Long Sable Poems
Long Sable Poems. Below are the most popular long Sable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sable poems by poem length and keyword.
Incessantly, and yet I still urge,
For the greater good, and I pledge
To cling to my craft and surge
Till our meandering pathways finally merge.
Whence tales of beauty and of love foretell
Of days adorned with melodious bells,
And voices in tune with their wishing wells,
Eroding the shards of my feeble shell.
Endued with another soul I met in books,
Who gave me dreams with open eyes;
Affirmed by a lady freed from her crooks,
Who said, “Arise for the Man in the Skies.”
Away from paths so cold and pale
That drowned the vessel of my lone sail,
And pierced its canvas to no avail
On days when no amber light prevailed.
From muted corners my kind fall asunder;
Fame, greed, and fantasies reign supreme.
Modesty is thrashed, love reduced to a number,
Honesty discarded, or so it would seem.
What do I even know of my sable race?
My heroes die young, their efforts suppressed.
What am I truly taught to embrace—
Mediocrity and fallacy as virtues confessed?
Now we loathe and fear to rise, dear foe.
It is all fractured, yet hope remains, you know.
Perhaps through welcoming change and renewing minds—
This unwavering dream of a man in his prime.
To glide over the loura on angel wings,
Amid the sound of a thousand rare kora strings,
And beneath varied kente colourings,
Enshrined within a divine moment in time;
Dispelling the vivid imaginary blind,
Awakened at last to what fate may design,
Apt within this pastel state—
The enduring dream of a man in his prime
I touched the sable locks of hair that fell
around your face so softly. Ivory
you called my skin you came to know so well -
though first, like porcelain you handled me!
Where we reclined, cerulean above
us was the sky. Your kisses were divine
there on the seashore where i felt such love!
Your eyes, obsidian, reflected mine;
I drank you in like absinthe - oh, those eyes!
Our passion, like when fire is charcoal fed,
turned crimson like the sunlight when it dies
into the night! For us - sun brightly bled.
We stayed past midnight. Was it all just smoke?
The ash of roses wrapped us when we woke.
Nov. 1, 2017 for Dale Gregory Cozart's Midnight Romance Poetry Contest
IN THE STILL OF NIGHT
(AKA BEFORE THE BREAK OF DAWN Draws Near)
I
In the still of night
we contemplate the dawn
of day when we shall be free
of the mind games shadowing liberation
sustained by generations whose lives were put on hold:
many ending in holes dug by tormentors of stolen sable souls.
In sanctified moments
blues, gospels and jazz harmonize
under the harvest moon
reaping the fruits of ripening minds.
II
In its due season
each stilled night generates
new revelations
revealing the I am because they were
the steady black bridges built
over the bloody chasm we have crossed.
III
Now is the time to roll like thunder.
Now is the time to roll away apathy.
Now is the time to roll out the dream's reality.
Let us leave new legacies
for those in the darkness of wombs.
Let us leave new footprints
leading to the light of a brighter day.
IV
In the still of night
let us remember the tempestuous seas
over which we have sailed.
In the still of night
let us remember the beatings and the jails.
In the still of night
let us remember the reeking bowels
of slave ships survived.
In the still of night
let us remember the strange fruits
of blood watered hanging trees.
V
In the still of night
before the break of dawn draws near
let us remember the blood debt owed us here.
??
What if there was a highway
In a simple place invested
In the city of twisted realities
A different darkness a brighter daylight
Amongst the caverns they speak
There is such a place still palakkah catalita
I'm a super fast lane city
Streets highways and byways
on the planet HTRAE
Being in the city called AHAMO
In the state of aKSARBEN
Honda center galactical highway
Such is a place where in this world
Young vehicles are driven by road raged animals
People running over humans
With their vehicles
There are jaguars driving barracudas
Drivers driving the bison
Those the drive-in bobcats spinning thier tires
Sunbeam tiger's white eagles the traffic stag
Mercury stable Volkswagen rabbit behind the wheel
So the puma the pinto the road runner sable rush
The grim wall scorpion driving the four-wheel drive auto
Jumping curves spinning wheels driving fast running over filthy humans
Those panting human sometime getting in the way
Those two legged animals some whom we fear
Jumping curbs fleeting out of the sewers
Run Johnny run, look out for that dog driving the Chevy
Boom ! ! !
