Long Pact Poems
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Written: June 07, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
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The Phantom Choir
In the quiescence of last Sunday,
Prophecy heralded the hour past two,
I heard a whisper at hibiscus dawn—
a seamless voice I swore I always knew.
In blissful flutter—it said night was wide,
Chrysalis sorrow stirs a bed for fools,
that in the hush, when hearts collide,
The lost willows are left to wade in pools.
Facing the kernel until the street thinned,
And my shadow’s sepals bled away,
Rusted voice strings within me spoke again—
It's hymn frills poised for slow decay.
The Hollow Pact
Will I wake to descry my cracked mind,
emptied of all its sharpened teeth?
Will murky echoes break their binds,
Or gnaw beneath the sheath?
The alchemy battle sparks, but I am dust—
wispy strands, a soldier tied in flimsy chains.
Each idea erodes the periwinkle ones I trust,
while the weight of stress remains.
You graze me with a maze—why do I stand so still?
Resurrection of the soul—so why shake your hands?
But dread can have its way to fulfill—
The transcendence of love is lost in vicious demands.
The Third Mourning
Wise chakras buried beneath the walls I built,
the zen voice still scrawls its wordless plea.
It concedes my yantra’s vulnerability, my guilt,
peers where peacock pleadings wane into a spree.
It hums inside the tremors of sapphire light,
I close my eyes as it runs over lily-filled shorelines.
Bits of lunar-glazed silver dust grow in quiet nights,
and procrastinated pledges become lies.
In my dour dreams, it tells me not to resist—
“You know that silken shivers favor sound.”
Amid cyan azure peace, I learn misery persists,
for flickers of love fear the burial mound.
The Acoustic Waltz
In nocturnal dryness—sing soft verses in the dark,
claims the enamored inked words are not hers.
She plucks cerulean hymns without leaving a mark,
The tune of her carved kohl was lost in slurs.
She sways in the russet yarns of neon glow,
bows beneath the ricochet’s wild haze—
a phantom waltz in katabatic motion, moving slow.
a cosmic voice garden, too faint to truly be a maze.
Her pocket holds a ring of black gem glass,
won as a child’s dare, a piece of smitten ink.
She warms it, sighs, and watches it pass
through flaming flecks—hands that fight to sink.
I let your eyes to visualise a garden on a loom;
Bluebells and marigolds in sway and lavender in bloom;
And there to play in a luscious green two kittens wrestling;
Up high in chirping swallow's play are feathered friends a-singing.
A figure of a handsome man is settled on a chair;
And by his side a beauty pure strokes lovingly his hair;
The Witch, or so the story plays, is set to work a-stitching;
For everyday she works to lay the groundwork for her witching.
The "Loom of Dunkele" is dark and glistens as if new;
That which it forges is by spelling set to render true;
This vessel handed down through time where Witches are sure wed;
Commutes it powers to the offsprings through that marriage bed.
At 35 she must be bride and to a handsome beau;
For Dunkele demands that beauty seeps through row to row;
The Witch beholden to this pact must honour this or else;
The Dunkele will take her beauty for its very self.
Dunkele demands a beauty in it's natural mould;
The Witch must weave the magic seams without her vêtements;
As pure as a newborn should she display her nakedness;
For Dunkele gave a perfect body not to be redressed:
No blemish, painting, marking, piercing for her skin to bear;
No jewellery should adorn her parts no braids within her hair;
Should she ignore these rulings and would set about to loom;
The magic would reverse all workings never to resume.
Above the loom, portraits in rows, of Witches one and all;
Each face a picture of a beauty unimaginable;
Throughout all time the loom has served and must forever more;
Or else a terrible curse be laid upon each maiden's door:
Indeed, to pander verily to a Dragon's carnal needs;
The Witch must feed on blood and guts and do as Dragon pleads;
Forever trapped in a darkened lair, no view of sun or sea;
The Witch would disappear from sight, no trace or history.
For 20 years this loom she spins as was the bargain made;
And in this time her beauty shone, success and wealth her aid;
Now in an hour the carpet loomed but for a patch to fill;
A slip of hair should she prepare to weave into the mill.
Then once complete the spell to speak releasing her shalom;
To lead her to that wondrous place where there awaits Handsome;
This rite of passage like forebears would guarantee the Witch;
Leaves on the blood line of her ilk a rich continuous stitch.
