Long Morgan Poems
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How many grave sites should be prepared for me?
Just one. For Robert Johnson, there were three,
all in the Mississippi Delta: Morgan City, Quito,
and (near) Greenwood. Which is right? Do we KNOW?
Those who have taken the time to do research
believe Little Zion Missionary Baptist Church
near Greenwood is most likely. At age 27, in 1938,
he died near that town--so young, with talent so great.
In the early 1900’s, this youngster’s genius was unfurled.
As blues singer, guitarist, and lyricist, he gifted the world
with recordings exhibiting style that has been admired
widely and emulated by popular performers who aspired
to greater fame. They achieved the kudos they desired.
Muddy Waters, Bob Dylan, and Chuck Berry are among those
influenced by his style. Every admirer who knows
the legend that ambition drove Johnson to sell his soul
to the Devil for greater talent would surely say his goal
was reached without Old Scratch playing a role.
What caused the death of the “Cross Road Blues”
and “Sweet Home Chicago” performer? There are clues
centering around his unbridled boozing and womanizing.
Did a jealous husband poison his whiskey upon realizing
a flirtation or worse, just as Johnson's star was rising?
Or did he die of syphilis? These stories floated around,
and others. Thirty years later, a death certificate was found,
stating no cause of death. Some facts, we may never know.
It IS known that this musical master's climb to fame was slow.
It's nothing new that, after death, renown may grow.
Johnson's posthumous claim to fame is no big mystery.
Beginning in the nineteen sixties, the world would see
a surge of interest in his music. To Eric Clapton, he seems
"The most important blues singer that ever lived." Teams
of researchers have tried to capture his life and dreams.
King of the Delta Blues Singers, a collection of his best,
was produced by Columbia in 1961. Writers faced a test:
dealing with conflicts and gaps in accounts while collecting
information for biographies and films. While "connecting
the dots," they learned that sources require dissecting.
Death, no respecter of talent or youth, is bold,
stalking and striking down rich or poor, young or old.
Mysteries of life and death often remain unsolved,
though diligent research may be involved.
I had seen - her calm, cool, composed - like a soft soothing breeze,
Though she could turn tempest or tornado or weakly wheeze;
Like a formless cherub in an endless garden of love,
She covered the earth while racing on cloud-Morgan above…!
Lovely you are! I said to her, Love's living conqueror!
Aren't you, yet, noisy nomad, gypsy, or mere wanderer?
I am vagrant sure, she said, and a tireless traveler,
I have jailed you, yet, in my sachet, like a prisoner…!
It was when I moved much away from the maddening crowd,
And when pondered over her bewildering words aloud;
Enlightenment dawned in me like the wisdom of Buddha,
Many great truths got revealed slowly like Brahma Chakra...!
True as very truth is my brief existence in the breath,
Who on this earth exists, devoid of her, from birth to death?
She murmurs, whispers, commands, demands, like Divine Spirit,
She creates! Destroys! Takes to zeniths! Grants highest merit…!
Soft, serene like nectar secreting in a rose flower,
She sleeps in; grows glows like a flower on a green bower;
Consciously conscious! Unconsciously unconscious! Solace!
Plows through the interiors, like Yacht through water, flawless…!
Shifting my state of mind, working like a leaven within,
Sleep, wake - like my mother - in feasting and fasting she's in;
She is the beginning! End! Center! Whole! Totality!
She is the starting and ends of the whole humanity…!
What an engulfing like a fiery inferno and smoke,
What an empowering and overpowering soul-stroke!
What a change, like unique bloom! Great is the life-giving breath!
What Calm! Peace! Tranquility! Bliss! Awesomely saving meth…!
With her, no stress! No strain! No phobia! No mania!
Her free-blow within free from frightening insomnia;
Abandoned to her eternally evolving Spirit,
Body and soul reach zenith beyond the mundane limit…!
Growing high, I gladly come to the realization,
That I'm part of the classic universal cognition;
Wherein my inner unity freely fondly extends,
And to the external eternal harmony, it tends...!
Knowingly? Unknowingly? Willingly? Unwillingly?
