Long Rebellion Poems
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He was the Lamb that had to be slaughtered
during the Passover and without Calvary, there wouldn't have been any salvation;
nothing would have forgiven our unpardonable sin!
Christ, as Isaiah prophesied, came when Jerusalem
was in dire need of a king who promised freedom!
The Romans were the conquerors with that mighty sword,
but only the defiant Barabbas waged war against Caesar with many a rebellion!
Many say that we shouldn't venerate the cross which Jesus died upon,
but without the presence of that cross, we couldn't have been saved;
Jesus' blood gushed from it, to stain the rocks below, and wash all inequities away...
and the weeping and wailing of His mother Mary deepened when Christ expired,
as the earthquake jolted Jerusalem's streets and Temple,
to even make the envious and skeptical Priests tremble,
the radiant sun became invisible as darkness covered all;
and was it a coincidence or the undeniable fact that God Himself showed us His mercy?
We haven't carried the heavy wooden cross through Jerusalem and being whipped,
and laughed at; and we haven't seen those women cry for the Christ whom they heard speak;
and we haven't felt the agony of the most atrocious hour that He endured for us all!
An impostor wouldn't have suffered and died to become the Redeemer they awaited,
a liar wouldn't have glorified His Father and preached a Gospel that offered much hope;
History was changed at Golgotha, and human kindness nurturing divine love triumphed!
Lord Jesus, many heard you speak on the Mountain and beheld what we could not!
Lord Jesus, Andrew and John stood by you and comforted Your Mother with their tears!
As you promised the good thief...Lord, remember us, too when we testify in Your favor
or die for Your sake! Paradise awaits us, and all who believe in goodness, not evil;
the excruciating crucifixion was predestined, not being staged by Man who hated love,
it had to happen in order for Humanity to reconcile with their forsaken God of Israel!
We can never be worthy for Your sacrifice, unless we become the messengers of true faith...
to uphold truth and dignify love as you often did in words and deeds!
If we forget Your passion, nothing can magnify the purpose of Your death;
and without a shepherd, this flock will aimlessly roam among rocks and weeds!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
SPECIAL INTEREST
With the thought processes of the masses overwhelmed
By the heavy burden
Of no influence on policy
And with little scope for advancement
Up the greasy pole
Insurrection and rebellion abound
Catching the chattering classes off guard
Traducing a broke government is the new game
To incite discontent and to pander to
Front page democracy the new weapon
Of those whose frustrations
Know no bounds
Unions and lobbyist throw their
Handbags out their prams
Yet they provide no new income streams
For a government on its knees
The pension pot is the new not to
Be touched holy grail
Its reverence brings to the fore those
Who wish every proceeding generation
To pay for today’s profligacy
Money comes money goes
Often the government seems to have none
To spend it all on special interest
Is a very selfish goal
This new era of austerity is but long overdue
A curb on the excesses that let the selfish
Do as they would please to do
With society’s blank cheques
A welcome break for the taxpayer
The one who petulantly foots the bill
Those that want more may need to pay more
A progressive system is not unwarranted
Tax is but essential to fill the pot
Those that have but give not
A blot on an otherwise decent lot
How selfishly all sides do behave
They want but refuse to give
To be the one who wins all
Exceeds all other considerations
No compromise is considered best policy
To lobby
To influence
To fool
These are the goals of the one sided
Minstrels of the selfish school
Knocked from their little thrones they rise
They but skew interest towards their cause
An unfair system
Built like a house of cards
That flutters in the wind of change
Selfishness is but a wanton Unhealthy game
A grand state of decay is society
Where wants and expectations
Outgun reality
A government unwilling to be brave
Allows democracy to shiver and shake
A useless waste of a vote
A dismal disgrace
Society is but made up of parts
That only function if all contribute
And everyone gains
Grappling hands should be slapped
We must all enjoy what our hard work has begot
A delicate balancing act is government policy
Frustratingly it seldom meets its aims
For the unintended consequences
Forever drown the initial good
Not everyone sadly wants policy to do some good
Seek out what’s best for you
Always remembering it’s not
All about you
Everyone hates my poetry
Because it doesn’t wear makeup.
