Long Maimed Poems
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She stands by the window
Looking out over the blue
For soon he will sail home
He lover oh so true
It was many weeks ago
From Valletta harbour he sailed
For the Atlantic cause
Following the convoy trail
From its industrial ports
On America's east coast
The war efforts cargo
Must never be lost
Tankers and freight
Ammunition and foods
To serve the heroic
As we deservedly should
Corvette's on the peripheral
Scouting for the packs
For these demons from the deep
And their torpedo attacks
Action stations
As the packs are discovered
Sonar kicks in
For the depth charge shower
The surface explodes
In showers of spray
As lookouts view
Any debris display
The sighting of bubbles
And traces of oil
One of the wolves is maimed
Another statistic war spoil
Days pass
As Liverpool is reached
A rare sight indeed
For a convoy not breached
This Corvette of the brave
And the hero's who have manned
Continue on their journey
To the North African lands
By the Bay Of Biscay
Into the Gibraltar Straights
Down the Mediterranean
To Valletta where she waits
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-9.php
A homeless man broke his legs falling through an abandoned building's stairs,
but sadly however, nobody cares.
A mother can't feed her children because her pantry is bare.
Sadly however, nobody cares.
Our children are dying in a war over there
deceived into believing that we're liberating a people lost in despair.
The truth is corporate giants want control of the oil over there
and war is also big business for these giants once it's declared.
Our children are being slaughtered and maimed for oil and profit
as the sinfully rich get richer with every military revenue deposit.
How could all of this continue to go on with so many being aware?
Most shamefully it appears that nobody cares.
Dropping bombs
During the World War 2, there was a town in the west of Norway
that also had a passable airport where German planes could take off
and shoot at things near the British coast.
RAF tried to find and bomb the airport, but they didn’t but dropped
their bombs over our town on the way back.
Some people were killed some were maimed for life.
When people get bombs thrown at them, it is reasonable to think
they get angry, with no understanding of the war effort.
The enemy was, as far as the town dweller was concerned
the British, so much so when British troops came, they were met
With stifled smiles.
That is why I think Putin should stop his attacks on Ukraine
whoever noble his aim is to get rid of fascism, he will forever
be seen as the enemy by bombed-out people.
marauding foxes
mutilating fruit
minutemen mischief-makers
marching upon us
pick our pockets
laugh at our loss
“No mangoes for sale”
maimed, mangled, mashed
sweetness shamed
to death
ants and gnats feasting
off illicit mango chutney
sly scamps
evade
like Bolt-pace
their intake
of fruit sugars
insufficient for catching
robust diabetes
enfeebling the fiends
abducting limbs, or a pedactyl
soulful eyes stare with jeers
sailing
mimicking
bold breezes
through the trees
as I could never
in the canopy of my Caribbean youth
under mother's God-eye
girls outclimbed me
wearing puffy petticoats
and cumbersome cornrows
to perpetrate petite thefts
of mangoes
Fighting God?
God is not a “fighter”,
nor is He a lover as is claimed.
He is a coward
lacking courage or compassion
for the millions He has maimed.
God sends in his “seconds”
to pander to the minions,
grand promises to sell
a little taste of pestilence
a righteous song and dance,
the overpowering promise
a lifelong trip to hell.
So I must fight His devils
God’s best chicanery
the “whipping boys” of heaven
“It was them – it wasn’t Me.”
I tossed to God the gauntlet
to meet me face to face
to discuss his purpose
for our failing human race.
I’ve been told that I’m a sinner
a blasphemer, even worse
and if I wasn’t careful
God would visit me - a curse.
I fight God in the alleyways
of winter’s frozen streets
where too many sit in hunger
with blue tinged freezing feet.
I fight Him in the corridors
where “learned” men conspire
dressed in flowing robes
beneath a phallic spire.
I repel sorties by legions
who attack us “In His name”
tar us with the brushes
of remorseful guilt and shame.
Thus do I battle God’s malaise
heaped upon mankind
and wonder at each sunrise
if God has changed his mind
left us on our own
to tend a failing garden
left us in the darkness
to watch the dead hearts - harden.
And so I fight Him, every day
for one of us has lost our way
and if at times it must be Him
I’ll teach the fishes how to swim.