Breath has adopted me - calmly, cutely, and cautiously!
Has made me a flute, lute, melodious rhythmic consort,
I play on! I am played on! Till I reach restful retreat…!!!
16 September 2021
T'was the week before Christmas, as I watched the live stream
I could hardly believe what I could see on my screen.
With Manchester losing to Norwich two one,
We could keep our top spot if we held out and won.
On a day that a legend of football (Jimmy Hill) had passed,
We were top of the league whilst last year we'd been last.
In a restless first half we took the lead at a canter,
Until Lukaku scored to cue Everton banter.
When out from the break we again took the lead,
As Vardy was fouled as he showed off his speed.
Up stepped our Mahrez to take the spot kick,
Which he knocked beyond Howard with a feint and a flick.
With City now flying and fans singing the score,
It took only four minutes before we had one more.
With Vardy again making runs through their flanks
Okazaki nipped in and took his team mates thanks.
With Everton down but by no means yet beat,
A long ball from the toffees fell at Miralles feet.
With only two minutes left of full time on our clocks,
It was once again squeeky bum time for each fox.
As we defended in numbers and all fans stayed wary,
The whistle unleashed a scream from Ranieri.
Eight wins and one draw in our last nine league games,
You can hear history calling our star players names!
Vardy and Mahrez have been grabbing the goals,
Whilst Shlupp and Drinkwater have played pivotal roles.
Albrighton and Kante have been simply on fire,
And he's ably supported by King and by Dyer.
Now Schmeicel, now Morgan, now Ulloa and Fuchs.
Your names will live long in our history books!
To the top of the league against all of the odds.
You have answered our prayers to the footballing gods.
And as the year turns though we know its been tough,
We are sure there'll be more of this fairy tale stuff.
We may pick up injuries and suffer fatigue,
But despite all the talk, we are top of the league.
With a proud Gary Lineker on Match of the day,
It's been years since our City have been seen in this way.
Not since 2000 under Martin O'Neil,
Have the fans seen a squad with such a quality feel.
Ranieri who's marshalled our amazing revival,
Is still keeping his sights firmly set on survival.
Though there's bound to be plenty of twists and intrigue,
Happy Christmas all foxes, yes we're top of the league!
Geena Davis in Cutthroat Island
Generously endowed with ***** and spirit, GEENA
Engaged a most unusual leading lady role. And DAVIS
Ever so skillfully brought the audience right IN
Not one scene was lacking and it was definitely CUTTHROAT
At death, she shaved her father's head for the treasure map to Cutthroat ISLAND.
Delightful costumes enhanced her role as a pirate, never better PLAYED.
And it appears that no expense was spared to make this fantastic movie. For THE
Violence, explosions, fistfights, and duels are blasting packed, UNPRECEDENTED.
If ever there were awards for the most fun movie to make, this one would be LEADING.
So often, her laughter reminded me of a child pretending, playing the pirate ROLE.
If I were a movie critic judging on entertainment in action, I would give Geena an A.
Naturally, I, who love fantasy, like her in this role; she was: pretty, happy, and FEISTY.
Clearly, she looked like a lady, but a lady would never fight a man with her FIST
Until she was seen on a wanted poster in Jamaica, there had been no SLUGGING...
Then, the pirate, Morgan Adams, and her newly purchased slave, Shaw, needed a GUN.
The Governor's militia started surrounding them; soon bodies were SLINGING,
Her getaway met stealing the Governor's carriage and fist fighting without a SWORD,
Relentlessly pursued, fired upon by cannons with the carriage teetering, SWINGING,
Over ruts, out of town, wide eyed, escaping, and laughing, the epitome of RUTHLESS,
Real passions for a good fight, challenges, and she made pirating seem fun! AND
Throughout the action, suspense captivated; scenery and costumes were BEAUTIFUL.
In the end, she killed her murderous Uncle Dawg in self-defense using a CANNON
She saved Shaw; remained behind briefly with the treasure. No guns were FIRING.
Luckily, they dove off of Dawg’s ship before it exploded, watched by every PIRATE.