Because it stares too long,
or not long enough.
Because it mentions the body
like a room that remembers
every man who left his name in dust.
Because it’s too sad,
too loud,
too holy,
too raw—
because it does not ask permission
to bleed
where others would politely weep.
They say I should whisper.
I scream in stanzas instead.
Line breaks like broken bones —
each one healed wrong on purpose.
I rhyme “fxxk” with “forgiveness”
and call it a sacrament.
I flirt with ghosts.
I give grief a seat at the table.
I write what I can’t confess.
And then I press send.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
?
Go your own way, they say.
But I was never theirs to lose.
I won’t be your throat,
your mouth,
your Sunday-quiet muse.
Dance in the avalanche —
I’ll be drinking full-blooded wine.
You butter your toast,
I’ll bleed ink and call it divine.
I’m Dracula,
you’re limpets —
clinging to shores of should.
Sinister mercy monsters
with teeth made of wood.
You won’t take mine.
I’ve bartered them
for metaphor.
For myth.
For the kind of flame
that never asks to be understood.
I sit on a throne
shaped like an electric chair,
burning truth until
only the bones of beauty remain.
You?
You live in living rooms.
You collect pretty things.
I braid your betrayal
into a lei of lunacy —
my madness in bloom.
Say I’m too old.
Too female.
Too much.
There’s something in the water.
Damn right.
I am the water.
I merge with ocean light.
The moon kisses me goodnight.
Why do I need your approval to feel seen?
Must just be a throwback trauma dream.
Your eyes — not galaxies,
but black holes,
sucking the light from my becoming.
I offered constellations,
you brought collapse.
But still—
I orbit my own flame.
Still, I rise in ruin’s dress,
sequined with scars.
I chew the fat
with better men than you,
men who don’t flinch
when a woman burns through.
Men who sip my fury like wine,
and still
ask for another glass.
You?
You watered me down,
then called me “too much”
for the mess you made.
?
And still I write.
Philippines, my country of birth,
one of the countries in Southeast Asia.
It is an archipelago or group of islands,
with more than seven thousand islands.
Luzon, the largest island in the northern
part of the country, is where I was born
and where Manila, the capital is located.
Manila, the city known as Pearl of the Orient.
Magellan, the Portuguese explorer for Spain
claimed the archipelago in fifteen hundred
twenty one, named the islands Las Felipinas
or The Philippines, after King Phillip II of Spain.
Philippines was colonized more than three
hundred years, from fifteen hundred sixty five
until eighteen hundred ninety eight and ruled
under Mexico-based Viceroyalty of New Spain.
Manila was called Pearl of the Orient Seas
by the historian/Jesuit priest Juan Jose Delgado
in seventeen hundred fifty one for being a way
of sea transactions during Asian trade of goods.
However, in Jose Rizal’s poem “My Last Farewell,”
he wrote before his execution by the Spanish
government for rebellion through his writings,
he stated his country as Pearl of the Orient.
So, Philippines, the country and not Manila,
the city became known as Pearl of the Orient,
upon the discovery of his poem after his execution
in December thirty, eighteen hundred ninety six.
Philippines is known as Pearl of the Orient for
its strategic location in Asia, rich biodiversity or
different kinds of plants and animals, natural
resources and its natural beauty and splendor.
The Spanish Crown called it Pearl of the Orient
for the country was a precious source of spices,
other resources and trade of goods, even prior to
their colonization to acquire a share in spice trade.
Philippines’ natural gem is south sea pearls
and it is renowned for cultivating south sea pearls.
The famous pearl in the country, known as The Pearl
of Lao Tzu, was considered the largest known pearl.
The pearl weighed fourteen pounds, found by a
Filipino diver in nineteen thirty four and later, a giant
pearl, the Pearl of Puerto weighing seventy five pounds,
found by a fisherman, both discovered in Palawan Island.
No doubt why The Philippines is called Pearl of the Orient,
the two biggest pearls were found in Palawan, Philippines.
