Long Livelihoods Poems
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Hating The Haters?
Written: by Miracle Man
6/5/2020
Protesters brandish signs which decry stop hate,
yet loot and burn until the hour grows late.
As intolerance is tested, many become agitated,
but the hate in man’s heart can’t be legislated.
Beyond our sight are those intent on causing trouble,
whose aim is to destroy, leaving livelihoods in rubble.
They don’t burn buildings based on pigment of skin,
but loot and leave graffiti and have no chagrin.
In pandering to voices because they’ve grown loud,
police give more oxygen to a match lighting crowd.
All lives matter not just those causing the affray,
we must move forth together as we seek a new day.
Under quarantine, I am asked, along with many other people,
to stay inside my house -
except if I should go out for necessity’s sake.
I have no quarrel with this.
In fact, I count myself fortunate that I am not required
to drive a semi like my husband, who has asthma.
Nor must I work in a hospital, like my sister,
who has to work inside one to help support her family.
I am not forced to work facing a stream of customers inside a grocery store,
irate because they find no toilet paper in the store.
I do not have to work at any job in order to maintain health insurance
or feel forced to work as a sole provider of a household.
My boss has allowed me to continue working in my part-time job
from the comfort of my home office,
and for now, all is going well in that regard.
Furthermore, I love my house!
I have a comfy bed, televisions upstairs and down,
computers, running water, food, and electricity.
My dog is here to keep me company
and my husband is with me
from morning to night on days he isn't driving.
Friends and family are a phone-call away.
If I want, I can walk the dog on quiet blocks of my neighborhood
or simply step out onto my porch, breathe fresh air
and feel excitement for sunny days coming,
for I have to believe that Spring IS coming for us all.
Many in the world right now are not nearly
so blessed as I am.
I worry for my loved ones who have to leave their homes
to work on “front lines” for their livelihoods
and for the world’s poor who live paycheck to paycheck,
or worse, may be homeless and on the streets.
I worry for my husband, a good man who suffers from anxiety,
facing the threat of a virus everytime he goes out on the road.
Meanwhile I get to stay inside my house -and I say this thankfully,
for "here" is my home - my castle - my sanctuary.
April 3, 2020
for "Quarantine Poems" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
Photos bomb social media.
While
Terrorists destroy livelihoods.
War rages from within.
Crashing rathe upon distant strangers; us...
Pictures reveal this through social networking.
A quite distant war becomes real—too extents.
Photo bombs drop atop crooked faces.
Suicide bombs disfigure and gravely injure a far out man and a groovy woman.
However,
These groves are not so far out.
Closer to home than the television thinks—
Maybe more problematic than depicted and possibly more galactic than photoshopped.
What is their left to do with this distant war?
Sir War, her majesty, governor of terror like substance—ruler of all.
King War . . .
Master War . . .
Will you bow your heads to such ungodly deity?
Or
Will you fight for your mental pictures of believed righteousness?
Let's take this down to size and ask me (the writer) what he would do.
I would photobomb every picture possible until everyone around me cannot help but to smile and laugh.
One thing I know for sure I would not do is...
Never would I ever bow down to Master War.
May 29, 2017
Contest: Form P
Sponsor: Broken Wings
I arrived a stranger
to a set of little wooden cabins by the sea.
Pretty they were, with weathered straw roofs
and fences curved like hulls,
the sea whispering at my feet.
The skipper who brought me here was a jolly man,
eternally smiling his toothless grin,
his eyes gentle in the lantern light
as he coaxed the boat through the tight waterways
like a surgeon with a scalpel.
Dawn.
Perhaps the night had blinded me
for with the first blush of the sun,
I saw for the first time (properly),
the world in which they habited.
Tattered wooden walkways, supported by little more
than some planks, nets and rubber tyres
propped up a grid of ramshackle tents
and oddly skewed cabins.
Nearby, motorboats, row upon row, bobbed upon the tide,
their engines rusted and sluggish,
unworthy of the sailors that piloted them.
I saw a woman, maybe 40,
wash her face sparingly with water
and subconsciously touched my still damp hair,
ashamed of the luxury of my long shower.
The cabin offered a variety of "fun" activities,
like fishing and ground traps
but watching the other holidayers pouring over the nets
I couldn't help but feel melancholy;
these things that we treated as games
were the fishermen's entire livelihoods.
When I departed, a young girl,
school bag fastened tightly to her chest,
clambered aboard our boat.
I thought of my waiting flight
and wondered if she could
rise above the waves.
We've experienced pandemics before
but the COVID-19 virus is new.
This coronavirus we can't ignore
so self-quarantine, we're told we need to,
it’s not safe to socialize anymore.
The whole world abruptly ground to a halt
as airlines and cruise ships swiftly shut down.
And although China claims it's not at fault
established in Wuhan's wet market town,
this strain gained the leverage to pole-vault.
The stock market plunges deeper each day
and the economy's in a tailspin.
Politicians practiced at what they say,
seem somewhat vague about the peril we're in,
fearing this virus could be here to stay.
Every city’s rush hour traffic is light
resembling a twilight-zone episode.