After the explosion debris had settled, up from the ocean emerged both he and SHE
Next, a marker barrel popped up. The treasure was brought on board; oh, the WOWS
Divvying was postponed; pirating would continue with Capt. “Morgan” . . .gutsy to ME!
© Name withheld for contest
February 17, 2010
Poetic form: Acrostic and End Line Word
"The Anatomy of God"
Who shall say there is one God?
if there are many, as it seems
in all the world’s sects and religions -
Who is their God? Is the source
some universal, bright, big, ultra simple,
ultra clean - Halogen Light Beam?
Or just an empty space beyond Beyond,
drawing us all slowly into it’s Black Hole vacuum
and this has been the true story all along?
The question poses images of
many different things
a snake eating it’s own tail,
a never-ending eternity ring;
Who shall say there is no God
there are many, it seems;
there are those who are certain
dead is dead, there are no dreams
no curtain, nor a veil that’s thin,
there is no such thing as Heaven -
but could it be, God is hidden,
in Rene Magritte’s Son of Man’s vision
and what rapture direction Magritte's Golconda -
will men rain up or down? I wonder.
Go peel back the pages of your books
and the layers of your glass onions
maybe there, maybe not
the answers to be found -
A.I. weaves it's membrane tentacles
seeing, hearing every thought, face and sound.
To each his own and to own their sins
The Anatomy of God
like peeling layers, of an onion,
the questions burn, then they sting
honey dripping, bitter almonds
holy waters rising
what happens if it’s sink or swim?
Revelations of all Armies
fighting wars without, not within -
Are aliens demons? Or distant family, some say friends?
Dream on dear open minded legions
with or without dominion;
Questions forever oceans rising,
like Meteors, Cock Robin
Sky is Falling
Who is God?
What is God?
Something’s coming,
Something’s calling.
(Lovejoy-Burton/Jan 2018)
very simple musings, of a very simple mind
1. Debate: Sam Harris & Jordan Peterson
https://www.patreon.com/posts/sam-harris-1-20821646
2. The Story of God - Morgan Freeman - S1 Ep 2 - Apocalypse
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GFP1UQnixlU
3. The Story of God - Morgan Freeman - S2 Ep 2 - Heaven & Hell
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HeZqCHUCsMg
4. Common Themes in Rapture Dreams
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HV7QgU2htJc
5. Electromagnetic Plasma Event 2019 / The Watchman Review
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gro5Bknjdkw
6. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V7xWffB2nH0
Back in seventeen eighty-one
The revolution hit hard times,
Britain had taken Charlestown
And at Camden had crushed the lines
Of General Horatio Gates,
Leaving nobody to resist,
Except the Swamp Fox Marion
Who alone was able to persist.
South Carolina had fallen,
And Cornwallis was marching north,
The patriots had to stop him,
But could not yet match up with his force.
So they called up Daniel Morgan,
A brawler who had earned his fame
With his actions at Saratoga,
As a soldier he knew the game.
He was sent to march out westwards,
To harass and gain new supplies,
Cornwallis worried about this,
Let Banastre Tarleton fly.
Tarleton was a cavalry fame,
His infamy now widely known,
He’d butchered his foes at Waxhams,
When upwards their hands had been thrown.
The patriots called him Butcher,,
‘Bloody Bann’ was his sobriquet,
Yet many feared the young colonel,
From his legion they would run away.
But General Morgan knew all this,
He was pragmatic in his approach,
Knew what his men could and couldn’t do,
Where they thrived, where they were laid low.
Knowing Tarleton was close by,
He found a spot called ‘Hannah’s Cowpens,’
Nearby the flooded Broad River,
Here all tradition he’d upend.
Knowing militia ended to flee,
And not face a hand-to-hand fight,
He put their backs to the river,
They couldn’t run to escape their plight.
Now they would fight, or they would die,
But he felt this wasn’t enough,
So he split his force into three lines,
Plotting an elaborate bluff.
If the first he put sharp-shooters,
Told them to shoot ‘Epaulet Men,’
Then set up local militias
To form a line just behind them.
And the back were Continentals,
Tried soldiers of many a year,
These he knew didn’t break and run,
They were the few the British feared.