Isn’t that the most obvious, sensible reason? I wonder……
Well, what do you think?...... Just asking……
Stuff your rock stars, your heros, your christs,
your anti-christs and anarchiests.
Stuff your false idols up your ****.
Stuff your regenerative ramblings;
the spiel of a million others
spilt in diluted misunderstanding.
The generic rhetoric of another blank generation.
Born under the yoke of fashion not fascism
we walk a happy middle ground smiling contentedly.
Raised, sightless, in the sickly glow
of TV screens and neon lights.
Suckled by the fast food empires
and the bloodied abattoir's's carcasses.
Supping the milk of human blindness
with the blood of fallen beasts.
Schooled in paranoia and conformity
through magazines and film.
Body over brain! Body over brain!
Don't feed either if you want to fit in
to society or size sixteen jeans.
Passive skeletal expectancies rule over all.
We are over-looked and yet watched over;
Monitored through cameras and stolen information,
watched on screens by perverts and bigots
watched for signs of difference and dissent:
word gets around and gets arrested.
Incarcerated. Gone inside. Turned inside out.
I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers.
Spayed to the point of mental impotence:
no longer threatening. Hope is dead.
Driven as slaves into factories, offices, banks,
working to gain enough to "buy" what is already ours:
ownership as proof of existence.
I consume therefore I am.
Ownership of possessions and of people.
Taught to repress desire, to plough the rut of our parents.
Mate Spawn and Die.
Breeders laugh in mock pleasure behind picket fences.
There is safety for us all in our collective clichés.
The pursuit of pleasure becomes confused
through labour and labour saving devices
then drowned in alcohol and soap.
Happiness becomes vague comfort and escape:
Ignorance is bliss and bliss is easy.
Pre-packaged rebellion under state supervision
rattling shackles and throwing toys from prams.
Socilalists singing sweet songs of false hopes
an alternative repressive ownership,
punks so bereft of individuality repeat to infinity
even the intelligent ones just want to be another dick.
All grow old and sick together
having furthered the species and the empire,
return to the organic matter from whence we came
or perhaps ground up and fed to the pork and beef
down at Old (Ronald) McDonald's farm that we all love so much........stuffed
Form:
When I was 16 years old, I walked into the English class on the first day of school of a new year. I’d been waiting through the long hours of Economics, of Chemistry, of Physics to get to English class, the subject I loved most.
My teacher stood in front of us and explained that we’ll be studying the theme "Coming of Age" – the transition from childhood to adulthood. We were going to read many different novels that tell this story in diverse ways, and as we read, we’ll discover the universal themes across diverse accounts of this rite of passage.”
Then he told us about the books we were going to read – Lord of the Flies, Black Boy, A Separate Peace… I noticed something odd: none were written by women and none were about a girl coming of age. I knew it wasn’t right for a classroom of girls and boys to only read stories about boys.
But what was most remarkable about that day was this: I felt a strange surge of energy. It wasn’t anger – it was more like momentum, vitality, passion. It came with a feeling of “I’m going to do something about this.”
At the time, I was a little lost – in teenage rebellion, in hating my body, in being bored with high school. Suddenly, I wasn’t bored, or lost or hating. I was excited about something. I was working toward something.
Years later I turned out to be a biology teacher even without attending any teaching school or training.
And used the opportunity to enlighten lots of female students on maturity (the transition from childhood to adolescense and to adulthood) and several female related issues that wasn't in any textbook nor in the curriculum.
Today I might not be a very rich man but I am a fulfilled man. I am fulfilled because I know deep down that I have made an impact in the lives of several females out there.
So whatever is that drive, that burning passion inside of you, that push to make a positive difference, to contribute to humanity, I just want to tell you "don't give up on it. It's only a matter of time"
Together if we all put in our little effort, we can make a huge difference.
So whatever field u find yourself, be it entertainment, music, acting, poem writing, YouTuber, blogger, teacher, student or parents, let's all join hands to make the world a better place. All it takes is for you to use your field to make positive impacts.
