Long No alternative Poems
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Within the swirling currents of stars
He materializes, a silhouette against chaos
He is the whisper throughout time of stories untold
Worn out boots pound the cracked pavement
The echoes of centuries ripple beneath him
He carries a heavy urgency within his heart
He carries the truth, secrets, and all the lies
In the alleyways where shadows conspire in silence
Sleepy eyes wide awake in the rising dawn
Boisterous laughter falters, the world stills
That moment suspended, all breaths held in
This traveling Starman opens his mouth to speak
Pausing showing his sad eyes meeting doubt
"Time is such a fragile entity" he states
"Yet it bends for those who dare listen"
He is the only sound heard, the voice of time
He outlines all that has led up to now
For his people, because to them he is a God
And The Savior is here to warn the tides
"Protect what you love and abandon frivolous material"
"Keep thy community strong and your house stronger"
"Do not worship false idols, do not give into temptation"
"And tempted you will be, The Whispering Storm is near"
Subtle gasps quickly hush as everyone huddles closer
Everyone's heart beats faster than time itself
"What lies in the Whispers of Winds is the truth"
"The truth spun drastically for one to believe"
And the legends tell once you believe there is no alternative
Your Soul becomes part of this ever-growing storm
And it becomes evil...It becomes the death...
As all you love will get swallowed with who believes
He ends with starlit tear drops falling from his eyes
For he has seen the power of the storm, he almost believed
He almost gave into temptation if it weren't for those he loved
So he protected them in the end, love prevailed his time
He turns and slowly glides past the masses of His people
Questions being thrown from every direction go unanswered
Because the only answers have to come within ones self
And those answers carry the weight of this world
Into the folds of existence upon untraveled paths
He fades...Fades away to another time, another place
Leaving only the echo of his words within their hearts
Leaving to where he knows he can never return
Because he already knows the outcome...
Written for poetry contest "Starman" on 11/18/2024
Hosted by: Tom Woody Form: Dramatic Verse
PLACED 5TH PLACE IN CONTEST
She’s dead
But will always stay alive
A beacon for everyone with a gripe
Thatcher snatcher was their war cry
When with apparent vigour
She tore asunder all society held dear
A divisive strong willed fighter
With femininity covering a steely frame
She moved gracefully among men
A force of reckoning
In a world sphere where enemies are held dear
She finally met her maker
But will never die
Her legacy outlives her presence
A formidable opponent now in a grave
With glee they gloat
Ding dong the wicked witch is finally dead
Praises and condemnation come from all over the globe
Some will assess her on her overall impact
Both then and until now
Others will always remember wrongs
That were brutally inflicted
On an apparently obedient society and country
Dragging us away from our empire building
Death always calls
He will not be out smarted
No matter the heights in politics one reaches
An end of a life
Often brings a renewed interest in the past
The bandwagon has catapulted her
Back into The limelight
When she was almost forgotten
To divide and rule seemed to have been her best skill
Her un-bending no alternative mantra
Caused much ill-will
Yet the country prospered
The right to buy scheme made
Home ownership possible
A vote buying scheme
That made the middle class grow
Pity the milk tokens are what condemns her so
She hammered a few who with
Entrenched special interest
Mangled the country
Stagnating both the economy
And society
The belief in individuality
Coupled with free market economics
Set up a house of cards that blew over
Long before she breathed her last
Virulent machismo
Where the sharks circled
Even when they smelt no blood
Overcame her eventually
She was of course partly to blame
But no one has ruled since as she did
A woman in a man’s world was she
Wielding much power
Over the men that surrounded her
Over Her party and ultimately a short sighted country
To the pinnacle of both party
And country she rose
Her handbag swung far and wide
Her three times victory
A testimony to her longevity
And he ability to play the system
She didn't invent
Rest In peace
Or pieces Maggie
You came
You Conquered and
Have now left the stage
Your legacy will be fought over incessantly
Poof issued from invisible magic dragon,
which nobody dead sea
immediately disrupting electricity
whereat mice elf (Stuart Little), i.e. me,
no particular rhyme nor reason
called Mickey, plus the missus Minnie
