Long Lewis Poems
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Tina, I saw you perform in Oakland, CA,yes, long ago.
But God has chosen to bring you to His eternal home today.
You, Hall and Oates, Huey Lewis and the News were all part of
a magical, music show.
I feel, in heaven the Angels will shout a welcoming hooray!
How beyond grateful, I was to see you sing, dance and play.
My daughter had to stop me from dancing in the aisles.
I just was so moved, I jumped up to dance, all smiles
Your son left this planet in the year 2018~ how you cried!
Not tonight, you can swing on silver stars, side by side.
**********************
In memory of Tina Turner ….1940-2023.
5/24/2023
All those years I thought I was sane,
The sharpest tool in the shed,
I think I believed every thought I thought,
Sat soberly up in my head,
Because every short night I’d lay wide awake,
Rehearsing thoughts over again,
Of what and how to present myself,
In conversations I had to invent,
And I clearly chose to ignore the blur,
The days when my mind was a fog,
I chose to ignore all the signs I had,
Befriending a moody black dog,
Now nothing is fun, people are shades,
My thoughts are a little corrupt,
And the light in the tunnel’s a flickering sign,
Flashing: “Lewis - you’re mentally f####d”.
We’re frantically typing to finish our assignments
and end our Friday night homework confinement.
Chella wants to go to a frat-house soirée
I went to a few of those back in the day.
No more frat parties, I once emphatically said.
I make rules for myself, usually based on emotion
but once I calm down, rules are made to be broken,
and it’s good, I suppose, to stay in touch with the kids
Chella does this a lot, finds a trendy hot spot,
and drags me along, enthusiastically or not.
She’ll attempt, and fail, to do a Keg stand.
That’s ok, we’re not athletes, I understand.
We’re just having fun with it, hitting a beat good,
fugitives from the rough passage to adulthood
We feel like old ladies now - it's hilarious.
.
.
Mini playlist for this:
Pon de Replay by Rihanna
Little Things x Gypsy Woman (L BEATS MASHUP) by Jorja Smith
Can't Feel My Face by The Weeknd
Summertime by DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince
More Than A Woman (SG's Paradise Edit) by Bee Gees & SG Lewis
.
.
*I’ve got a Will Smith track here, I’m ashamed of how much I love his early
Fresh Prince rap years - but on the real - OJ was ‘the juice’ before he was OJ,
Michael wasn’t always hyperbaric and Will Smith pretended he wasn’t the
wifedup jesus pretenda he revealed himself to be.
.
slang..
wifedup = pu$$y-whipped
jesus = nice guy
pretenda = pretender
.
.
*We feel like old ladies because
(1) these frat boys are just lowly undergraduates and we’re master’s candidates which is vastly, vastly better. and
(2) we're Yale graduates, which is vastly, vastly better than being Harvard graduates (in our opinion).
I am Black, I am loved and I am beautiful
I can believe and I will achieve
Like Martin Luther King you can succeed
All you need to do is believe
Like Jackie Robinson and your fore Fathers,
You can overcome the adversaries and negativity of this world
Like Barack Obama, you can climb the ladder
Just take one step and don't give up
Like Rosa Parks stand firm and strong, you will overcome
Like Nelson Mandela never give up on your dream
You come from a lineage of conquerors, King and Queens
Like the great Lewis Hamilton remain determined and ambitious
You will one day have your hopes and dreams
To ride the sea is a blessing and a curse
huddle of fleeting gulls dart from nowhere
lending frolic to breakers, they traverse
in mystic laps with hued bubbles so rare.
Toes swivel a distance and I immerse
from ripples of causeway, beyond compare;
Yet once, twice bold torrent did choke my lungs
Sinking into deep foam, into waves’ tongues.
I awake on bed of grass by the shore,
and from a hazy terrain, chirps enthrall
ridding my anxious glides of waters' roar...
but the fear-thrill of cruising makes me stall
as the bash of rapids pounds on heart’s core;
O dread, dread of drowning grips my breaths whole.
And though tingle of far crests still delights
I’d rather stroll on coastlines without fright.
Your Greatest Fear Contest for Lewis Raynes
- True story
10/1/2016
IME IMELA YOU DEFEND US NOW
Shed tears not for your loved one
Who has departed leaving -Ime sad
Leaving Ime bitter- Ime you passed
You declined the sacrifice MuKiama
Ime so young yet now you have to
Use the forbidden military technique
Those in the know call it ngungi...
Ime you wield it within you now....
Mighty lion you are
Crushing your enemy
Immortalized abilities
Ime rite is passage
Time illusion -..
Path eternal........
Abuja enters the Hilton hotel
A minor scuffle- Ime is outside
Birds of omen are gathering
Ime lightening and thunder
....Floods are coming.............
Innocent grace
the blameless
Ime kataa
Ime the covenant
A defender wields the Katana
only to the peoples defense
your feelings of loss should
never shadow your obligation
to duty Ime Imela - Ekurua
Ime Rite is passage... and
Wayhi is the name of your son
Ime it now your duty to defend
And defender i have to enter...