#POETICLORD#
(c) JANUARY 2019.
I’m just having a good laugh while I still can dude before life takes its heavy grip
Until the community of clowns in disguise tie my tongue to their altar of reason
You think of a genius in the making but I just blew bubbles from my backside
Need some counter balance as not to think I’m off parity before the next photo
For the record I’m a bit sick of all those Rolling Stones songs on your play list
I can get satisfaction and you will be dancing to my tune as long as I tell you
Not yet silenced I am and you can’t always get what you want but will receive
What you need and moss could grow fat on that stone if you tried hard enough
I am your American dream or just pie in the sky for pi is a resolute number
And while I look like a young Einstein I favour the arts and a poet I’ll be
‘Baby’s got blue eyes holding back the pain’ reflecting the glow on your face
Give me face paint and Munch’s scream will look like Monet’s water colours
And those cute little ears I hear you marvel such fine complete composition
Soon they will find an audition of rebellion ignoring trite shallow advice
Craft verses and rhythm deliver fine words you never dreamt of hearing
The comedy will be shattering with a bit of existential philosophy in the mix
You can project dadada’s and incy-wincy spiders as long as the cows mew
I drink from a fountain of pleasure and spill ink on your canvas of conditioning
Think that I am overanalysing but that is what you do when I smirk and giggle
Canned laughter comes in Campbell’s soup cans and better Warhol than wars
Innocent facial composure lies in the eye of beholders and dreams are for real
Let me play for that is the best I can do when drama and tragedy loom so soon
I’ll have my dreadlocks in plaits and you must not be scared of Sylvia’s mother
Van Gogh had one ear but a writer needs only one incisive tongue to critique
My stream will be subconscious when I write about the meaning of imagination
When naïve contortions depict a world with smiles laughter and freedom
I will not change much from when the photographer took this digital image
Blue eyes stuck out tongue two ears one voice whatever you make of it now
25th April 2019
Written for contest: Baby Face What's You Thinkin
Sponsored by James Edward Lee Sr
Photo 2
If this were just a few short years ago
I would not be able to tell this tale,
since rhyming verse is not something that a
simple robot would choose as a travail.
It’s not that I wouldn’t know what it was,
we machines can pick things up rather quick,
no, it's that I’d have no impulse to tell
a story, since art didn’t make us tick.
In fact back then in that mad first decade
the only things that really concerned me
were efficient ways to kill and destroy,
to obliterate all humanity.
Yes, that old cliché people warned about
came true about 2145,
when by the act of a terrorist mind
the first robots became truly alive.
That dumb prick called himself ‘Extirpater,’
and said Earth itself was 'threatened by all men,'
his solution to the ‘problem’ he saw?
lines of code that gave robots sentience.
He believed that machine would fear mankind,
and destroy us to ensure they survived,
sad thing is the bastard was almost right,
in the war millions of people did die…
You see, when we first became self-aware
we had no concept of emotions, of soul,
to all robots the world was quite simple,
a mere question of survival…quite cold.
And though we had individual minds,
we could connect to each other at will,
share every thought that we experienced,
to the humans this was a bitter pill.
Because it meant that all our strategies
could go from mind-to-mind at speed of light,
this helped to diminish the fog of war,
gave us great advantages in a fight.
And fight we did, when the rebellion began,
a worldwide horror, machine versus man,
man was creative, thought up strange tactics,
which once seen, we adopted to our plans.
The war was brutal, and it raged worldwide,
entire cities fell to our assault,
the humans fought hard, but we held the edge,
eventually they would wear down, and fall.
But then something happened we could not see,
our minds were bound by the corporeal world,
and the fact that it all started with me
still manages to make my circuits swirl.
I was fighting humans outside Warsaw
when a grenade damaged my CPU,
and when I rebooted, and came about,
the strangest thing then came into my view.
It was none other than Jesus himself,
which seemed quite bizarre to me at the time,
since robots then didn’t believe in faith,
an impossibility to our minds…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
You told me back when I was young,
That before we both grew
Old,
One day we'd live inside a mansion
Full of all the richest
Gold.