found ourselves literally
in the dark, no pleasant thrill
as well adjacent community
named Maple Hill
approximately few hundred
residents in toto ill
nope, no light to busy
sanity claws writing with quill
thus no alternative,
but forced to remain stock still,
the provolone ideal time
to look for cheeses crust
or crumbs, cuz thankfully tenant
occupying unit b44 never dust
nor keep their apartment
spic and span trust
ting bulge of debris under the rug
not seen by jail warden this August
two thousand nineteen,
cuz she would most likely bust
with anger, which would
bubble forth analogous just
like when volcanoes blow
off their high top
most lava lee phenomenon
unforgettable did stop
people dead in their tracks
saw Pompeii pop
yule lore for tourists to shop
for timeless dude dads till they drop
similar to yours truly at my behest
recently awoken from rest
earlier could chest
barely breathe suffocating blessed
not only mister
and missus expressed
above regarding power outage no jest
gasping for air oppressed
without electricity - society at mercy
to guarantee life hums along
without power to the people,
I forthrightly attest
idyllic climate controlled nest
comes to screeching halt
creature comfort amenities rest
at peace as if lightly
sucked by black hole
this primate unaccustomed to test
his brittle mettle,
and loathed experiment
conducted by fates forced to sweat
approximately twelve long hours est
tab bull lest
stark admittance, I would be carrion
eh, a mere snack
if archaeopteryx made guest
appearance, a quest
going awry see Jurassic Park
object lesson aye did wrest
maybe genetic tinkering,
yes think GMO
microchipped *****sapiens
created with ablest
means to weather severing
how 21st century civilization did invest
ingenious dependence banked upon,
where electrons get fervently pressed.
I don't belong or get along, my ways are different from the rest
as hard as I try it just does not fly, I can never pass that standardized test
I cannot figure on whom to pull the trigger, I simply had enough
when my blood boils to toleration zero, I can't help but fly off the cuff
Imagine here you are, and put into a situation
being told there is no need for contemplation
so just another robot you are expected to be
would you not do whatever you must to set yourself free
Living this life for so very long, waiting for a miracle to feel you belong
where is the chance to redeem yourself, this internal pain seems to prolong
calling to those claiming to be your friends, please come now to my aid
my dilemma is certainly an emotional one, you have nothing to be afraid
What can I say, it's a broken heart I have today
who not in my position, would they be able to relate
so I am left with only this one thought in mind
with no alternative, predisposed to accept my fate
I am trapped in my own reality, with this being at the core
and only recently have I been able, beginning to explore
and, yet, my senses tell me, what my heart already knows
it's a punishment from above, because of what I did not long before
You see my friend, it is true that in the end
we will all be shown what our lives were all for
having been brought to this world, was not for naught
all of our deeds, to be weighed with a heavenly score
Our lives have been recorded on video, where all that has been done does reside
and after our lives have been completed, with all this will our judgement decide
to be applauded and forever lauded, by what we have done while we were here
or to be decided differently, and forever this shame will we be forced to wear
It is not too late, I reiterate, while the breath of life is still yours
freedom of choice gives you that voice, avoid what the Almighty abhors
only days and years to us remain, to the moral and upright you should cleave
because Satan awaits to take what's his, why for an eternity should you bereave
What's the problem with homelessness,
other than the violence from which it comes
and toward which it further travels?
Why not ignore
and grow tolerance
for the inevitability of caravans
of sojourners
on pilgrimage
toward mirages
of Uniting Promised Lands?
I have more immediately pressing
everyday problems--
trimming my nails,
drying the laundry
on a rainy non-clothesline day,
raking the leaves,
mowing the lawn,
sweeping the front porch
to invite the occasional visitor,
harvesting the squash,
pulling voracious weeds,
cleaning, the gutters, rain-barrels, the truck...
feeding the birds, the kids, the garden soil...
clothing the hungry barefoot kids,
doing my nails...
Did I say that one already?
These are my at-risk immigrating priorities,
my everyday interdependent pilgrims,
projects longing for a more integral,
mutually inviting,
loving,
enchanting,
even possibly ecstatic?,
climaxing! healthy purpose.