What is this?
What's that?
CRASH
Hit and run roadkill
10/21/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
By day, our eyes drown within seas of light,
In the void of the dark, there, we can see!
That’s why, when I took her into the night,
I recall each second with clarity:
I beheld crimson in roses I brought,
Surrendered at once to porcelain palms,
O, her ivory face was all I sought.
Her cerulean eyes; subject of psalms.
In a gasp I looked down through charcoal coat,
Beholding obsidian in my heart,
Did I dare ‘nore ashes of words I wrote?
Better to leave in smoke than fall apart.
In absinthe leaves, she laid hands ‘pon my face,
O sable night! She has brought me to grace.
1 November 2017
Written for "Midnight Romance" contest, sponsored by Dale Gregory Cozart
La route, c’est traverser l’Amérique, mille fois,
C’est un idéal, qu’on ne réalise que parce qu’on est en vie,
C’est un rêve qu’on poursuit dans une voiture,
C’est des montagnes qui barrent l’horizon mauve et rose.
C’est résoudre des équations du troisième et quatrième degré ?
La route c’est l’amour qu’on tient entre ses mains,
C’est des palmiers, qu’on salue avec son chapeau,
C’est des motels où l’on dort avec ses nouveaux amis,
C’est un grand Lynx qui se cache dans le désert texan.
La route c’est le sable et les diamants, les serpents,
C’est la station Texaco où l’on remplit le moteur,
C’est l’imagination que l’on dresse avec un fouet,
C’est l’ennui qui nous sauve du travail saoulant,
Tout est possible quand on prend la route, tout.
Même le temps s’arrête....La route sauve nos âmes.
La route is to cross America, a thousand times,
It is an ideal, which we realize only because we are alive,
It’s a dream that we pursue in a car,
It is mountains that block the purple and pink horizon.
It Is solving third and fourth degree equations
La route is love that we hold in our hands,
It is palm trees, which one salutes with his hat,
It’s motels where you sleep with your new friends,
It is a large lynx hiding in the Texas desert.
La route is sand and diamonds, rattle snakes,
This is the Texaco station where we fill the engine,
It is the imagination that is raised with a whip,
It is the boredom that saves us from drunken work,
Everything is possible when you take the road, everything.
Even time stands still.... La route saves our souls.
From a tribe called quest;
where we will never give up.
From a nation called hope ;
where we will never stop struggling.
From a region called Ifriqiya;
where the sun never stops shinning.
Part of a race called black;
where they striped our identity.
From a time in history;
where my race is ridiculed and look down upon as low class people.
In a new world;
where they continue push the fate of my people into despair.
In an ever changing generation;
where famine poverty and plaques are still rampant in my nation
On a diverse continent;
where they altered our history and fabricated wars.
Am part of a people;
whose distant cousins continue to suffer in all forms of racial abuses
On a planet where my people are ridiculed scorned and are the most poverty stricken.
From an era;
where some still view our sable race with scornful eyes.
Living in a country; under the pressure to embrace robbery decked out as free trade.
Threading on a territory ;
where people are separated by invisible boundaries but united in dreams…
On a land in which our history did not begin in chains and it will not end in chains.
You know,My race is like a rubber ball ;
The harder you dash it to the ground, the higher it will rise.