… On The Gist of Where A Gather Melts Hate’s Glacier
On The Nexus of Need & Knowing True Love’s Nature
On The Passage of Innocence To Please Forgive Us Prayers
On The Way To Meet Wide Open Arms of Our Maker
On Edge of Evening and Eden’s Promised Favors …
stretched The Trail of Soft Footfalls Towards Forever …
There Lay A Storm-Tossed Loch Between The Rifts
A Charcoal Sky That Seemed Heavy & Propped By Stilts
She Was At The Limits of Her ‘All That She Could Do Lists’
She Was On The Verge of Vanishing Into Vanity’s Myths
While Searching Between Urgency and An Internal Eclipse
… ventured the Interim of Soft Footfalls Towards Forever
She Took One Last Stiff ‘Uisge Beatha’ Spirit-Sip To Lips
She Heard The Last, Lone Note of A Bagpipe’s-Signal, Lilt
Envisioned The Strong Stance & Clan Colors of His Kilt
and The Rich-Hued-Tow Head, Which Shone Like Gilt …
as He Strode The Soft Footfalls Towards Forever …
(Her Eyes Closed But Her Course Kept At Canter)
Eyes Closed … Tho’ That’s Not Why It Had Gone Black
She Can Nay See How To Finish Thru To Their Trek-Pact
She Must Rest On A Narrow, Not-Well-Beaten Path
Will He Cover The Distance From What Her Last Legs Lack?
… Even If She Has Stopped & Dropped Dead In Her Tracks
Will He Come To Find and Bring Her Unfalteringly Back? …
from Earth-Packed, Soft Footfalls Towards Forever?
Her Eyes Closed, But True Love’s In-Sight, Closes Never
He Found Her, Eyes Closed … Swollen, Squeezed Into Slits
He Saw The Puffed Flesh Where The Poison Had Been Spit
He Saw Her and Traced The Tears She’d Held Back Then Spilt
Saw Her Lovely Face Framed By Curly Dark-Red, Wet-Wisps
& Finger-Nail Marks Where Her Hands Clenched Into Wee Fists …
Formed & Fashioned Her Soft Footfalls Towards Forever …
(His Bonny Lass, Woven In His Tartan & Tam’s Token Feather)
He Saw The Emerald Heirloom Wrapped Around Her Wrists
But He’d Not See In This World, Her Twin Sparkles, Again A–Glist’
His Own Eyes Became Mirrors of A Flooded Dam That Split
He Took On The Burden That She Had Endured This Tryst
Yet He Could Not Bear The Thought of Her Feeling A–Jilt
As He Carried Her Where Clouds Covered Them Like Quilts
Each Sorrowed Step & Stone & Step Spanned Breach & Breath & Built …
the Bridge That Balances & Blankets: Footfalls Towards Forever …
(to be continued on Part 3 of 3)
Written & ©: 1/ 3-6 /2013
by: MoonBee Canady
King Henry VIII and His Wives
By Elton Camp
When Henry’s brother was too young to care
He was made to wed a princess from over there
But you must do just what we say little fella,
Catherine's the child of Ferdinand and Isabella
Catherine had not been Queen for very long
When things with her mate went badly wrong
Medicine was weak. To save him, doctors tried
But despite all they did her young prince died
With Spain, England had a pact
The agreement must stay intact
Henry was then a child of eleven
Hardly a betrothal made in heaven
Henry married at age eighteen
And Catherine became his queen.
Though it is quite sad to have to tell
The queen’s babies didn’t fare well
To bring her husband true joy
She must give birth to a boy
She bore him just a single son
Who died before a year had run
Though married for twenty-four years,
Henry gave voice to his greatest fears
“I have married the wife of my brother
When I should have waited for another.”
But he said this with a sly grin
While he kissed Anne Boyeln
She refused to go to his bed
Until the two were set to wed
Anne produced a baby right away
But ‘twas a girl to Henry’s dismay.
He thought she had done a crime
When both babies died next time
“I’ve been down this road before.
It’s clear you are just a whore.”
No more shall you see my bed.
Rather, you will lose your head.
