Long None Poems
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The Joy of the Lord
Many battles have been fought
Although the war is still ongoing
The darkness tries to overtake but joy comes in the morning
A glimmer of radiant light reminds me of your grace to set the worries down
Like a garment I put on, your joy wraps me like a cloak
A reminder of the blessings
And gratefulness for small things
The glorious waves roll in and out and remind me of your love
The flowers in all their magnificent beauty and intricate petals in radiant colour
Shine for all to see
The sunset in hues of orange and purple painted by a master artist
Remind me that impending darkness and gloom
Dispelled by choosing joy
Joy is a choice
That grace is given for
Sadness is displaced
The strength to stand another day
Small battles are conquered in the middle of this war
The river does not overtake and wash away hope
The Joy of the Lord is my strength
Despite the crumbling all around
Shattering destruction and unraveling
Chaos in the streets
Joy conquers all
None can take away
Peace that overwhelms
A light to the world
As I choose amazing joy!
Grace Daub
September 2, 2020 For Regina McIntosh “The Joy of the Lord” contest
Short but beautiful,
Beautiful and dutiful.
Dutiful in deligience,
Deligent and intelligent.
The mood of thy pleasantries,
Wroth fables of dignities.
Your egg-y shaped physiognomy,
Mount emotions in hurry.
The smiles of thy face,
Is embroided with bewitching triats.
The venom of thy eyeballs,
Pierce through the rigidity of juvenile's hall.
You're wonderfully made,
And gorgeously create.
None can thy bride price paid,
But a Juvenile bewitched with grace.
Me-take this not as a woo,
But a praise of my friend boo.
When i think of you,
With the aid of celestial rule.
The shape of your shadow,
Barges into life more hollow.
Thou art a queen: Indeed,
Full of optimum grace to feed,
All being that cross thy path,
And blossomly for they that are your part.
Me-take this not as a woo trends,
But as a praise to my boo's friend.
Haddassah: Esther,
Yea,the queen of all fiestas.
Thou art been metamorphosed,
To light from darkness force.
Thou owe worry no dime,
For with you has my g.f dine.
And she'd promised me heartily,
To convey you relentlessly to his territory.
The Elegant maiden of his sanctuary!
c.2017
* o
O
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Fills a cup with words
none are olive-sized )))
- nor too tremendous ))
Drink it every morning ))
before the sun rises ))
))
Fills my cup with colors ))
some are as lemonade ))
- poignant sweetness ))))
deeper tones indicate mystery
A color drama with
positive energies
01.06.2023
Anne-Lise Andresen
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Number 1220 contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
4th place in the contest
White man in the jungle;
Inner city ghetto Harlem;
Gramps getting old;
I was just a main streamer;
None of this makes any sense;
He’s not getting any younger walkin round town;
Ghetto town trin to be bad real hip now yah!!
I am out in the bars liquor joints pool halls, all my life;
Hustling stealing begN all my life;
None of this makes any sense;
Beggin from my mama and them
Beggin from my daddy bro I’m sadly
Running a red light pigs see me;
Just their delight more police brutality;
None of this makes any sense;
Now scared need to git out of here;
People all gathering in the streets;
Prostitutes and Pimps calling each other sweet;
People united maybe together
None of this makes any sense;
United maybe gathering on the roads;
Little dogs getting run over;
Surrounding the area none of this makes no sense;
Cut the baloney
Mass Harmony
Black man in rich man’s heaven no gasoline to put in our cars;
Ma just turned ninety-seven there’s a shortage on liquids water and Kool-Aid;
There’s no alcohol, beverages for bars;
Talking to myself I’m in such a mess a hell mess;
None of this makes any sense;
Nowhere to have I felt blessed
In and out old rest homes sanitariums institutions
I’m her son, still in and out bars, pool halls dealN drugs this ain’t no life;
People gathering in the street;
None of this makes any sense;
A little boy gets run over;
Gang violent surrounding the area;
People all together for one common cause my brother;
Come on sing with me people voice your views;
Change your mindset and your tools;
None of this makes any sense;
Follow the right directions based on falsities not truths, What?