To top it off he arranged them
All on the slopes of a small hill,
Then waited there for Tarleton
Who expected an easy kill.
Tarleton had seen it all before,
At Charlestown and Camden field,
These rebels could talk a good game,
But in a fight they’d run of they’d yield.
So when he spotted Morgan’s force
He did not bother to survey,
Bold and young, he rushed in headlong
Expecting the militia to break...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Did Turn and Toss Like An Albatross
Last Sunday was first Sunday
for our new priest. Saw his
name on program which was
creased. Heard his sermon
and were pleasantly pleased.
During our dreams we did turn and toss;
What if new priest had been an albatross;
Great sermon gave;
Now is latest rave;
Are fortunate that him we came across.
Priest possessed a potent potential;
His sermons to hear were essential;
Further pried;
Never lied;
Practiced philosophy of existential.
By God new priest was properly wired;
Way up high, he really had been fired;
Temptation fought,
And we got caught;
Now know why we became so inspired.
When a new priest to our church came,
He and I would always think the same;
Is running rabbit,
Creature of habit;
Go ahead and give Trump all the blame.
That is what he kind of was saying in
his sermon without mentioning Trump's
name and claim to fame which was
such a shame.
Priest said that when we had talent
we were supposed to spread it all
around like I am doing. Why would
I want to be called a sinner for not
doing it. So am I sinning to be
sinning from the beginning or
out have they started thinning;
When God saved me from them
I will be winning.
How about this one
Once knew a benevolent Bedouin
Only drank water and ate gelatin;
Skinny did seam;
No ice cream;
So started looking like a skeleton.
For now know this should be enough;
Were well aware had been a big bluff,
Ideas did form;
Another storm;
Had naked thoughts when in the buff.
New priest came after his predecessor,
He sure did seem to be a sin stresser;
When pleased;
Sins squeezed;
Went out and bought a big compressor.
New vocal priest would play a violin;
Did so he could free himself from sin;
Saw new dawn;
Sins all gone;
Finished and said give me some skin.
Great Scott and then guten morgan;
From all around world and Oregon;
Keys did tickle,
While in pickle,
When we heard Marg play the organ.
Things have really become the pits,
So guess quietly should call it quits;
Hard to explain;
Brain did drain;
Horrible poems are everyone admits.
Jim Horn
Jim Horn
The path was long and arduous
And night began to veer
O’er trees, and lanes and rusted gates
Its' shadows breeding fear
Unbridled Wind wisped ‘round
Tombstone crosses where
Hissing its’ frustration
Loudly in despair
It sought to nourish fears
The shadows did create
Searching everywhere to find
It’s soul-less night-time mate.
Moonbeam light kissed the Night
Claiming shadows as their child
Together then in lock-step
They bent on running wild
And there, where he awaited
Their cold inspiring touch
With doctrines of all Evils
Firmly in his clutch
The blackness in his heart,
Thumping ‘neath his frock
Soon it’s rancid maladies
The Wind would there unlock
Thoughts of what’s to come
Then twisted lips to smile
Revealing stained and yellowed teeth
Trapping breath so rank and vile
‘twas then The Prince of Avarice
Rose and stood erect
The world would soon be his
To ravage and infect
His eyes of snake, both bespake
Behind their reptile lids
The embrace of the doctrine
For no Evils it forbids
The Wind increased its’ howling
Icy fingers pushing fro
Arranging fallen hopes
Into a dead rouleau
And you and I so un-suspect
Of pending alchemy
Believing we were safe inside
Cocoons of normalcy.
Our naiveté so firmly grasped
Caused us to belie
The chaos we knew not …
‘twas there, and drawing nigh
As Wind fingers touched him
He yelled out his decree:
“ The Prince of Avarice shall reign
And destroy Democracy!”
His school of ghouls, dunce and fools
Clamored to his side
Greed having won the day
Was about to take It’s ride!
Greed, first blessed the banks
And Wall Street did rejoice
The Prince of Avarice then silenced
All protestor ‘s voice
With lies and propaganda
All fabricated well
Then all the bankers rang
The borrowers death knell
Morgan Stanley, AGI,
Then ‘twas Goldman-Sachs
Raking in what Greed gave out:
Billions in green-backs.