Jane Seymour was next on the list
So that Anne was scarcely missed
From Jane, virtuous and fair,
There came at last a male heir
Infection was the reason why
The queen proceeded to die
Henry at her death was distraught
But the new child filled his thought
Anne of Cleves was next to arrive
Had a problem, managed to survive.
Henry found he didn’t like her well
“This German woman is ugly as hell.”
The next queen to unfurl
Was just a teenage girl
Catherine Howard was her name
But she was not free from blame
Culpepper was her boyfriend
She had confessed at the end
And unlike the wives before
This one truly was a whore
Catherine Parr became wife six
She did not try to use any tricks
To her, duty came above
Even the man she did love
Of this bad background cannot be any doubt
It is how the Church of England came about.
Who of the people could expect to be a winner
By adhering to a religion formed by a sinner?
...she was ensnared within her prized gardens
There among a tempest of roses.
Entangled in the mournful whispers
of…
Weeping willows
From noon till night.
Within her bustling haven,
the envy of neighbors.
A source of joy and delight.
But her constant aching heart
desired so much more.
Her poor lonely husband
Once he was robust and
brimming and strong
with vitality...
Now his soul has withered
in the desolation
of his ongoing prison of solitude.
Like a leafless tree...
stripped bare by winter's icy grip…
His heart was shattered.
For upon the porch's creaking rocker /
...his soul dwindling...
...its motion faltering...
Stops...
She suddenly grasped the vastness...
of her loss?
Such an ache colossal.
Crying out to God!!
her tears flowing like a raging
roaring river:
"Restore my free!!!"
A glimmering thought emerged in her
a forbidden whisper:
"Conjure a deal, the deal, with nature...
and it will be granted."
An Epiphany as a glimmering thought
emerged:
His thumb... a sharp knife...
a cursed gift...
a grower’s unholy art...
A malevolent pact with nature /
rending her life asunder.
Then new life stirred within the
shadow's cryptic realm //
From fresh tilled dirt and top soil ground //
A sinister transformation...
...a harbinger,
sprout of chilling qualms.
On All Hallows Eve /
stirred by the relentless creaking...
of...
the...
chair.....
She rushed and she stumbled
for she was caught
in despair's whirlwind.
Her heart pulsated
rhythmically in tune.
The moon...
a spectral lantern /
Drenching the desolate landscape /
in silver light...
Casting ominous and writhing shadows...
that echoed with...
The dread of Walpurgisnacht.
A nightmare,
a beautiful grotesque masterpiece:
His form, hideous contorted,
agrarian exhorted,
A thumb oozing... with /
red and green blood...
Nature itself warping and ravenous.
"My Groom," as she spoke to this agrarian figure.
Now Love is ensnared in a sinister compact...
never to relinquish its grip.
Her Fervent devotion /
embodied in the...
Mandrake Sprout's insidious clasp.
Slowly rocking, miraculously...
...a dichotomy,
back and forth as the moon departed...
Entwined for eternity...
Bound in a loving unholy pact.
A world changes course
expelling the good grim reaper
twisted joke
entering this forbidden zone
called democracy
Careless acts of violence black and white
mothers burying their children
so much tears soak the very grounds
salt of this earth
where moral order breaks down
in societies failure
A bad replacement shapeshifting demons rule
Where no longer they care about peoples suffering
removing God's teachings from schools
so our forefathers died in vain blood of our ancestors
Taking away human rights
amnesty international laugh a minute
lawless democracies without proper vision
killing without just cause tyrants bragging ill will
Without facing the justice of all lands
Murder is murder so says the judge above all
stealing is robbing without deeds aquired
laid down by the Lord on stone himself
We all know its the devil's playground now
Darkness of your souls reek with many lies told
When fancy coated words fall out vomit
from the mouths who ware suits
As that is a trademark
of the biggest robbers there is
Stealing even by stealth or forced to ground
poisionous morals killing the seed of truth
sewn from the garden of lust dark or light
Open your eyes blind beggars of hell
disfunctional greedy merchants and war criminals
alike you all sign a pact together like wolves
we see the suffering and torment of your weapons
tipped with poison blaming everyone but yourselves
Creating hate through your neverending violence
amongst the innocent victims raped of everything
God be merciful unto your rotten souls
Damning the victims with your pride filled agendas
we all become victims if we sit without a voice listen pride
Peace is the way forward that looks above and beyond
stand down dark spirits your lust knows no bounds
drunken with greed
Light of our saviour will come
one day supreme commander
I will kneel to the creator
When this earth goes into darkness again
we need to pray for salvation
no longer do we walk
but stumble in the pathway
of his loving ways
Rock of faith we stand strong
for our childrens sake
to give them a future generation
Mercy shake hands
make Eden beautiful again
The signs are coming to pass
to celebrate the happiness and joy
Heaven above the angels will sing
from Juniper’s Daughter:
War Is Obsolete – Futility and Hope
By Nick Armbrister
Caught Up In a Fairy Tale
My dreams haunt me as does the music, drunk I dance to the mesmerizing tales told by the songs of 25 years ago, as real now as back then. The heady rush of the moment takes me and lifts me up ever so high until my primeval fear snatches my euphoria away like committing an armed robbery on a child for his sweets.