Lawn and leaves, con-joined
birds and children, singing back and forth
wet porches and clothes
and dirty rain-barrels and gutters,
tired and depressed
worn-out
sleep-deprived visitors
right here at my doorstep
sharing our cooperatively therapeutic planet
with whatever climate health remains
before traveling further
regenerative and degenerative pilgrimages
of decomposing choice,
no alternative
homeless choicelessness.
Homelessness is too big
to therapeutically share alone.
I am too small to host
and everyday depressing
compressed to receive,
to accept with impressed renewing eyes
longing for healthy integrity
throughout my extensive habitat
of deeply
cooperatively owned responsibilities
to co-produce common healthy outcomes
for ourselves
and all our caravans,
domestic
and wildly foreign,
Internal climate pilgrimage toward integrity with beauty
and external co-empathic journeys
into wayfare homelessness,
eco-sublimation,
timeless Earth enchanting trusts
and disenchanting mistrusts
while cleaning my nails
while washing the truck.
A DUSTY OLD HURT ROAD
I was steering my car in an un-alert mode
While driving down an old dirt road
My auto was making clouds out of dust
While I was doing that which I must
My hands grasped firmly the wheel
Tightly so as to feel
To feel as I’ve never felt before
As the dust tried to even the score
I arrived in the state of Arizona in a state of disarray
The multi-colored neon lights all seemed gray
The dust had blurred my vision with insistence
As I rode down a road with death in the distance
In Phoenix I felt dead with a head formed of lead
As I lay aching and sobbing in a cheap motel bed
I am now where the word “where” means nowhere
And nothing about this land is ever clear
Everything is in shadows hidden well away
And “nowhere” becomes everywhere I ever stay
My situation is dire and dustiness pervades
As even the grayness of neon eventually fades
I hear them speaking to me loud as thunder
Those whose thumbs I am forever under
The powerful people with class and clever conversation
The regal ones lacking soul and any correct information
Phoenix faded behind me but not so the dust
As I continued to do those things I must
Following the commands of a still small voice
Granted no alternative and absent of choice
That small voice was grown when as a child was I
Growing older meant rules and regulations to defy
I was raised in an alley with my bedroom the street
And only fellow rebellions to befriend and to meet
I was a scrawny baby sparrow tossed from the nest
I was a mosquito, an itch once can’t scratch and a pest
Uptown brings me down and downtown deems depression
As midtown is mired in mayhem while silence is in session
In the appendix of the city is where I now reside
An unessential and dispensable organ of a city that lied
I’ve existed ed in places where living is a heavy load
And alas, I ran over and killed a man back on that old dusty road
© 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
My Birthday
My Birth day dawned.
Morning made me happy and gay
So many Phone calls,
wishing Very Happy Birth day.
Waited for the desired call,
that did not come.
Family busy to arrange Party,
friends are welcome.
My ears were waiting,
special call to receive sharp.
Morning rolled into noon,
I could not give up.
I became almost sure,
you must be coming in afternoon.
Morose afternoon ended,
and merged in evening soon.
Party was bright with guests,
friends and relatives enjoyed.
Posies of flower spread on table,
Precious gifts I could not avoid.
I greeted all well- wishers,
eagerly waiting for you in vain.
I suppressed my dismay,
no alternative, I had to restrain.
Party was over,
I bade bye to each guest.
I had to retire in bed,
I had to take rest.
Only hope was left,
In dream, I might be in touch,
Last expectation I cherished,
last desire was not that much.
Dream also cheated me,
I could not meet thee.
I turned older,
one year bade bye to me.
04/01/17
'STRAND CHOICE F' Contest by Brian Strand
Me and my friend was heading to somewhere by a car
It was a dead and stormy night.
Suddenly the sky is crying helplessly.
The wind is making horror sound everywhere.
There was lightening as well.
After a while the gusty wind dropped onto the glasses of car.
I couldn't see anything at a distant place.
Trees were started to fallen on the roadside.
In the mean time they blocked the high way.