Glutted bankers,
Through laughter Greed had honed
Uncaringly showed the world
A prediction - their prodrome
Of broken dreams, foreclosure schemes
Insuring that which failed
But jobs the cost, as homes were lost
And not a banker jailed.
You were born in Clermont, Queensland on December, twenty-four,
Away back circa eighteen sevn'ty-two.
Edward Jones now had a fifth child, whom his dear wife Anna bore,
Their second son and both were proud of you.
They'd migrated out from Ireland back in eighteen sixty-three
And sailed upon the good ship Beejapore.
Landing at Rockhampton harbour in the Queensland colony,
Resettling on a strange and foreign shore.
Childhood days behind you Victor you then joined the work force lad,
Assigned to a gold mining company.
In the range town of Mt Morgan you enjoyed the job you had;
A diligent and loyal employee.
You assisted the paymaster, though you left your posting when
You chose to join your countrymen at war.
For you heard the call of duty and you joined Mt Morgan men
To fight for Queen and country 'gainst the Boer.
Volunteering as a member of the gallant Q.M.I.
You proudly donned that feather in your hat.
First Contingent of B Company you waved this land good-bye,
Enrolled as British troops and went to bat.
Rebel Boers embarked on raiding farms of loyal colonists
In Griqualand west district to the north.
Counter measures were then put in place to stop these terrorists
By sending Pilcher and his column forth.
On the last day of December circa eighteen ninety-three
This force would march from Belmont heading west.
Information was forthcoming as to where the Boers could be
And Ricardo led his party which was soon put to the test.
On the first day of that New Year Victor Jones you lost your life;
They buried you at Sunnyside that eve.
Since that day the world's continued to be filled with war and strife,
So many die for what they do believe.
But the nation recognises that the first Australian
To die upon the battle field was you.
So Mt Morgan folk erected to your memory young man
A monument; the least that they could do.
In the not too distant future Victor, nations may yet see,
How precious all their young men really are.
Then refrain from sacrificing them and let the young men be,
Fine fathers to their families, not memories afar.
The Earp brothers all gathered, and stood in a row with their own large tashes
Along with Doc Holliday, thought they would give the cowboys a good bashing
Doc Holliday, under the cover of his coat; was loaded with cream buns in hand
Virgil after a quick slurp of his bun got the first shot in on Billie’s chest did land
Two buns in hand, Doc Holliday, then brought good looker, Tom McLaury down
Once down young Tom McLaury was as never again to rise up from the ground
Wyatt Earp, who owned between all the Earp brothers the bigger of the tashes
Tombstone rumour had it; it was only there to cover up one almighty of rashes
Hit Frank McLaury, with a cream chocolate éclair, who gave one, back in return
But as Frank was allergic to chocolate his wound gave him righty some concern
Ike Clanton and Billy Claiborne, young’uns who like to use butties and not buns
Both turn on their well spurred cowboy boots heels, and like hell started to run
Shot Frank McLaury, and Billy Clanton, managed to lob a few more cream buns
Virgil Earp and Brother Morgan, along with Doc Holliday they all got it in return
30 seconds later the cream bun fight of the OK Corral, was all done and dusted
Earp’s brothers with their big tashes, as the Doc had gave all they could muster
Billie Clanton, Tom as Frank McLaury were left on the ground covered in cream
Never to rise again as be a part of the badly organized notorious cowboy team
Sheriff Behan, a witness but not involved, on account he was eating his burger
Decided enough was enough, charged the Earp’s and Doc Holliday with murder
They say that day over 30 cream buns were thrown, that’s what they reckoned
In all that making it one cream bun thrown at each other, for every one second
Later on, Ike Clanton, and Billie Claiborne, returned to hand in their statements
But the Tombstone justice of peace threw the case out on grounds of mitigation
So the tashed Earp brothers Virgil, Morgan and Wyatt with the Doc walked free
Lucky for them, as it meant there would be no hangings, from the hanging tree