Cold war nightmare returns with a dozen vengeances as I dare to lift the veil of the nightmare, I only wanted to peek inside! Nena and Frankie got it right in their two songs 99 Red Balloons and Two Tribes. We really did live in a nightmare but with such erotic desires - do anything you want do coz after they drop the bomb and nuke us all in World War3 no one will be left to care or give a damn.
I hear my mother ask me what you want for Xmas son. Mother I want this... to go back to Xmas in 1986 and to see a nuclear war, for the Warsaw pact/Soviet forces to come across the Fulda gap and the north German plain. For NATO to stop their conventional forces with tactical nukes after air power fails, the heady rush of nuclear escalation killing us all, overwhelming our planet irradiating our world darkening our skies with nuclear mushroom clouds.
On and on and on I writhe in ecstatic enjoyment seeing the work of the devil thru Christian believing Western men bringing on the end of their, our, world stopping the heathen red menace with all they’ve got. You see it was a matter pride not common sense that made them react they were trained well.
Now after watching my Xmas gift, I ask to go home. I hear no reply. Slowly it dawns on me, I can’t go home and there is no home. Just an irradiated world stuck in Xmas 1986, totally destroyed. What did I wish for? Am I dreaming a nightmare that I’m stuck in, did the veil fall after I looked inside drawing me in a prisoner?
I can say what a f*ckin' rush, I don’t need drugs they’re for pussies I just need my Cold War music and my mind that is like a television. On and on the music plays as the Pershing 2 and Cruise Missiles launch as F-16s and other jets battle it out in the winter heavens as the countdown to the end begins.
Who said the darkness wasn’t fun? Who did win in the end of the world?
Family Ties
Brothers should I leave you
And travel life for years without you
And should I never return to our home
Remember it was I who journeyed alone
And should the time in passing
Bring me memories of regret
Should the entire world forget?
To search for you when you are missing
And so ask yourselves why
Why should my brother be leaving?
And why for so long has he wandered solitary
Never returning
Brothers on some momentary day spent wishing
Without recognition
By my side you where resting
And did not speak my name
And in all the land and cities seen
None of your faces have been
While our blood and our brotherhood meandered through foreign streets
Less than a thought away
And should I never greet you again
Before this departure had made its pact
Would you stand by my door?
Lest you be turned away
The cold trap of our families living
And the continuous undiscovered lie
It was
That kept my feet from turning
For so long and farewell you have lost me
And for more than years have you waited
This silent reminder beckoned to me
To remind me of you
“ It was in April of 91 that I first returned, after traveling and working abroad. My
knock on our old blue front door was not greeted with smiles, but with vexed and
unwelcoming eyes. On my back a rucksack, on my feet old worn boots. This was the last time
I saw our Father and these were his only words.”
“You can’t stay here.” He even repeated it to make sure I had heard.
“You can’t stay here.”
“ I did not know it then, as I know now; of the filth he has fated and intended to my
life. Yet ever his fear of discovery built his lies for me. My last words to him were
these……..
“Do you see these boots?” I asked, “they are more than five years old and the most
comfortable boots I have ever worn. That’s a pretty good life for a pair of boots don’t
you think?”
And with those boots and my rucksack on my back I walked away. Not for a moment did he ask
me to stay or offer a moments ease, a cup of tea, or inquire as to where I was heading.
There was no farewell as up the road and into a different life I went walking.