Come on brothers and sisters sing sweet harmony;
Area none of this makes no sense;
Cut the baloney
Mass Harmony
7/15/74
Written words by James Edward Lee ©1974, 2019
Faint stars of a bleary sky
don't show the brilliance of clouds
witnessed by the shining eyes
of an inquisitive boy
who lived under them dreaming
and moved by absolute fascination;
he was alone admiring
a firmament too grand
to be comprehended
by an adolescent mind
immersed in sheer contemplation.
Who has a vivid remembrance
of the depth of embittered regrets,
more aware of the passing time
than youth and time never attest?
Who has reflected upon these
and not felt a nostalgic wish to relive
what was too beautiful to be taken away
by fate which never poses to give one
a minute to breathe with ease
and dream according to age?
Who has thought of his mortality
and realized how brief is existence
lived with purpose or none?
I pondered on it continuously
and accepted its accountability
had I come short of my intent!
Faint stars and a bleary sky repress light
and hide the splendor seen on clear nights,
bleariness diminished the intense awareness
of the senses and being overwhelmed
by feelings of discontent, it remains distressed...
until that sunrise gleams invade and delight!
I would have renounced this life
to save someone else about to die
and get the laurel of heroism
that many want without a sacrifice;
I would have given my breath
to let another person succumbed
to a tragic and rare circumstance
regardless of human strength,
live more days that cruel fate
would never have allowed;
don't quick decisions contradict
the dominant altruism?
Let those faint stars scatter through a midnight storm,
no memory of a bleary sky must hang on thoughts;
my youth was joyful searching for lively rainbows,
for adventurous dreams that fantasy couldn't transform!
It has been frequently said, that fervent prayers make a world of difference!
I am thereby calling upon the God of the heavens and the earth, to heal our people and our divided lands. And let not our enemies triumphant over us!
It is all too sad but none the less true! People in positions of wealth, power and influence have sold out our countries to powerful enemy nations!***
They have betrayed the very people, who elected them.
They have betrayed the very people by misinformation.
They have betrayed the very people who they educate. ***
They have betrayed the very people, whose money they
invested. They have sold out their medical resource systems.
They have betrayed the very people, who are their employees.
They have betrayed the very people, who they entertain. etc. ***
They have done far more than to sell out their countries' populations! They have sold out their souls to the very devil himself! "For what is a man profited, if he should gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his own soul?" Matthew 16:26. The same general rule of thumb applies for the feminine gender as well.
What must we do, but pray that God Almighty prevents them from further selling their own countries down the river to a certain rich communist country! This country has world dominion on its very mind! In fact they even consider the European nation of France as one its provinces. If they completely succeed in taking over the United States of America? What chance do other countries have in retaining their own freedoms! Only the Lord God will be able to stand in their way!
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
November 14, 2020
11/14/20
A bruised heart scorned, sacred vows of a saint, sorrows of
unrequited lovers—art is what you paint—I Am Anaya
A Models Likeness
Hues of magentas and white acrylic silky spells
Vibrant colors mixed from his palette he evokes
Swept over again ‘til emerging shades of eggshells
He has an ability to convey a sense of deep melancholy
and yearning in much of his work
Thus, the reason she chose him furiously,
at first for whatever it took
to capture her in what she is to atone for,
her fate to be.
With bated breath the artist brushes swirling strokes
A finished background, now ready for her face sedate
A statuesque quality she provokes
More lugubrious than usual, she tells him she sat up late
worrying her fiancé be held up on the way
The model has been helpful he thought to himself
although she stood very still for him, all day.
He paints her salient gown next, her pose engaged
Her smile feigned, lips swollen red, from biting he detects
A glance of an earlier sketch traced of her enraged
He hides it while diluting color to match her pale skin
Languid and weak holding back her tears,
she summons him to begin again.
Her inner likeness fails to appear, still he proceeds
Rest and ease your mind
What do you hear? The renowned realist artist pleads
Think of times when life was kind
She protests it is no use, tells him to let it be,
He agrees, lifting his brush and with its pointy end,
he then turns her head slightly, thirty degrees
Back to the canvas a figure now transcends.