Bars and restaurants are locked up tight
and all normal activities have slowed,
as folks shelter in place dealing with fright.
People's lives and livelihoods are at stake
with the elderly at more risk than most.
This virus bequeaths turmoil in its wake
and using current stats as a guidepost,
it'll take distancing to stop this outbreak.
(Quintain Sicilian)
03/20/2020
Vast, powerful motion of all time,
How many do you facilitate sublime?
To discover, protect and to ably fight,
By wood, to keep our territory right.
To race, enjoying the sea air of such waft,
And to fish for delicious bites from our nets cast;
Enjoying the freedoms of the Common Fisheries Policy,
Having livelihoods protected through areas of advocacy.
One of carbon and two of oxygen, water,
And of course with salt which does the liquid alter;
Also with sodium, magnesium, calcium and sulphate too,
Plus the ions potassium and chlorine which do.
You can't really drink it apart from a sip,
But seawater and its fish can be boiled for your lip;
Cod’s coming back as no more overfished,
So pollock does not anymore need to be wished.
Our first travels were made on the ocean wave,
Its captains gave respect and sensibly did behave;
We journeyed from England to America to make,
A life for ourselves which nobody was to brake.
It moves with power, and sometimes takes a life,
And hides oil that's dug through much toil and strife;
The global community needs to channel its energy,
For renewable sources to be designed with synergy.
I ran through it.
My arms are ribbons twirling around.
There is always a spot available.
On a bench which is made up of livelihoods like mine.
But there’s something so nice about sitting down.
When there is nowhere else to sit.
This is the most splintering kind of panicking.
This bench is made of old wood.
So it’s one of those woodsy types of places to sit.
And everyone does sometimes.
It’s the most ruined, run down panicked feeling.
The last person who sat here?
I think he was a music teacher.
I can tell by the music he left in my head.
On this bench which seems to conform to my body like a couch cushion.
I think he stopped following me.
So I can fall asleep in the woods.
Wouldn’t it be weird if I kept running?
I thought so too.
You see them all around these days,
braying loud on the internet,
people claiming that they’re victims,
demanding you ‘recognize’ that.
But when they explain what is wrong
biting back a laugh is quite hard,
half the things they complain of
don’t leave bruises, much less a scar.
I’m a victim because you don’t
call me demi-girl two spirit,
you won’t call me a woman when
surgeons gave me genitals the snip.
I’m a victim because I can
chose to stay home, let my man work,
take half his stuff when I get bored,
Patriarchy makes men jerks!
I’m a victim because some unknown fool
put a dark joke up on the net,
progress means thinking just like I do,
quick, call down the whole government!
I’m a victim because at work
they demand that I do the job,
my ancestors got a raw deal,
so pay me more, you racist clod!
That last part just amazes me,
thinking back upon Civil Rights,
back in the fifties and sixties,
and all that went on in that fight.
The blood, the stones, the dogs let loose,
the murderous Democrat Klan...
Did they suffer to be victims?
Hell no, but for the rights on man!
They wanted only the same chance,
be free of this nonsense of ‘race,’
now their grandkids want victimhood,
seems like quite the slap in the face.
Now why do so many want this?
Well, it seems quite easily to me,
they feel the ‘pain of victimhood’
excuses them from morality.
That because of bad part events
they don’t have to strive to be good,
they can do evil, not feel wrong,
not worry about all the ‘shoulds.’
A way to indulge without fear
of consequence awaiting them,
to make their sins look quite righteous,
to strip all restraints off of men.
So you can burn a building down,
beat people and make blood splatter,
and not have to feel bad for it,
since after all, Black Lives Matter.
And you can ruin livelihoods,
put whole families out of the street,
since, “They didn’t use my pronouns!”
Not care they can no longer eat.
You can walk through the capital
and never be locked up in jail,
but if the other side does it
then somehow that’s beyond the pale!
And while this may explain their choice,
there’s nothing that can excuse it,
If you want to be a victim
you’re really just a piece of sh-t.
A
Year set stained by grief from invisible foe,
Enraged in anxiety’s malicious chains.
Accosting not only a nation but world,
Reaching the farthest, secluded parts,
Devilishly leaving no stone unturned.
Withholding grandpa from grandson,
Idly stripping people’s livelihoods,
Needlessly voiding human liberties,
Disabling dictators from their seats.
Looking now,
I see chains now fastened to skin,
New normals of ill compensation.
Grief that forms the setting of each day,
Daily death tolls alike to weather.
Only when
We are free of this eerie foe, shall
Normal be fit again to reside.
Contest: Pick-A-Title, Vol 23 - Seasonal Acrostic - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Date: 10/07/2020
Republican Discourse
Decent jobs allowed to go leaving us bereft
With Walmart or McDonald labor only left.
Livelihoods now in doubt
As the middle class hollows out.
Bridges and roads allowed to fall apart;
Public schools attacked, even head start.
Anything involving the public good
Is not to be funded, that is understood.
Republicans allow taxes to be unchecked
And severely cut to protect
Corporations and the one percent
Who cannot even spare this Nation one cent.
What do Republicans say
As they allow our Nation fall to decay?
This country will only be strong
If laws say which restroom we belong.