love as their primary dream, only to give up after giving all to failures’ torturous theme. They may wish their constant dream to unfold, but cannot befriend the lonely, dark hole that mocks the intentions of their soul. For many, ‘tis when heart hopes completely dim that fate itself delivers the right her or him.
When true love is meant to be, it shall appear and reward every lonely, unfulfilled tear.
When true love wraps you in its infinite folds,
there is nowhere else you will need or wish to go.
When you truly love someone, you hold their dreams inside your prayers and lay steppingstones to assist them there.
Grateful for the long-awaited task, you let love toss every mask you ever faked for romance’s sake. Each past pretense may now relax, disappear and never come back, for true love loves your truth and would never wish to see you subdued. Real love wraps around the you that your life really grew.
Love grants the finest gift, a present of loving arms embracing all of you,
not despite, but because their heart knows all of you. Freely and without hesitation, you give your body, heart, spirit, secrets and possessions, confident none will ever be used as emotional weapons.
No matter any day’s design, love soothes all away when at night you lay entwined. True love is two who mutually fulfill emotional needs, heeds
fears to see them eased and nurses hurts that may otherwise bleed.
Even in silence, love’s communication and awareness are at its finest.
When alone, at home, such love is happily content for together time
never ceases being time joyously spent.
When one is weak, one stays strong, for two in love alter leaning and
being leaned on.
Each the other seeks to please for your love’s smile gives back pleasurable degrees. When in love, such smiles become your heart’s feed.
After time spent apart, love seeks and finds its prize in the other’s loving eyes.
When love is of truth’s seed,
two breaths become a single heartbeat,
pulsing as one, dual, soul-deep feed.
She sat beside the waterfall
where gushing thoughts cascade,
like tears that flowed along her cheeks,
her heart set to invade.
He left alone for pastures new.
A scribbled note in haste
he wrote then fled, as cowards do,
her heart a barren waste.
A lightning bolt out of the blue
that pierced her heart; she bled.
And even now the ache still hurts;
her feeble wings unspread.
She dared not heed the tumbling sound
as water crashed on rocks.
How fit to let death end the pain!
She started down the walk.
But just before the water’s edge
a voice called out, “Be Ware!
The road you walk is treacherous;
for God’s sake, stand right there!”
He turned her round, and saw her face
spill tears upon her gown.
He whispered in her windswept hair
“One misstep and you’ll drown.”
“Please, let me go, you do not know
what burns here in my breast.
I need to douse these flames and find
my sweet eternal rest.”
She struggled then against his arms,
the longed for end so near,
and yet he held with all his might,
spoke words to still her fear.
And when all limp she leaned on him,
this man she did not know,
he soothed her as he said these words:
“I will not let you go.”
Drained of resolve she let him lead
from rock to lush verdure;
as reassurance kindled trust
his hand was firm, secure.
They sat beneath a shady tree.
Engrossed, they talked at length,
and in the process she revealed
his presence gave her strength.
He held her hands, looked in her eyes,
his heart worn on his sleeve
as they agreed to meet again
before she had to leave.
She touched his face, with gentle grace,
leaned in to kiss his cheek;
her lips just trembled there a while
enough to make him weak.
“You’ve saved my life, and now I owe
the greatest debt to you.
When next we meet, after we greet,
I’ll give you what’s your due.”
He smiled into her upturned eyes
and said these simple words:
“I’ve been repaid with sweetest kiss
my heart and soul you’ve stirred.
We’ll meet again, and when we do
you will forget the past
for then, my dear, I’ll make a vow
of love that’s sure to last.”
I thought I was dreaming,
I tried to run, to run so far away.
I doubted, and never believed
That it was me being called.
Being called for this task so noble,
The task, so hard and sweet,
Challenging and changing lives, mine and others forever.
The call, I heard it so clear,
So loud like a megaphone,
It echoed in my ears,
I pretended not to hear,
But still I could not run away.
I had to stop glance and glare,
Looked at it, and shied away.
The task never disappeared, it stayed,
I gathered myself,
With all my weakness and strength,
I leaned on God,
And I said, “ Here I am”,
Use me, my weakness and strength,
I believe my weakness plus Your might
It’s possible
Now I am astonished,
I seek how and where to serve,
You have brought unexpected zeal,
I pray God, you give me
Wisdom as well.
Because zeal without wisdom is dangerous.
The call has challenged me.
Opened my eyes, to be part of your work,
An agent for change,
A person of impact,
A human of significance.
Don’t live me behind,
You gave me a chance,
Allow me answer the call,
Hold me up not to fall.
I know there are challenges,
I know there are disappointments,
I know there are turbulences.
But, there is a clear destiny,
The end so clear,
The end so awesome.
Help me not to give up.
I don’t want to live, just to live,
For I know, I will fade away, at some point,
Let me burn out for You,
Answering the call,
The change, the cell to transform,
The call of impact and change
The call of growth and development.
Let me dream high,
Because you are limitless, and everlasting.
Let me pin up and put up this life,
For a life of change and changing others,
I pledge my allegiance to you.
Iam answering the call,
Saying YES, YES, and YES
I know you have given me life,
Education, influence, and presence.
I have them, but for what Lord?
Direct me on how to use it,
Help me answer the call.
I don’t want to be challenged
And not changed.
Change me too.
Help me redeem time,
Time, so that I will answer the CALL.
Fulfill the promise
For purpose of my life.
© Mwebasa Edson 2013.
Form:
Stalingrad
During moments I yearned for forests grown for me alone,
Caressing them in a dream,
I could sense the throbbing of the heart
Hidden beneath my ribs to bless my journey.
Summoning me with a pulse that he recognizes in me.
I heard the noise of abandoned smoke from a moment of care
Join with me,
Forcefully traversing desires to the hidden-most one.
My spirit swung toward him,
Creating a tingling
On lips that devour breaths alive.
I felt ashamed,
But the eye,
In moments—I scarcely know what to call them—that took me on another route
Toward the television, saw warplanes . . . spray death on them.
At that moment,
The fire of machine guns raked all the bodies,
And another fire raked my body when I trained my eye on him
Hesitantly inclining his head
Toward a shoulder unaccustomed to the secret of the stars of war
Or to insomnia.
Oh . . . . I leaned on it!
And when he caressed a dumbfounded person
I felt his fingers like coiling embers inside me.
Bashfulness seized the excuse this caress gave . . . and vanished,
Eliminating distance till the two of us were one.
And the eye—he moaned: May love not forgive her the eye—repeated another evasion
Toward a drizzle of men flung about in the air by just the rustling of a pilot penetrating a building
To fall on screens as the debris of breaking news.
But his breaths . . . shattering the still down of the cheek,
And turning their picture into mist as
Eddies of the screen’s corpses . . . varieties of death that they brought them.
The spirit that became a body,
The body that was sold for the sake of a touch,
The eye that was concealed in his image
And that approached the firebrand of conflagrations.
Everyone drawing close to everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone.
But the thunder of their machine guns splintered them:
Corpses piled on corpses,
I mean on me,
The eyes of those in it were extinguished.
They slept in a trench of silence.
My eyes’ lids parted in a wakefulness obsessed with them.
I rose … and embraced the chill
That the screens brought me in commemoration of Stalingrad.
Translated by William Hutchins
Form: