Long Maroons Poems
Long Maroons Poems. Below are the most popular long Maroons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Maroons poems by poem length and keyword.
When the raspberry horizon
is curled up,
shaping caramel-lilac lips
of the cashmere kismet,
singing in a choir of cherry chivalry
and honey-glazed fireflies ~
those snowy stars
simmering in summer silence,
f l i c k e r
a w a y
leaving burgundy blurs of beliefs,
wrinkled in those blinking blemishes
of clementine memories,
which once trailed hysterical footprints
across my fairy-threaded horizons...
And I lay, breathing l o v e
on a pillow of pristine pearls ~
succulent with the silver songs
of perfumed yesteryears ~
chiming through chocolate valleys
and rippling in the ruffles
of origami reveries,
weaved in scarlet sonnets...
where you and I, chakras of the divine ~
w a l t z
like the sunset
and its shadow
through a halo of rose-rings ~
our spiritual silks
rinsed in rubies,
as every aromatic alphabet
caresses those syllables of storms,
stained with the murkiness of maroons
and the velvet rain of remnants
leaves a champagne spark ~
igniting indigo illusions
that whisper
whirling intuitions
in my saffron-kissed kundalini...
" O' thistle-light
distancing me
from my dandelion i n k ~
I'm no longer a paranoid petal
swirling in a havoc of hate and rust,
rather, I'm blossoming ~
aesthetic in strawberry arcs,
dreaming of a reality
above imposters of nightmares,
where my honeysuckle sepals
hold hope as a golden anchor ~
fluttering in pink opal warmth,
and I feel like the heat of life,
for those decaying flowers,
betrayed by
the
torrents
of
t i m e... "
dear lord of the scintillating swan light,
in the fulcrum of fragrances ~
this sailor soulfully sails,
as a telepathic trespasser
tangentially
steering
to an orchard
without
rose-tinted
reveries...
to be the last scent
of forget-me-nots ~
manifesting a meraki of miracles
in those mulberry mosaics,
where the esoteric zephyrs of elysium
still remember me ~
as a sandalwood-scented soulmate
of the forgiving sun...
Each step is like
I’m walking on mist
for not a sound
mumbles from beneath my feet.
With everything in full bloom
I can’t locate your scent,
my palate is overwhelmed,
and as I fight
to sift through
all these smells
of fauna and flora
I close my eyes…
……there you are,
smiling
like your very thoughts tickle you,
and my heart
has tears streaming down it
missing you.
I can feel your chin
against my chest,
your body pressed to mine
as if we were from two molds
made to fit together.
Tangling my fingers in your hair
to keep you as close as possible
you nuzzle up
into my neck
and my body shivers
for the warmth
of your soul is missing in this facade.
My eyes come open
to the rising of the Moon
and my mind wunders
if you caught it tonight,
it slowly rolls higher
as anxiety claws at my back
and I work my way
to the upper levels in this mountainscape.
Anxiousness has worked
its hands to my throat
trying to cut off its ability
to take in air
but I’ve gotten above the tree line
and I begin my heart filled,
mournful dirge.
My howl starts out soft
filling the heavens with my sorrow
and expelling
these fingers from my neck,
reforming the constellations
into my poem of longing.
With my next breath
I send it on its way
as if it was an email.
My next serenade of the Moon
picks up volume,
it converts to emotions and colors,
and as the red of love
slashes upon
the satiny night sky
they swirl into maroons of lust
and purples of romance
spiraling away as my intensity increases
making this firework like kaleidoscope
crackle and spark.
I reach the end of my concerto
and the raw emotions
climb into the night,
throat burning
Love's teeth
tears off a piece
of my heart,
spitting it in the air
for my emotions to carry away
under the moon
to tuck in your pocket…
…feel it throb,
it pulses only for you.
Picture decibels of granite landslide wailing
Rocks of flocking tears tumbling savagely down
Upon the dry valley, and the heart's raining
Wide torrents of griefs in shoutings unknown
And then strangely the recognition
Each one knowing the time and condition.
I know you do not understand what I tell
About the old village in communication
Wireless, and no technology as that bell
Of sighs clanging in valleys of trees, attrition
For the belated love one gone, the cry
Of sorrow uprooting rocks and roofing sky.
