Long Lengthens Poems
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pretty sky in shining cover
that hides all the night’s truest lover,
whose clear intention is clever,
reveals in silent beauty~
the gains of boundless duty.
though darkness holds some fear within,
still night is rich with gleeful grin;
that leaves trails where beauties begin,
to claim some darkness lodgers—
those longing lonely dodgers.
though stars and moonshine light their track,
while friendly shadows guard their back,
still fearful lodgers dread the dark
that lurks in starkness gutters,
and shapes like shadows’ shutters.
their guidance lengthens smiles and cries,
halts eerie ghosts with wistful eyes,
yet sends out fears through guileful spies,
planted by fools and follies
that spun words in haste volleys.
since life is full of awful lies,
each truth that glows in darkened skies
is brushed by peaceful, tranquil guise,
and screened with stolen color
that stained its stainless collar.
still, let no burglar steal our peace,
though friends through raiders try to fleece,
or flee with nature’s playful tease;
still many keep on claiming
that darkness breeds the blaming—
yet dark keeps nights from shaming.
its beauty glows through silent air,
dark skies like jewels shining there;
the darkness crowns the night with care—
still, fear goes round,
and round...
like sound.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today. - Abraham Lincoln
Silence gathers like dust
on the piano lid—unplayed songs folded
into brittle paper wings.
The hummingbird feeder hangs empty,
sunlight glinting off dried nectar.
Each day our hands relearn
the slow syntax of stiffness.
Morning pills rattle accusations
in amber bottles. Who will read
the warning labels when our eyes retreat?
Childless. No daughters to decipher
our fading ink. No sons
to steady the wobble
of ascending stairs. Lincoln’s shadow
lengthens across the porch:
Tomorrow arrives hungry.
You cannot feed it yesterday’s excuses.
We scan horizons for villages
built of shared tremors
where neighbors become
soft euphemistic nouns—caregiver, listener, stayer~
before the light fails completely.
“Of time you would make a stream upon whose
bank you would sit and watch its flowing…”
From On Time, by Kahlil Gibran
If you could imagine time as a beauteous spring
Blossoming your life, charming euphoric dreams
I am sure you will regret not having enough of it
Reveling fondly, vibrantly, on prairies, tributaries
Bouncing blue-tides gaily, buoying cerulean seas
Traversing through seasons without ever ceasing
Yet, it lengthens or shortens much to our chagrin
Depending on whether in happiness, or in grief,
Reminiscing in love, or despising pensive memories
Days of yesteryears, though long gone and spent
Seeds that were sown then, now produce harvests
Either wailing in laments, or lauding of goodness
Time yet to come may find~ a tomorrow elusive
So invest it on today, elevating it to exhilarating
When your song is playing, opt to waltz and sing
Paint time immortal on portrait of angelic deeds
Hang on the walls of future your timeless legacy
Be the finite world priceless, that ticks to infinity
Let your time accumulate to meaningful centuries,
Don’t watch it pass you by, decaying in unworthy,
Offer time an inspiration to build your own destiny
November 7, 2021
Placed 1st: “T” Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Time
Be your biggest critic, if you suck admit it,
doesn't mean you're finished or at the peak of your limits
just means you have the guts and the brains to revisit
the mess ups, mishaps and the resulting bits missing
adding to your knowledge which lengthens your vision
cuz the first serve is worthless when 30 serves have surfaced
and 60 80 90 reveal a skill that just might be frightfully unlikely
and appealing if conceding to the misleading feeling
the first serve was breeding that gave good reason to stop believing.
be heeding this reading
don't end it keep reaching
judgement isn't found at the first
always at the end, not the middle or birth
DWELLER OF OUR HEART
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Poem written for and submitted to “Dweller of Our Heart Poetry Contest,” Unseeking Seeker, sponsor, August 3, 2025
Line of Inquiry: “the essence in us is the same as the essence of the sun
Sunrise:
Standing on the cliffs and looking onto the horizon
I watch the sun melt like a promise
Closing my eyes and taking in the warmth,
I feel the pulse of light, a vibration stirring my thoughts:
What is the sun but a promise,
a blazing heart that beats for all?
What am I but a similar *promise,
a possibility in God’s plan?
What is God but a promise,
a pulsation connecting us all?
I feel His heartbeat, the pulse,
of the ancient and divine.
I share the same flame as the sun,
that essence binding me to Him.
Therefore, I am the sun, and the sun is in me,
a celestial mirror, a holy unity.
My spirit rises, a luminous thread
binding me to the universe.
My heart, now a flaming orb, shines light into the darkness
illuminating my path and showing me the way.
Afternoon:
The day lengthens; I ascend like the sun
with a pulsating heartbeat, the divine within my soul.
*Note: “I am a promise, I am a possibility,” title and words of a popular Christian hymn written and produced in 1975, Bill and Gloria Gaither, songwriters.
He is caught between one life and another
while my pain lengthens like a shadow of the moon
We are like leaves, played with by the wind
O lengthening dark vision
reaching across our lives
It came, at last, without a sound...
his leave taking came without a word,
but we both heard it in the silence....