2/1/2015
submitted to – Fighting God – Poetry contest
sponsor – rob Carmack
Lamb to the slaughter
I didn't ask for this life;
I was created in it;
The color of my skin;
It doesn't matter;
I God's vision;
Created by Him, with my mother and dad;
Bullied and mistaken;
Mistreated politicized and misshapen like a lamb to the slaughter;
Innocent victims being killed, wounded, maimed;
government saying what's the matter;
like a lamb to the slaughter;
Single moms having trouble with there sons;
They need a positive manly role model;
Not like a lamb to the slaughter;
For a country composed of people from different lands;
Why are we fighting for and against immigration;
Bullied and mistaken;
Mistreated politicized and misshapen like a lamb to the slaughter;
Innocent victims being killed, wounded, maimed;
government saying what's the matter;
Mistreated politicized and misshapen like a lamb to the slaughter;
10/6/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2018©
black reality…
maimed and killed on video:
daily news tv.
injustice must go---
what’s seen is no enactment;
it’s real as was meant.
all of this crap stop.
our lives are in jeopardy;
by hands of rogue cops.
no justice, no peace---
empty chants easily ignored;
when will the breach cease?
attempt self-defense,
and we’re a violent threat:
blacks with no damn sense.
next season will be:
keeping up with the new blacks---
hook on being free.
remember the dead---
no sequel will be for them:
they are really dead.
yes, we are alive---
fighting to the very end:
that our heirs survive!
let’s keep faith on set---
her flame must never go out;
she’s never failed yet!
faith---the horizon---
waits upon the rising sun
justice has been won!
How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways.
I loathe thee so that I throw up on sight
Of thee, and when my ire is at a height,
I grit my teeth and plot revenge for days.
My loathing for thee, cheater, takes its toll.
Thy empty claims of innocence, I scorn.
I caught thee thrice! My trust was from me torn.
To see thee broke and hungry is my goal.
I loathe thee with the passion I once spent
On sweet romance when I thought thee sublime.
I’d like to see thee living in a tent.
Indulge me as I tell thee one more time
I'd gladly pony up my last red cent
To have thee maimed if mugging weren’t a crime!
In a garden green, where shadows creep,
Where secrets linger and sorrows seep,
There stood a tree, its branches wide,
But hidden within, a poison resides.
Its roots dug deep, in fertile ground,
Nurtured by anger, its essence profound,
Fed by the waters of bitter disdain,
It grew and thrived, its darkness unchained.
A seed was sown in the depths of ire,
Watered by tears and fueled by fire,
A heart deceived, a friendship betrayed,
The poison tree grew, its vengeance displayed.
Its bark grew thick, its branches spread,
With whispered venom, it filled my head,
The fruits it bore, so enticingly red,
Held the venomous nectar of words unsaid.
I watched it grow, my anger untamed,
As bitterness flourished, love was maimed,
No solace sought, no peace I found,
For the poison tree consumed my ground.
The more it grew, the less I could see,
The damage inflicted, the toll it would be,
In the stillness of night, I faced my plight,
A choice to make, to vanquish the blight.
With heavy heart, I sought an accord,
To sever the ties, the poison tree gored,
I watered forgiveness, embraced the light,
And watched as the poison tree withered from sight.
For in its demise, a lesson I gleaned,
That hatred's harvest, no good redeem,
In the soil of compassion, new seeds were sown,
A chance for healing, to find my own.
Now I tend to a garden of love and grace,
Where kindness blossoms in every space,
But the memory lingers, a reminder still,
Of the poison tree, its venomous thrill.
So let us beware, the anger we nurse,
The poison we harbor, the curses we rehearse,
For in the depths of our hearts, we hold the key,
To either nurture a garden or a poison tree.
During WW II from a frozen aircraft in the Arctic sea,
the Nazi General, Schmidt, named as sneaky Red Skull,
stole Tessaract, the eerie relic of untold godly power,
that he wanted to channel to change the entire world.
Steve Rogers was a commoner aspiring to be a soldier,
after a few disheartening initial failures he got chosen
for the super soldier unique experiment in US military,
serum injection, Vita-rays made him Captain America.
Rogers exhibited the extraordinary acts of gallantry
when he could alone release all the prisoners of war
by infiltrating furtively into the fortified Nazi fortress,
notorious Red Skull had constructed in the Hydra base.
To stop Schmidt using weapons of mass destruction,
he was attacked in his aircraft by superhero Rogers.
Facing disgraceful defeat and fearing to be captured,
Red Skull used the mysteriously powerful Tesseract.
The mystic force of the contraption opened a wormhole
that sucked into it the maimed body of the Nazi General.
The aircraft crashed into the icy water of the Arctic sea,
Rogers remained untraced, Red Skull vanished in space.
______________
February 14, 2023
Contest : Marvel Superhero Or Supervillain
Sponsored by : Robert James Liguori