Long Marcus Poems
Long Marcus Poems. Below are the most popular long Marcus by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Marcus poems by poem length and keyword.
Why do mechanics need manuals when they’ve fixed it before?
Answer my question or I’ll walk out the door!
Didn’t they attend trade schools or get OJT?
Why need repair manuals? That what gets me.
I just want a mechanic who won’t refer to a book.
Just fix my car already, don’t give it a second look!
Why do pilots run checklists and reference their charts?
Just push the dang button and hope the plane starts!
Didn’t they go to flight school and pass all the tests?
Pilots fly most days, so who needs all the mess?
I want a pilot who knows without referencing a chart.
Just get on with the flying and prove that you’re smart!
What about the doctors who are practicing still?
Why can’t they get it right? And that includes the bill!
They’re always researching new studies in journals
When time’s better spent attending patients’ internals.
I just want a Marcus Welby, Ben Casey or Kildare
Instead of keeping up to date, I just want them to care.
Why do lawyers review case studies and legal decisions?
Such antics in my book leave them open to derision.
All that studying in law school should have been more than enough.
After passing the bar they should already know their stuff.
I just want an attorney who’s a know-it-all ace,
Not a book worm mouthpiece to plead my case.
Finally, the poets, being wordsmiths their art
You won’t see them referencing a checklist or chart
But look, in their hands, just what can that be?
A dictionary? Thesaurus? Are those what I see?
A real poet never needs help reading Shakespeare or Keats
Using Webster and Roget would make all of us cheats!
If a poet is real, the words should just flow
I think that all poets should automatically know
The right words to use, and literary crutches forgo
How dare they try better vocabulary to hone
They should come up with good things to say on their own.
I’m looking for poets who’ll just know what to say
Like Lewis Carroll’s poems in his heyday:
“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves, Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogroves, And the mome raths outgrabe.”
Don’t bother looking up his words, for that would be a dumb thing.
Using a dictionary or thesaurus, you might actually learn something!
OUR EFFERVESCENCE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Line of inquiry: "conjoined with the whole we play our life role exuding a scent granting love consent.
Marcus had a secret only a few of the townspeople knew. His touch could coax the most stubborn of seeds to sprout and the most withered of plants to bloom. The scent he exuded was reputed to be mystical, one imbued with a powerful blend of love and consent, one of divine affection and unity. His was not mere gardening prowess; it was a divinely given gift and one that shaped his life in ways he’d not imagined as a young boy.
On a hot summer afternoon, Elara—lost and withered looking—wandered into Marcus’ garden. He gave her a cup of sparkling water, its cooling effervescence refreshing her. A drop of it spilt on a wilted daisy. To Elara’s amazement, its petals immediately unfurled, revealing a bright yellow center.
Confounded, Elara asked Marcus, "How can you possibly do that? I don’t understand."
He hesitated, unsure if she could actually understand. "It's a gift from the Divine," he said, "a sparkling effervescence similar to that found in the pure waters of the nearby stream. It’s one given to those who wish to connect with their souls.”
A puzzled Elara continued visiting Marcus, over time her curiosity growing and her worldly fears dissipating. Although a loner, Marcus welcomed her believing their connection was divinely ordained.
“We are conjoined not by flesh,” he began one day,
“but by the Divine, sharing the Holy Spirit—
an effervescence, a sacred bond.
Severing this holy bond
invites disconnection and decay
much like a withering leaf on autumn’s breath.
But when conjoined, this sacred space,
wraps itself around us all,
a warm, aromatic shawl.
We are filled with the fragrance of unity,
satisfying surrender, perfumed purpose, and
the sweet aroma of unconditional Love.
When we listen and sup with the Divine,
we’re nourished by the alchemy of this connection,
the effervescent champagne of life, bubbling with Love.
Encourage, nay, celebrate this unity,” dear one,
“this sacred conjoining of all that is,
and all that ever will be.”
There was a bongoman, and he dreaming
Where the rock hovered above the blue sea
Looked through the white mist of a dew drenched morning
And clenched tight his memory of history
Black as midnight: showed me shining like day
Black Starliners, and his tears melted away.
Walk softly let me sing my song, redemption brings
The whip to silence and the heart to lift its wings
And then he laughed aloud, his heart beating
Drums like a flock of bird wings. This called me
Inexplicably to stand before him feasting
My eyes on his joy, and his tangled beauty
Of hair and form, without Samson's great flaws
I heard his covenant to Afric's laws:
No swine flesh in Selassie I temple
No labor for the rag of foul Babylon
Peace and love recovered of nature's principle
Keep's the dove in the flesh of the lion
Eating herbs as a lamb. And high above
The sea, the forest throbs with songs of love
He told his sorrows in Psalms recounting
Another's tragedy through which he claimed
His own, and whipped scuttled pride to rise surmounting
The shambled faith imposed on bodies maimed
By tyrant's culture and chains, to find
The cliff where Marcus Garvey led the blind
And made them see with power of his words
Towering Kilmanjaros of beauty
Breaking the sun, splintering its silver bright swords
Into strands, opening the majesty
Of wonders past on plain banana leaf
Feeding Anansi duckuno from grief
It does not matter anymore, the blames
The city lies upon his head; he cried
His tears for Babylon melting in oral flames
Bongo with Jah lives iver in the tide
Of Rastafari righteous inity
Behold the bongoman in divinity
I was late to school to know the bright lies
That silence permitted against his pain
The bongoman on the misty sea fastened his eyes
And searched for his Judah's Lion again
For out of him was life forever, dread
Life sweeter than the heaven of the dead.
And those ships, the angels of Marcus' dream
Make good covenant with the paucity
Of truth, and hold the bongoman in moonbeam
Dancing on rock point of belief, certainty
Mixed like bitter herbs in the ital food
Sweet as drums on the morning bright of mood.
so much precious existence
found me rooted with mouth ajar
as sigh asper the dentin-cementum
so mud dear reader (with dem perfect
enameled pearly whites), aye har bar
envy for those with a complete set
of eight incisors, four cuspids (i.e. canines),
eight bicuspids, and twelve molars
(including four wisdom teeth) tabulating
many hours in the car (engendering
saddle sore bony tuckus)
plus regarding chunk whereat,
pernicious cementum funk
viz distraught psyche, when muss self as a lil monk
key decades after being examined
by family dentist Doctor Marcus (NOT WELBY),
excellent practitioner (button irate pulp pill
people ' especially children) eater – the grump,
whose private practice located
in Levittown, Pennsylvania,
and when prepubescent underwent
pertinent more explicit focused
intense noninvasive procedures
asper subsequent cause of speech impediment
determined why air didst jump
thru nostrils, (speech therapist at Henry Kline Boyer),
neither thin nor plump
informed parents
of Lancaster Cleft Palate Clinic –
fifty plus miles one direction),
where chief prosthodontist
Doctor Mohammad N. Mazaheri, DDS, an Iranian
whose expert reputation, sans strict manner didst trump
his aura, karma evincing clipped commands
forceful as a vocal whump
before launching into meat and potatoes
of crux comprising real aim
constituting modus operandi
(and cresting away from details indirectly tide
into main intent, nobody aye blame)
for thine dental debacle quandary
(managed by gumshun,
whereby eons hyperbolically toted beyond google),
and despite the optimistic stance
wool worth anesthetized numb skull claim
nascent malocclusion faintly affecting,
hinting, pointing toward Periodontitis
(despite diligence attending to oral hygiene frame)
the manifestation of major looming crisis compromising,
forgoing, instigating, et cetera loss of teeth,
this (after agony in league with separate occasions
twice wearing braces, concomitant Extractions
of wisdom and removal of crowdsourcing –
closeup toward the front of mouth teeth - game
Marcus, as a child heard it all, the oral stories
Ancient in glories quickening his vein. Like blood
Rolling where the Roaring river runs, peonies
Calling up ancestral history in dream and flood
Unfold desires of in streams of African blood
Sentinelling the separate walls few understood
Grand visions comes from simple pains, O Garvey
Answer the call again, for we who forged oneness
Respecting constitution and creed, have tasted sourly
Vast tons of alienation, injustice, and wretchedness
Even Fanon could not describe. We need community
Yearning to build, yearning to rise, unshackled by history.
Malcom took the mantle towards a promise land
Angry and disgruntled using words for magic wand
Leader extraordinaire, do you remember him, Harlem
Clad in the beauty of your power, a black diadem
Overtly demanding that the police freed a wronged son
Master orator, how brief our black comets run
Let him remain an X to slavemasters filthy game
Inspired by greed to dehumanize us shackle shame
To our least Trans-Atlantic memory. But I will trace
True to the Little's pedigree, your father's Jamaican face
Leaving Maroon Town, St James, for this Egypt dark
Eke-ing existence to your soul, O what glory did he spark!
So Stokely, the Kwame Ture who died like a forest leaf
Thundered from your mountain with intellectual grief
Only a child barred from jim crow restroom and restaurants
Kindling racial pride could understand. Your spirit haunts
Eternally gloried diased ignorants. Starved by segragation
Lunch counters closed like social doors to all the race
You stood up, shouting power to minautor and monsters face.
Angela Davis, O how the pack hounds howled, pursuing you
Natural beauty, legally schooled, and yet an outcast
Granted no justice or reprieve while fearless for an alternative view
Etched upon the soul and suffering from the angry past
Lady, there is no statuesque liberty sweet as you
Leader of a ghetto stand so black men would not die invisible
Excluded by a muted history. This tribute is from all of us over due.
A Man
Now that im older I catch myself reflecting on the things I do, my father use to do when he’s stressing; once he bit his lip and his eyes twitched,then you were in ****, I saw him shoot the phone out of my moms hand over some gossiping ****,sank a paint brush in his nephew head for asking to have sex in my bed. He shot my uncle in his ass, then brought his way out the bid. He couldn’t sleep at night, he had insomnia from his younger years in drama. He showed me how to be a man despite he use to hit on my momma. He was the only father I knew or wanted to know. I wasn’t even a seed that he planted but he nurtured to grow. He told me “Son it’s a thin line between a friend and a foe and never hold court in the streets if you really aint ready to blow”, “always put your family first; numero uno; cause when worse come to worse they gonna carry your casket, bare your burdens because Marcus only death is certain,” Maybe that’s why I hit the block so hard and always shot first, because I was scared to get scarred and Imma play the hand that they dealt me dad down to its last card. Why does it seem harder to bring forth life then it is to take it? But I got faith like the rappers Jada and Styles that im gonna make it! And I know that I got a temper but I got it from you I use to steal your cigarettes hoping that smoking would make me more like you. But the difference between a boy and a man is his morals and principals its not what you do but how its done that makes a difference. Like its not what you say but how its said that’ll make people listen. See a fulfilled life is when you die and the whole world know you missing. I know it hurt you to your heart that I spent so much of my life in prison, my mistakes, my faults, had nothing to do with you. You and my mom did more than your job; yall didn’t force me to rob. But the streets was my soul and it pump the block through my heart. But I guess destiny had a plan in the help of shaping a man and from Attica to Clinton chose to give destiny a helping hand……Here I am: A man!
Marcus Mosiah Garvey arose from a little town, yes my lord
A Leo lifting Harlem, kingdom bound, yes my lord
Resuscitated religion around the black man’s looks, yes my lord
Cuddling pickaxe, hoe, and cradling books, yes my lord
Umpire of Freedom from home to foreign land, yes my lord
Seeker of justice from Costa Rica, Nicaragua to Panama, man, yes, yes my lord
Master of the African destiny, this man could dream, yes my lord
Overtures of empire, black starliner on the Atlantic stream, yes my lord
Sentinel and soldier, O Booker T’s light giver, yes my lord
Itinerant leader from island to continents, the diviner, yes my lord
Athletic word maker speaking truth to power, yes O my lord
Sequester again the UNIA at this defining hour, yes my lord.
Greatness is sometimes attributed, sometimes achieved, yes my lord
Africa’s proud son, both in you we believed, yes my lord
Regal was the call you made: “Up you mighty race!” yes my lord
Venerable the acts you did standing to the governor’s face, yes my lord
Earth has no better soul, or Jamaica another child, yes O my lord
Yielding everything to heal the lambs defiled, yes, yes my lord
How shall we see again the great black visions of grandeur, yes my lord
Evoking in cultureless voids Africa’s splendor, yes my lord
Royalty reduced to slavery would not crawl the dust, yes my lord
Once liberated minds can fly where only eagles lust, yes my lord
We heap up your tributes now that your dead, yes my lord
England’s queen can sleep without a dungeon for her bed, yes my lord
Men who dream are imprisoned to bury their dreams, yes my lord
Instead those dreams prove finite walls too poor, yes my lord
Superior imagination to tame, and brighter still gleams, yes my lord
So when the wind blows look for him at the door, yes my lord
Yapping Hoover at his heels lied on him to stall him, yes my lord
Over in Jamaica, he broke the walls of prison grim, yes my lord
Uncle Marcus, great hero, O how we miss him, yes, yes O my lord
Walk here with me
Along a strand of island in the sea
Let your heart drink like a leaf
From this mighty river
That shaped the world's relief
Listen to his name
Hear echoes of white colonial history
The burden of shame
Edging the teeth of fame
Chew it down to the middle bone
Feel the tension rise it
Like pimento fragrance preserving the night
Of Egyptian slime pits
And the prince denouncing privilege and place
Not so, not so here
For him who took up the cudgel of our race
The farmers boy
Built brick by brick from a builder's dream
This native scion ... out of the Maroon's citadel
This bewitching monument of St. Ann.