From my own heart, speak to me O' Lord
My plans are not sable;
Nor am I able;
My plans belong to me;
Though I'm broken
Father in mine own eyes I am pure;
But I am not sure;
Yet I know you are the cure;
I hear unto me your spirit weights free
Speak to me Lord
Speak to me Lord
Father I seek to thee, so
In hearting you I now commit your work to you
And your plans will be established
For it's in your will which has established
Lord had made everything for it's purpose
Father I seek to thee, so
Father I seek to thee, so
I hear unto me your spirit weights free
Speak to me Lord
Speak to me Lord
Father I seek to thee, so
Over N O'ver Again and again Amen
Speak to me Lord
Referencing Proverbs 16:1-4
5/30/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
.
Tending to my fruit stand,
another lonely day
Hoping for a customer
to happen ‘long the way
When then I saw approaching
a funny colored van
It pulled off on the shoulder,
I wondered of its plan
The back doors slowly opened
and there before my eyes
Stood a gorgeous woman
beneath these sunny skies
Her eyes were soft and sable
with hair a darker hue
She smiled and said hello to me
I said, “How do you do?”
She stood before my table,
I couldn’t help but stare
First she touched an apple,
then she touched a pear
Suddenly she shouted,
for now her hand did reach
Excitedly she questioned
“Please may I have a peach?”
All I could do was stutter,
as I could barely breathe
She took a bite and then exclaimed
“The sweetest I believe”
Then she grabbed a couple,
and walking to her van
Sat upon the rear end sill,
then patted with her hand
I stumbled there to join her,
she handed one to me
“I just adore your peaches”
“Yes ma’am, that I can see”
I sat there with her eating
and maybe I am dumb
But juice was dripping from her lip,
I brushed it with my thumb
This seemed to make her happy,
her beauty such a view
Then I could not believe my ears,
She asked, “Can I kiss you?”
Well, forget what I said earlier
the “dumb” part wasn’t right
I pressed my lips against hers
and held them there real tight
They were sweet and sticky,
delicious like the fruit
Then we separated,
she grinned and said, “You’re cute”
“I really think I love you
and will forever true”
I felt my heart just skip a beat,
“Yes ma’am, I love you too”
“I just adore your peaches,
they’re the best in all the land”
We kissed again, this time good bye,
she climbed into her van
I watched as she departed,
standing on the curb
Thinking of her kisses
and the last thing that I heard
Then felt kind of lousy
this pristine summer day
Not for what had happened,
but what I did not say
I didn’t have the heart to tell
this woman of my dreams
The fruits this day that she enjoyed
were really nectarines
Sage Saga Of A Home On A Hill
Having drank from the sun at meridian,
The moon drunk with the light
Of reflection, always dissipated dreaded darkness
Seeking to veil the Hill—Raised bump
Of nature’s glowing face;
This swollen womb of nature nourishing beginnings
Of generations plodding centuries wounded
With trials and tribulations—Grand Canyon invisible walls
Mocking the abyss of Middle Passage ocean depths
Carpeted with ivory bone trees rattled by circadian waves
Splashing stilled sandy sea shore stones sunken in time.
Beginnings begin with the eruption of sunlight;
Rays flowing lava-like to chloroplast genes
Of generations of quantum leaping Greens
Synthesizing seminal spirits spewing
Audacious faith—audacious faith blooming
Mushroom cloud determination rising
As a risen national family tree;
Branches thrusting tentacles forever upward.
Streaming through, flows a river Brazos
Whose residents often crawled, netted and hooked
Their way to the Hill—accepting all aching
To give or receive freely—nourishment.
A gumbo gathering of love supreme;
Charged sable soul soars—sailing
Pillow puffed verandah skies;
Stoking old horizons—searching
Mountain top promise land dreams.
Where I have been I have just begun to go;
Returning to the beginning—
To tap the toasted roots anchoring the journey’s
Design—etched beneath the shade of limbs
Of an ancient Chinaberry tree
Looking out over the Hill—
Shadowing shelled street that oysters built.
The senior poem now resonate an ebony perspective:
“…It’s sweet to dream of Venice…It’s great to think of Rome…
But when it comes to living…There’s no place like home…
So it’s home again and home again for me…”
My Hill—My home…My family tree. Here I grew; here I be.