A husband’s absent journey down the aisle
leaves her alone but with a phantom kiss
A soul rendered vacant from callous guile
A portrait of doom gazing into an abyss
What would’ve shown through paint; pain and sorrows
The artist knows what needs to be done, none the less
Lest what may have been in the lover’s tomorrows,
‘twas the painter's blissful ode to her wedding dress.
Cover this stained façade with my tears
Streaking in rust down this immortal skin
I see the ravens fire rise rocket into the dark sky
Thunder resounds at its dark core
Rusted as feudal lords hide
Hot as the rusted iron worms bore
Winged machines of iron and glass
Thoughts seep into the sleep of gods
Winged shadows perform sacred rites
Bullet the frosty wind of desolation‘s boulevard
Greedy for the seeds of a bitter dry hell
Infernal white, brimstone burn
Bone marrow n stone
This eternal sorrow, of this immortal soul
Deep at the break of dawn
Taste the ashen flesh of sinner and savors
A song of a Golden Heaven resounds, high
This immaculate sky by creation flies, nigh
Tingling of touch, searing of thought,
Blazing in brilliant sight, born deep in sleep
I am wings spread in rudy hue
I feel shadows covering this strange façade
Cling fast from the fading Light
The dying of the Day
The dying of the Last,
Dawn covers forevermore
The currents of an idle mind, void
The moments of judgment to come
The nuclear fire lights
A city full of desire, destroyed
Cry for the troubled waters of creation
The essence of life, wars die hard
In the mouth of the lambs
The lambs to the slaughter
The slaughter of innocence
Spill the tears of an immortal soul
The seeds of an immaculate ejaculate
Cry for the hated deeds done
By some unknown
Known by none, see how they run
The run of rusted tears down a ruined trails
Feel the rotting of these iron hells
See the fading grand empire
Of broken glass
Twisted crosses
Iron wings cover this machine made flesh
A fragile fractal facade
A face so delicately sable
Intricate fingers flex, contract, interweaving
Made of fire, traceing the light of dawn
Made of strings, springs
Some dark strange things
Somethings sit here at the door
Where my shadows dare
Somewhere someone has flown
Under a cold moon running from the sun
Grim passing in the world outside
Iron wings cover me forevermore as pyers, rises
A man’s honor, n pride dies
In these minions of chaos
On the legions of Eternal Watch
Fly these iron wings spread
Their glory, rise flying high
Into a red ragged raging, sky
Into the demise of the glorious
Rays breaking from Valhalla’s Holocaust
An old photograph sits stuffed in an unlikely corner
of a forgotten book, tucked away in plain sight,
but with none to read it -
none who care to.
The book highlights rules, orders,
guidelines that put the reader to sleep.
The picture highlights a bygone era,
black and white the norm.
A dapper gentleman appears, smirking,
wearing the same uniform as I -
and yet his seems to speak more volume,
crisp on his photogenic frame.
A lovely dame has her arm through his,
smiling as wide as can be -
I can only surmise the joy they found
all those years ago.
A tree overhangs them in the background,
looking for all the world like it was there
for the express purpose of this held memory;
picturesque doesn't scratch the surface.
On the other side, another photograph:
this one of the same man, in different clothes.
A flight jacket, goggles, and khaki pants,
posed outside a bird's open cockpit.
Both photographs beckon through the keyhole,
for the viewer to glimpse through to antiquity;
gently they're placed back in their place of rest,
for another on duty to catch that fleeting glance.
There are few things cannot be fused today.
Even the impossible, there always is a way.
Whenever two things, we need them to meet.
We find a way, even if it’s a miraculous feat.
Something that humans are yet to achieve.
Is a phenomenon that’s very hard to believe.
There is a wide chasm that so many dread.
It’s the gulf between the living and the dead.
Clairvoyants and soothsayers all have tried.
None really have contacted those that died.
Have some really seen ghosts and a spirit?
Did they actually get up close and near it?
Have they returned from Heaven back to earth,
Or souls roaming this planet round its girth?
Spirits not yet, been to Heaven they wait
Searching this world in vain for Heaven's Gate?
It’s not a bridge that He wants us to build.
So we could visit Heaven whenever we willed.
So apart from us seeing a ghost or phantasm.
Heaven to earth is an Unbridgeable Chasm.