Ah Booker did you know
A man with bigger head for a mightier dream
From Panama to Ecuador
From Costa Rica to Brazil
Did your heart like a drum pound
Boom, boom, baba boom
When he clenched the lock of Africa's door
When every pulpit in the street
Became a university of our history
And freedom in every African child
Was Marcus Mosiah Garvey
Booker, did you see his kingdom
His black institutions
Like a galaxy dreamers could touch
His ships
On which the brothermen still wait
Like an armada sailing
From rubber baron shores
To pyramid pinnacle
They were his Icarus
And he our Daedalus
That could not shake the minotaur
But, Booker, did he not say
To look for him in the wind
So now you know why I never sleep again
His footprints are still here
Clear as the foment of nineteen thirty eight
This is where he carved his name
Not just on the printers page
But on the honor of all the age
Making us dream of civil rights
And human rights
And Rastafarian flight
And reparation for our plight
And above all he taught me
A little black face lover of his fight
Never to bow
My mind to the whore's tradition
Never to yield my soul
For I am a nobler structure that my rank here
I am the prince they striped bare
The Moses that have not see my red sea yet
The child still
Enthralled with the splendor of every sunset
Land of the free
Home of the slaves
The blood, sweat and tears of my ancestors resonate
Amongst the soil where they were slain
I’m hearing their struggle
I’m feeling their pain
I can’t imagine being forced to part from my family
All for massa’s gain
So I pay homage to those who promoted change
People like every slave who tried to escape
Nat Turner, Ms Carlotta, Harriet Tubman
And the safe houses who were in accord
And peg leg Joe with his song
Follow the drinking gourd.
People like, the disregarded - those thrown overboard
And who was dismissed and defamed
The ones who were stripped of their soul, their pride, their names
The list could go on
The full will never be told
So I pay homage to others who were bold
Like John Brown, The Freedom Riders, Sojourner Truth
Ida B Wells, Phyllis Wheatley, Maya Angelou,
Langston Hughes and Charles Drew
George Washington Carver, Ruby Bridges
Booker T Washington and Mary McCleod Bethune
Charles Houston, Ralph Bunche, Fredrick Douglass
WEB Dubois, Paul Robeson, Ralph Abernathy
Benjamin Banneker, Marcus Garvey and Crispus Attucks
Who’s death by the way
Symbolized the American lie
You cant declare the rights of all men
While the people of African decent rights get denied
But still we rise
Thanks to Dr Martin Luther King, Malcolm X,
The Black Panthers, the Buffalo Soldiers and Tuskegee Airmen
None who were showed any love
Yeah it’s an uphill battle,
But obviously greatness can be done.
We can rise above this stigma
That blacks are lazy and daunting
That our worth is null and void
And in essence minus nothing
And of all the names mentioned
And the greatness of their successes
No one has been able to erase the evil transgressions of a racist mind
And once you have experienced just a taste of it
It changes your perception of time
The oppression beats like the drum on the chariot
Of when it was finally time to escape to freedom
It's mine
Jamaica is our island’s name,
A land blessed with so much fame.
And for the part that our heroes did play,
We pause to reflect and salute them today.
Nanny of the Maroons was a heroine ,true and brave ,
And fought with all her might not to be a slave.
Marcus Mosiah Garvey made us proud of our Black race,
And everywhere he went there was pride on his face.
Paul Bogle of Stony Gut fought for justice for all,
And the powers that be had no choice but to listen to his call.
Norman Washington Manley defended workers’ rights with passion,
And fought with all his might to change every unjust working condition.
Sir Alexander Bustamante was a stalwart for workers everywhere,
And was the voice of the voiceless and spoke without fear.
George William Gordon stood tall to help the poor with their plight,
And he never backed down or turned away until things were made right.
Sam Sharpe listened and he heard what the planters said,
But he stood tall and bravely said, “No more slavery,I’d rather be dead.”
We have been blessed with a great legacy and we are a proud nation,
And our unsung heroes and heroines continue to rise to the occasion.
We must unite against the common foe and guard against complacency,
We must be resilient like our heroes and safeguard our rich legacy.
A legacy of greatness , hard work and resilience in every community,
A legacy of talent, ambition, skills and self-worth in every nook and cranny.
No retreat! no surrender! we will continue to blaze a trail,
And as the blood of our ancestors runs through our veins, we will prevail!
Not by sight but by great might, we will continue the fight,
As we vow to conquer the common foe and make things right.
And just like our heroes did , we will stand tall with pride and decency,
As we salute our heroes and safeguard our rich, bountiful legacy.