I want you to see the old Maroon ways dead
And the legacy left in a crocus bag there
One machete, an abeng, and Bible at his head
The lone Rastaman taking it up with his tear
And left the callous crowd that cry and lie for rum
To study the script that brought him freedom.
He looked at it, but could not fit the words, so
He wrote with his tongue a new approach
At words, with more proximity to life and ego
And fence that allowed none to encroach
Who were strangers to his tribulation and need
To survive this existence on a puff of weed.
He spoke "I and I" for we, a sense that said
The collective was on flesh in different skins
And we were only branches of the Mighty Dread
Separated by customs, flawed beliefs and sins.
He said "I overstand" for the understanding we
Claim through muddled mire of mangy history.
Thus the Maroons bled a physical revolution, fend
And left his legacy to the Rastaman to complete
The cultural revolution, bringing us to honeyed end
Changing language, music, and lifestyle, a feat
That Mao dreamed but could not do, overturning
The oppressors' world by a smoky drumming.
The Maroon never dies while his children live:
Pocomania, Rastaman, Reggae music burning
The Kiya hut of Taliban, Mandela prison pensive
Tremble at the stones tumbling and piling
On the blackheart man's grave. No more bush
Brigades hiding the British guns. Love comes with a hush.
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.
Hail, the doorway keen on the known world ... theme wails attention,
time of roses' blooms cower ... usurped magentas, aloof maroons,
for the flight of the gossamers ... assume benefits of the whole.
Latial premise culture ... tastes upland and coastal regions,
a frequency of single-mindedness ... surrendering taught thoughts,
as the virginal breed ... practices gifts unerringly.
Motherly cling to the high order ... the lap of power,
Emperor Augustus's Agrippina ... hails a league lineage,
the first passed adoption papers ... history at two years of age.
Emperor Claudius handheld Lucious ... heir apparent,
timely obligations convene ... Praetorians and the Senate,
youth rules ... Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus
A singularity ventures ... shadows accomplish deeds,
airs cultural growth, diplomacy, trade ... and games of sporting chance,
distractions for feeble minds ... a mother, a wife, bled graven vows.
Minds of the destitute clamors ... affluence hushed from rears,
slaves dying daily ... entertained popularized its purposes,
at slave's expense, and Rome's aristocracy ... via taxation.
Rome burns for Nero's 'Golden House'... Christians blamed for flames,
rumors swapped clamors ... Emperor Galba aids Senator Vindex,
Christian deaths were wrongful ... Nero lost popular support.
Nero ruled known enemy ... condemned to death in absentia,
negatives fly ... as tyrannical, self-indulgent, and debauched,
he flees Rome ... 9 June AD 68, commits suicide.
Haiti, the home of voodoo practices
Seventeenth Century Spain cedes to France
Catholic Spaniards trembled when they saw
“Dead” men revived to wander in trances
A vile poison can make men appear dead
Revival requires an antidote
But perhaps there is more to zombie lore
An explanation to why these souls woke
Brutally treated slaves worked sugar fields
Captives from Africa known as “Maroons”
As French aristocrats sat and grew fat
Blacks sweated for “sweets” in the tropic sun
Buried guilt deep at night still festers
For conscience is God’s gift to each man
Some may suppress it for just a short time
‘Til magical night envelopes the land
Spirits of those who were taken in chains
Are given by God a chance to rebel
Stalking the living in deathly pallor
Haunting their captors with visions of hell
“Zombifications,” Maroons erected
Spreading the horrors of slavery with anger
Showing the French what their evil produced
And putting their sanity in danger
So please put the voodoo dolls back on shelves
The needle-sharp pricks of remorse can sting
Enslaved Maroons prevail in heaven’s court
Our Creator’s eyes aren’t missing a thing
Magic, black or white, God sees no color
Love is bestowed on men of all races
And those who question the Lord’s intentions
Should look in the eyes of living-dead faces
When the
malevolent moon
drapes
black current vines
around my neck,
etching
the blood of betrayals
in my white-whirling wings ~
I cease to scream
in sanguine sighs
within
sangria songs
of spring
when
I would wear love in lilac
and you saw me
in metallic maroons...
as in this moment,
my skin
is but a sea of scars,
sewn with
indelible stars
of dandelion damsels,
who once lost
their art of weaving hearts
in your hoaxed arcs.