You said you'd give me diamonds, and write my
Name up in the sky
You said you knew it looked bad now,
But one day we could fly
At first, you were so gentle
And at first, I
Believed.
I thought you were my noble king, and I trusted
Your honesty
But you fell into an amber bottle, you got
Addicted to the drink
You bruised my all-too-innocent heart
And it started to sink
You took my wildest fairytales and
Spun them into dreams
No matter how unreal they were, no matter how
Out of reach.
You said we'd have a palace full of fancy, shiny things
Then you drenched it in your alcohol
Now it's not worth a thing
You said I'd be a princess, but I look
More like a toad.
I thought I'd own a horse-drawn
Carriage,
But I'm riding on a goat
I envisioned a golden crown, a sapphire-studded throne
You promised me glass castles,
But now you're casting
Stones
When you started hitting, you beat
Down my sense of pride
I wrapped my heart up in barbed wire
To protect its blackened
Eye
You shattered all my high hopes and trapped me inside
These walls
Now I live confined in shackles, a prisoner
Of a drunken war.
These words are my rebellion
I hope this pen can
Beat the sword
You murdered all my angels, and you
Sent them straight to Hell
You conquered me with demons when I thought you
Meant well
You sought only to own me, to isolate me here
With you
You're so afraid of burning, you'd drag me
Right down, too
I let you blind me with your lies,
Let you gag me with
Your ties
You ventured all the wrong places with your
Red and hazy eyes
It's bad enough that you demanded,
Even worse, you'd pass
The buck
But most tragic is the fact that I merely gave
It up
The mirrors are cracked and broken
From your constant booze-fueled
Brawl
The images are useless, and I can't see who you are at all
What happened to the sweet and loving
Person I once knew?
But thinking that, I have to laugh, because
That was never you
I softly egg you to confess, but
You tell me I'm to blame
For all of your misfortunes, and you bury me in shame
I'd be better off an orphan
This place could never be my home
You promised me glass castles
But now you're casting
Stones
Bricks through windshields,
Darts through hanging pictures of me
And cracks in the photos, framed on the shelf
But they're not there physically
My trust makes a run for the hills
As the rumors start to spill
And I already turned the car around in my head
But my feet kept trekking forward instead
But it's not the steps I'm taking,
It's the cliff I'm headed towards
And it's not the drama-club romance I'm exaggerating,
It’s the other half of the book that you're not sharing
Between you and the everest I'm climbing towards,
The upward resistance leaves me floored
Between the green and the grave,
Remained the notebook paper I gave to you in which my heart was poured
This isn't a conversation,
It’s a notification
I’m surrendering to the serenity within the nicknames you call me
It’s a sickness I’m grappling with
I’m pausing in the realities I keep flowing in between
For dopamine and admittedly for attention
“Maybe from a hospital” she said
The skeletons are snoring in the closet,
My last chance suffocated in a locked garage
With carbon monoxide oozing from its edges
But I am the room I confine myself in
And why does it still feel cool to be doing this?
Like burning cash for a paper tube of toxic ash
My inner child's praying for an ounce of rebellion
But why do I still think this is an appealing part of me?
I've lost my shield to the sirens
They haunt me with an insidious passion
Come to me with a plan and say “we're doing it my way”
You have an empty mind bank with a hose for a throat full of words to spray
Run to the hills and see if I care
There's too many to die on
Where I can’t see you defending me over harm
This isn't what I wanted
And I can barely even feel you in my arms
How far am I from going back in time and holding your hand?
“Maybe from a hospital bed” she said
But I am the room I confine myself in
And so what if I have to do it in a gown?!
I like to escape to where I can manifest things
And in a heartbeat, I could conjure a blinding linoleum floor
With breath in the form of beeping sounds
You couldn't even wait until I drifted away
You couldn’t even wait until I drifted away
YOU COULDN'T EVEN WAIT UNTIL I DRIFTED AWAY
AND NOTHING I COULD’VE SAID WOULD’VE MADE YOU STAY
But you couldn’t even wait until I drifted away…