Kings counsel
Selah
Code 254
0557 hrs
lewis k nyaga
thoome wairegi
a tribute to IME
Young buja wrote
Around the Hills of Malvern now..Desecration takes place.'
Let me inform all how.' Where Elgars body has rested long
And Tolkien and Lewis did ramble in song.' all of these
Three historical giants, drew breath and inspiration none
Can deny it, seeds of thought in Lewis's mind grew into
Enchanted forests even braille did find it. And shared to
The world by many houses, published gems given to milions of children my imagination it rouses.' Gondor of
Middle earth from these hills Tolkien drew' its white walls
And turrets and hidden gardens shone through.' And Elgar twined the
Sough of its breeze.' The lambence of light in tones to
Please.' To refresh the spirits to inform the ears.' That grace
And beauty are to be played despite dread or fear.' In the face of
Hitler they were rehersed.' Indomitable riposte to wagners
Stuka played curse.' And now the enemy in different form
Under the cloak of green climate' snorts and paws cash
From rate payers is being put to miss-use..Same old trope
Of miss-infomation is now in use a commitie starved down
From twenty eight to six.!! Consolidating power the usual
Tricks.' Now two hundred new houses have been allowed
Concrete scars will be in situ where once fields were plowed.' Sacrilige plain in your face, ok'd by cronies yet
There is video trace.' I raise my eyes to Malverns hills I
Raise my pen, would it had quill.' I would despatch it to pierce the evil soul, of this cold committe let it be told.'
May litratures warriors get to the fire.' Email Malvern council the 'need is sore' let them know of the poets ire the
Revenge merits to be meted.' Justice must be requited.'
A soul yearn's for an immortal's embrace a purpose of sorts
it keep's yearning to follow that path ordained by the Creator
as forever it keeps desiring to be enjoined back to its Creator
forever it keep's yearning to be bathed under the divine love
Those deep rooted emotion that keep radiating from them eyes
comes from partaking.. the sweet and sour blossoms of the love
could that this soul shall ever be burdened, craving and yearning
seeking to be rejoined with.. to a place it shall always belong
Its a soul that loves.. yearning to posses them best attributes
it could be said communing with a loved one is reward enough
this soul best moments-when rekindled in them flames of love
this soul ever yearns to belong... i will let it find it's true path
Lewis K. Nyaga,
1752 hrs.. code 254
" . . . I experience the ultimate thrill.
When all the noises around me are still."
Quote by _L Milton Hankins (1941-2022)
In memory of Milt who loved the Pantoum form.
___________________
I have been writing stories and poems since a young girl,
writing about my cats, teddy bears, my dolls and flowers;
love making my words fly and swirl, and twirl, whirl and unfurl,
in my cozy attic room- I could write my words for hours.
Writing about my cats, teddy bears, my dolls and flowers,
though, as I got older, I wrote deep poems and stories;
in my cozy attic room- I could write my words for hours,
writing of my grief, my life, thoughts- in all categories.
Though, as I got older, I wrote deep poems and stories,
my poetry is often sad messages to the world;
writing of my grief, my life, thoughts - in all categories,
like lost leaves fluttering wildly in the wind my words have whorled.
My poetry is often sad messages to the world,
and words pour out from my pen as a song or a prayer;
like lost leaves fluttering wildly in the wind my words have whorled,
and often nature poems and funny poems ... I share.
And words pour out from my pen as a song or a prayer,
love making my words fly and swirl, and twirl, whirl and unfurl;
and often nature poems and funny poems ... I share,
I have been writing stories and poems since a young girl.
______________________
November 28, 2022
Poetry/Pantoum/Writing Poetry For Milton
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1505-155-28
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
I dedicate this Pantoum in honor of my poetic friend
Lewis Milton Hankins
1941- 2022
Written for the Premiere contest, Pantoum on Writing
sponsor, L MILTON HANKINS,
This is a contest that will never be judged as
Milton, passed away on December 22, 2022
Submitted to the Premiere contest, 2022 Poetry Marathon, Mile 24
(poems dedicated to the Memory of L Milton Hankins)
sponsor, Mark Toney, Judged 01/22/2023
Second Place
Submitted to the Standard contest, 2022 Marathon Qualifiers Final Placement
sponsor, Mark Toney, Judged 03/04/2023
Twelve Place
He said that it was brillig, but what did that word mean
And slithy is a word that I had never seen
If you gyre and gimble, what do you really do
I guess when in the wabe, you seek the meaning too.
Lewis was a master of words that were not real
He made you fear the Jubjub, and he made you feel
Like your very being, is a door without a latch
It takes bravery to shun the frumious bandersnatch.
We attack the world of words with a vorpal sword in hand
Verses, like the Tumtum tree, sprouting in the sand
And structure with rhyming can be a manxome foe
Whiffling and burbling, the flaming words will go.
Choosing careful phrases can bring a frabjous day
And poems not dead, like borogoves, find their mimsy way
While galumphing through the tulgey lines with uffish chortled joy
It makes me through and through a whiffling beamish boy
So Lewis paints a picture with unreal words so clear
The Jabberwock seems so real and something we should fear
Poetry is the art of words, with phrasing, tales and fun
Proceed carefully, and beware the Jabberwock my son.