And
my agony remains,
a secret
behind
wordless wisps
of breathless vultures ~
feeding
on the seeds of intuition,
sown in cursed waters ~
illuminating
insatiable infernos
within my
tulip-tinted temperence...
But, I ache to be
an apocalypse...
more than the hellfire ink
that stains your
chauvinistic cobwebs ~
threading
volcanic spells
ushered in
a storm of sepals
beneath tattoo tears
of periwinkle promises,
for you are
a mere imposter,
stranded
in ivory silks
of snowflake silence ~
gnawing upon
the merciless
manifestations,
manipulated by this
mannequin of
metaphors...
A frying dying yolk of sun winks at the dimming eve, the runaway ocean breeze… surf rushing, gushing over under feet; memories savor washing, cleansing conscious sweet
Falling motion slowing backward hands reaching, grasping for the cool bathing crystal blue rolling and strolling out from the shoreline sand in sand
Empty, now imaginary imprints beaches once filling now fading footprints the lost summer you were still a girl pure and passionate I was developing into becoming a man
The gulls knew the secret of our lost summer place, obscuring dunes topped with pastel seas of greens grass, for no apparent sudden reason I glimpse the clouds that align revealing splendors of tender draped familiar face of a distancing past
Forever eyes so very forever lost when gazing upon you and overwhelmed by your sweet and sickly taste, our souls intertwining within the four corners of our world the beach blanket redefining complexities of the here and now time and the you and I space
As we commandeer commanding the universe to cease for an another noon, seizing, kidnapping each hour from the keeper as we continue drowning into each other’s pools surrendering to the longing yearning witnessing crowning glory beneath the dancing beams of hazing maroons...
The Good Lord sent me from Zion…
Arjuna!!... “I am that I am”!!!
The fowler goes round about me ...roaring like a wild Lion.. He desires to eat our young...our
1st fruits
Fruit of the Prince of Power and The Warrior Princess!!
but the prophecy SAYS...!!!... U shall not prevail against the word of the most high
The call is out upon the whelps of the Lioness…and the chains of her Lion Cub…
He devours the city…and is a terror in the eyes of all that stand in his path.
Rebellion!!!...Dharma Yhuda!...Jihad..
This Day I DECLARE...Prophecy!!!... IT IS WRITTEN...WE WILL TRAMPLE YOU UNDERFOOT!!!!
Maroons… Carib… Chemakum
Prophecy..Prophecy..Prophecy!!
He is the Mystic Mind…The Celestial Scribe …The Peculiar People…
Lift up your hands in praise of HIM !! For He heard your cry and mine!!..
He watered the hills from his chambers
The earth was satisfied…
Raise your hands and know..he can do all things...and his desire is to bring us closer to HIM!!
"Every day we rise..we give thanks and praise..in my humble ways"
My humble ways. Making food meant to feed a few ..feed many
A home built 4 a few...house many in love
Monies given 4 a few.. bless many
Prophecy My Queen..
Form:
Trumpet the ethos of these wading warriors with the hollowed bones
of their panygeric prophets,resonating triumphant tones,
to forever honor,protect,& perpetuate the valor,virtue,& victory of this Holy Order,
the irridescent echo seeps from their Father's tombs,
for what extent shall I blaze myself and minions in the arrows path,
so to coddle an intangible hope made of a prayer's dope,
or in a mind where a prevailing vision roams,
nay, to avert that macbre nightmare of having my People's progeny becoming the pigmy
of a teething tyrant who condones the perversion of civilization's tomes,
a coalesced consciousness consummated by the last bastion
with a vigorous vigil on this Christmas Eve,
solemn and sacramental the emotion is which this of our hearts
the Almighty exhumes,
A dispatched soldier ploying as scout,remote, waiting ignorantly to be smote,
a far but not forgotten armored satellite being selfless,
his vanity enemy's threat consumes,
an unbridled but composed offensive of a triplicate terror delivered
by an indefatigable knight ,
an ultimatum presented simply but also strictly,
one at least his assault maroons,
J.A.B. - Part Four -