Brothers should I leave you
And travel life for years without you
And should I never return to our home
Remember it was I who journeyed alone
I am promenading in the woods
Whistling at the birds
The rays of the sun
Now and again interrupting my vision
Then something moves
Something- like a woman
Her glamour- what say?
I halt- the power attending
How very smashing
She moves, actually peacocks
Towards me; closer, closer
Now I am all smiles
All smiles and tears
Her arms outstretched
Mine, too, outstretched
We are now drawing closer
we are moving
Like we were on the moon
With a spring, bouncing
Slowly towards an embrace
Eyes, ears, arms and smiles
The whole machine feeling for company
Full of nothing but joy
As the distance between us narrows
I hear small bells tolling
I hear small babies pattering
I hear the laughter of maidens
And as we lock our arms together
In a violent embrace
There in the woods
I see beautiful nymphs
All around our embrace
Holding their parasols high
Dancing to the reggae
In the tropical sun
All this I see, and more…
I notice that while locked we stood
With my bountiful beloved
A thousand maidens emerge
All in white and with roses
And yellow scarves
In each hand a bouquet
Of the best assortment of flowers
On their lips stands a song
Which I know to one
Composed by a great poet
To all that trade in marriage
I smile at my beloved
The queen of my soul
And as we walk in state
I see gold in her finger
And more on mine
I kiss her brow and lo!
The perfume!
The diamonds surrounding!
Then the doors of the cathedral
Open in front of us
At the pulpit- the bishop
His eyes raised above us
The Holy Book in place
And on either side
The attendants:
All practitioners of the faith!
We step inside the edifice
The congregation stands
And sings a welcome;
The train behind us
The bishops and attendants
The tolling of the bells
The bride and maids
And I the Prince.
All these I see, and more…
As we seal the pact
And vow to God
To be, now and always
Till death do us part
And set our hands
To ‘these presents’
I see twins at the brook
By our country home
Playing hide and seek
And mother and father
Standing hand in hand
Watching them, bemused
And I see a house
Happy and prosperous
Where dwell two pretty maidens
And three handsome lads
And the greatest promise
Sealed in the woods
Is kept.
And I wake up
To the ticking of the clock
After the hour of eight
And all the sorrows of bachelorhood
Come knocking at my door!
Each cock that crows in the morning
mourns the death of dusk.
The silent sunrise reminds sages of the
reality of human mortality.
Thirsty, mother-earth drinks the teardrops
from the soiled skies;
ever hungry, the garden feasts on feeble leaves
from trees in autumn;s wake.
Each new moment dances with radiant rays,
only to be nailed on a nocturnal cross
when shadows betides.
Every being with blood and breath
entered a pact with vanity before birth;
Human existence is a sacred script
scribed with an invisible ink...
writing nothing on something.
The reality of yesterday
cannot rid today of its obscurity,
uncertainty sweetly sleeps in the
womb of... time to come,
time and chance melt into memories,
memories that roam in the human mind.
Years, months and days distil
into sweet and sorry stories.
Moments is what life offers us
on a platter of preference:
a time to live and a time to leave
this world of wealth and want;
seasons stop by to sigh--
weather whispers words of wisdom.
we are who we are; the earth
exists in spaces and stratas.
The sinking sand on which we stand
is willing and waiting,
it will take nothing from us
but that which we cannot afford:
Nothing but the dignified dust that we are.
I know two mindless weights
that make all things equal:
Twenty-four-hours-a-day and
six-feet under mother-earth.
Alas, there are two dates not
hidden from the lustful gaze of fate:
when the womb opens the
narrow gate to human existence
and when the tomb opens wide
the gate to extinction… afterlife.
There is going to be a word on the marble
that we will not live to write or read,
Yet it will be a concise piece of our deeds;
all what we wrote on life.
Time and chance will knock again
and again on the door of destiny;
So, cloister your memoir with courtesy
while you yet live in this frail field.
Only few men crave the den of darkness,
dust and ashes, but it is the truth is
that all men will run into it at a point in time;
There is a time to be born
and a time to bid life farewell,
Twain moments that sandwich the opportunity
...to live for humanity or live in mediocrity.
Adeleke Adeite © September, 2012.
Sponsor SKAT A
Contest Name free verse (old/new)
Contest Description
1 original, poem on the theme of ......free verse .......
Any form is acceptable.