His world is in the palm of his hand
and my world is this moment that does not move
O furtuna, sternit fortem
O furtuna, rota tu volubillis
Never was he mine, never was he not mine
The child, no longer, child that bends and sways
My eyes reflect the clouds upon the sky
for he reaches out a hand upon my crown
and I feel the gentle warmth upon my head
A knowing hand of man, not boy, that once I vowed to keep
must leave and know that I will weep
as if I am the child, ....not he,...instead
O fortuna, velut luna
Statu variabillis, semper crescis, aut decrescis;
I force a smile, and watch him fly away
Quod per sortem .... Sternit fortem,
never was he mine, never was he not mine
-----------------------------------
For Deb's Contest: Bi-Lingual
Latin translated
----
O Fortuna (O Fortune)
Velut luna (like the moon)
Statu variabilis (you are changeable)
Semper crescis (ever waxing)
Aut decrescis; (and waning;)
Quod per sortem (since Fate)
Sternit fortem, (strikes down the string)
Rota tu volubilis, (you whirling wheel)
Corde pulsum tangite; (pluck the vibrating strings;)
Quod per sortem (since Fate)
Sternit fortem, (strikes down the string)
May 2 Heart for God Bible Meditations Based on 1Chronicles 6-7
Key Verse – 1Chronicles 6:49 But Aaron and his sons offered upon the altar of the burnt offering, and on the altar of incense, and were appointed for all the work of the place most holy, and to make an atonement for Israel, according to all that Moses the servant of God had commanded.
HEART THAT OFFERS THE BEST TO GOD
Our heart offers the best to God by His grace
As He blesses us with His goodness-brace
And lengthens our days for holiness’ race
Along His salvation’s honour and praise.
Our heart offers the best to God by His wisdom
As He guides us with His Word-wisdom
And enlightens our understanding for His kingdom
Along His truth’s principles and doctrines against ignorance-boredom.
Our heart offers the best to God by His compassion
As He loves us with His favour-provision
And cares for our welfare’s condition of spiritual progression
Along His kindness’ attention and supervision.
Our heart offers the best to God by His mercy
As He delivers us with His gentleness-clemency
And attends to our plea by His presence-fervency
Along His fellowship’s warmth and communion’s persistency.
Our heart offers the best to God by His approval
As He upholds us with His exhortation-revival
And attends to our need beyond economic survival
Along His reply’s service-urgency and spiritual upheaval.
Our heart offers the best to God by His sovereignty
As He controls us with His leadership-authority
And directs our steps toward heavenly certainty
Along His kingdom’s fatherly deeds and Master-Creator-security.
Our heart offers the best to God by His settlement
As He checks us with His standard-commitment
And corrects our motive for holy achievement
Along His favour’s smile and divine pleasure in our service-engagement.
May 2, 2026
In my mind I travel the open road.
Whitman, Frost, Thoreau,
they got here and there before.
I also used to trek and track
there and back;
now I have this chair
and when I can
I place ii in a circle of sunlight,
eyes projecting scenes on eyelids.
I find it easier to slide upwards
to mountaintops this way.
There I can listen to temple bells,
ringing their soft golden chimes
above a mist-laced jungle morning,
or walk a Great Wall
to watch the sun set over Mongolia.
Now a river boat docks at my feet,
I ride the Ohio river
maybe as far as the Mississippi
Mark Twain at the wheel.
Then turn to the open road once more
for a homeward journey,
my chair creaking
as I traipse over lands low and high
to bask now in a backyard
as daylight lengthens.
Ohio corn sways to a hobo wind,
while I,
still hearing the roaring of oceans
orbiting a sitting Buddha,
at peace
with all roads taken or not.
I want to say thank you
In a poem to all today
To each and everyone
Who took the time to pray
If you took two seconds
When you read my work
Or if you prayed a long prayer
When you were in church
If while you were jogging
You saw a plant or flower
And you thought of the lady
Who writes of plants so much
If out on the porch
You were sweeping
And you thought of me
I want to say thank you
I am as grateful as I can be
Our son seems to be improving
Each day brings him closer
To his realse
I think of each person
That I encounter here
Everyday
My thoughts are positive
I appreciate you everyone
So very much
Someday we will
All meet in person
When we walk on golden
Streets that are surrounded
By walls made of twelve
Different kinds of precious stones
And those gates of
Those giant pearls
Form:
the brain in my alluring skull cradles the blueprint of my own demise
my mind is a hallway with self-opening doors
echoes in cafeteria lunchrooms,
conversations spilling over each other,
some louder, some sharper,
all of them knowing me too well.
“why shouldn’t I trust them?” you ask..
they love me?
then why can’t I feel it?
why does affection ricochet off my bones
as if I’m made of something unholdable
love slips through me like water through a cracked vessel
I hold nothing, even when I’m full
the slow unraveling of my frontal cortex lengthens,
a frayed rope I keep pretending is strong.
nobody else sees the shadows on the wall
the ones that whisper in silhouettes
and grin when I stare too long.
their silhouettes stitch themselves into my peripherals
quiet seamstress of dread
I know this.
god, how I wish they could.
I wish my paranoia
my constant state of fear,
my absence of soft, warm empathy
could be explained without people flinching.
my thoughts overlap like radio stations fighting for the same frequencies
loneliness aches like a bruise
but it’s safer,
safer for them, not for me.
my heart can’t outspeak my mind,
and my mind can’t outspeak the things I want
the things I’m terrified to want.
I tell myself I will not break.
but will I?
some days my sanity hangs by a single trembling thread
And the scissors on my wall have names
Cafeteria Conversation #2 says yes
says I’m already splintering.
but #7 insists I’m brilliant,
audibly amazing,
something mythic.
am I the greatest human alive?
a deity in decay?
some days, I believe it.
yet the hollowness greets me anyway
I am a mosaic of selves, each one half born, half broken
a cake sliced into six perfect pieces
for one shaking person
at a table with six empty chairs.
only me. And maybe only me forever.
take the silencer pill, they say
trade color for quiet,
feel unalive but manageable
or stay bright, chaotic, laughing,
and suffer for every spark that dares to rise inside this skull of mine
they say clarity is mercy, but madness has its own lullabies
06/26/2026
Clarity Through Static
Edward Ibeh