There was no alternative way to pass and to reach to our destination.
We decided it's better we find out a place for our safety and we could pass our night.
It's seems we reached into the Ghost world.
We couldn't see not a single house around there.
After walking couple of minutes we noticed a shadow of a house .
It was only an old house into the dark forest.
It can be compared with an oldest giant Palace.
The main residents of that Palace were pigeons and wild owls.
Our mind was full of worries.
We had to win our fears to save us from the storm.
Finally we reached in front of the lion's door.
We had no idea how oldest that Palace was.
Inside that building was completely dark.
We couldn't see each other.
Anyhow we managed to light a candel.
The spider net was everywhere.
Some places of the ceiling was about to fall.
They needed just a feather touch.
Then they would be collapsed .
The surrounding nature of that Palace seemed that it was eagerly waiting for human flesh.
We managed a place to sleep.
There was no sleep in our eyes.
The wild foxes were barking around that Palace.
It seemed they were crying for meals.
We didn't know when we fell into the deepest sleep.
When we woke up the sun light was trying to peep through the broken windows.
It seemed we were nothing but into a horrific dream.
The road was crystal clear. There was no sign of fallen trees.
What was really happened with us then?
PROGRESS: Living
Newspapers and Magazines are different from the past
With the pictures words and format rearranged.
The striving and the needs of the people seem to last,
It is only sights and sounds that since have changed.
The buildings are now taller, and the walls are glass not stone.
The vehicles make more noise than horse-drawn carts.
There are super-market chains, instead of shops, that stood alone,
And sold everything from nails to apple tarts.
Mr Lawson penned his verses of the people in the city,
And saw the gutter children fighting in the dust.
He looked out on their faces with sorrow and with pity
But did not let them know whom they could trust.
Our people of all ages, still squat in doorways of the shops,
Or in great big cardboard boxes they call home.
The run-a-ways and homeless, as street-wise as the cops
Are left, with no alternative but to roam.
Silently crying, heavily sighing, struggling along on tired, dusty feet
We who have all that we need to without trying,
Can help if we don’t turn away when we meet…
Those tired and weary faces we see in our streets.
Sorrow and pity cannot shield our folk from harm,
When the need is for stability, by putting wrong to right,
Pity and sorrow does not hold any worth or charm,
Or keep people warm on cold wet winter’s nights
With taxes and excise filling States’ and Federal coffers,
All our governments today have enough to share
With all folk in need; fathers, children, mothers
Without a home, without food, wanting; needing care.
The goodness of our countries and our peoples are renowned,
For helping all in need and giving what they can,
We must continue fighting poverty, wherever it is found.
Giving, when need is present, whether woman, child or man.
© 2011 Wordancer
Did you think I wrote a month in a minute
Or four hundred years at the beginning of it
Do you think twenty eight days is all I need
To forget where southern fruits bleed
And stain my memory with disdain
My life has no continuation
All its history being marginalized
At the giddy edge of hate
I would not want the beginning here forever
I am a child of change
Your sins have outnumbered mine
I am always seeking a new salvation
It should be for both of us
Because if you are not saved I will sin again
Before I am trampled into dust
This is not personal now
I am too far away from it to feel anger still
It has never been personal
Color has no personality nor face
It is just an absurd marker for race.
But read me carefully
My meaning is gone to a different place
Whose excretion is all this nonsense I taste?
I must confess there are ruts of history
That would reverse my allegory
You knew you had no right to do those things
And the gall of it
You pepreptuate them still before my face
So I am not crippled by a post traumatic situation
It is the current toxin that weakens me
But I hold to resolve like a rope burning the hand
And yet I do not take it personal
I have never been lynched
Except by eyes that had no white
I have never been chased and kill
So making is a luxury
That get pacified men a noble prize
I faced them once
And I ran, but could find refuge
From this country's towering deluge
I am laying down my life for you
Because love has no alternative way
For a soldier to die away from home
For your one day of reckoning
It is easy to continue this point of view
If my history marginalizes you
But you know I have no history now
Nothing is left from the past but me
Waiting for the peace to come
Like a raven cawing