Long Sacked Poems
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In your head did it ever occur
these stories are not about her
they’re not unprovoked
attacks or pokes
though some worthy jokes
that were provoked
but note that’s not why they’re wrote.
So what if I put her down with words
is it worse than the daily bullying she served,
stop and think
did you see what you believe to be true,
give reasons you dismiss me as you do.
So she didn’t do the things i say,
Is your exact memory aware of everyday,
you know because you witnessed
or you think I just pitch this like I’m witless,
when I’m factually witty with quickness.
Do you not believe me though you’re no true witness
and opt easy I’ve a mental sickness,
Cus I must admit this,
it is wild and out there, hard to believe,
But your memories offer insights, they won’t deceive,
and I wasn’t sacked I was forced to leave.
I tell these stories cus I’ve been aggrieved
but I’m not avenging nor sympathy my need.
I relive the story
See if it gives more for me
To push forward and see
If I can Restore and set free
my aim my need be a new me
it’s not important if we all agree,
no disrespect but it doesn’t matter to me
won’t change my reality at all you see
I’m not out to win over it’s all done for me.
You know let go, get living
once dealt with maybe forgiven
but letting it go it’s not an option
I deal with it so I can trot on.
If you don’t like it, don’t listen,
and if you don’t listen,
refrain a decision,
as you don’t hear and have no vision.
He had a Trump sign on his front lawn.
I was concerned, so naturally I set fire to his house.
She told us that men cannot give birth,
Naturally, obviously I was concerned, upset,
and had her committed for reeducation.
He wore no mask in the restaurant,
deeply concerned, I had him thrown out.
Naturally we doxed him,
chanted ‘racist’ outside his home.
She refused to be vaccinated;
said they did not work.
of course I blew the whistle on her,
had her sacked.
We must stand together, and not tolerate
these ungrateful, reactionary malcontents.
Concerned citizens must be vigilant,
yet caring – as I am.
Crack kills and that’s no joke!
It once “killed” my pocket broke
As my luggage wheels struck the sidewalk crack
And my worn-out heels cracked outback!
I wibbled-wobbled on a cracked low-pump heel
Tumbling over, placing my hands upfront, as shields!
When I took a tumble to the ground
Too quick to even let out a shriek or sound
I fell and suffered the pain of one cracked nail
As my face flushed red before turning pale!
Cracks…Cracks….all these cracks!
On roadsides…sidewalks….and bicycle tracks!
Can I have YOU believe I heard a crack
ON a duck’s resounding, “Quack! Quack! Quack”
When I sat by a pond in the park
One late evening before it went dark?
Glass…Glass…Glass are all prone to crack!
When shattered debris have been sacked,
They, too, can cut through a janitor’s sack,
Pricking fingers with one stroke to the side of the hand
And through one’s bare foot trudging through sand!
Whether you pass your hand on shattered-glass cracks
Or stumble on an uneven roadside crack
Chip a nail which makes it crack
Cracks bare NO GOOD NEWS
Often times attracting ONLY “The BLUES…”
Should one catch a resonate sound of a hoarse duck’s “Quack! Quack! Quack”
Or should one even laugh SO HARD and “CRACK” oneself up
While sipping on a hot chocolate marshmallow cup
And hold one’s stomach until it hurts
And feel it’s about to burst,
Should one even ATTEMPT to smoke actual “CRACK”
That may create more brain CRATORS and CRACKS
Warn your family, neighbors, and friends: CRACK KILLS – nothing’s new -
Other than a “CRACKED CASE,” any other “CRACK” WILL BE subjected to a “CRACK CODE-BLUE.”
Living in a bubble where reality is virtual
Truth is a blur in a fabricated ritual
TV news bursting with political views
The rich pay no taxes and the poor pay their dues
Guns are the toys that manufacture death
Violence the machine to take away your breath
The streets are a war zone not fit for walking
Some are mentally deranged, their AR15's do the talking
It's them against us and you against me
There's no compromise in the political sea
Gangs in the street, their guns have no pity
There's no mercy in bullets in the heart of the city
Hate is a commodity traded on wall street
The love stock has crashed in agonizing defeat
The Capitol's been sacked, and some people gloat
And some senators are selling their soul for a vote
2-16-2022
September is aging with a cool beauty
and the Missouri seems to be hurrying the expedition
into a world of natural splendor that is impatient to strip our spirit to it's bare light,
in my silent moments of strategy I feel the birth pangs of winter in the air
and know that an emergency of shelter will soon be the crucible,
more days than not the river wind has aided the Corps of Discovery's adventure,
rarely have we had to pull Destiny along by ropes
and today I'm off the boat, hunting a fleet and mammoth goat
the pronghorned antelope, unlike the buffalo and deer herds
that have easily been in excess of 500, these shy creatures
move about in small groups, seemingly familial in manner,
a hide of short, soft white and brown hair
which stripes the throat, and vicious charcoal horns
that could impale a man in a single jolt, none of us has ever seen such an animal,
these damn goats bolt like bullets every time I creep near
they must be catching my scent for I am stealth and camouflaged,
they are so agile and swift, unafraid to speed through the most dangerous ravines,
getting back to camp with no hooves to show for my time
I see that John Sheilds has sacked a peculiar hare,
he calls it a jackrabbit, it is a monster rabbit no doubt
20 pounds dead and can leap like a rock across water, 20 foot spreads at full speed,
we all laugh and agree this place is becoming more of a jungle than a prarie,
any moment we may encounter apes and wherewolves,
its good to see Private Shanon chuckle well since returning
from being alone along the river for sixteen days nearly starved and maddened,
the fires be hot and the kettles be kickin with the right stuff
most of us are consuming 5, 000 calories per day including several pounds of meat each,
the mission is teaching the men's' bodies new extremes, the exertion is remarkable,
sunburn, blisters, rolled ankles, sprained wrists and backs, inadequate sleep,
mosquito bites, spider bites, ant bites, hours of tedious paddling and foraging,
no woman love, gaurd duties, chores, the stress of Indian encounters and ambush,
home sickness,
the only thing familiar to us is eachother,
sharing our sufferings, sharing our survival,
J.A.B.
After: "Letter of Mithridates to Phraates, King of Parthia"
Historiae VI by Sallust
*****************************
I am a man more poisoned against than poisoning.
That’s my version anyhow, and I’m sticking to it.
Don’t blame me for having survived a few meals
Which others, less fortunate, could not.
All that doesn’t help me now with Pompey at my throat.
Pompey, plunderer and bully, who has enough wit
Only to command a Materialschlacht,
But that is child’s play with Rome’s support.
Rome! Scourge of cities, tribes, peoples, nations, all mankind,
Were not the Pillars of Hercules, the western shores
Sufficient for your ravenous appetite
That your eagle eyes scan my realm?
O Phraates, King of Parthia still unvanquished,
Had you but lent your ear to me when together we
Might have rid the East of this ill-begotten son
Of Mars. Small the credit, so great the loss!
For Rome, unchallenged, bestrides the Great Sea. Eastwards
He surveys my mountains and your rivers, groves and plains,
No doubt beyond. Remember Alexander,
Who sacked glorious Persepolis.
You vainly sue for peace, like credulous Philipp once
When fondly strung along with Rome’s promises of “pax”.
And what of Carthage? Where now her wealth of gold
And purple? Barren her poisoned lands!
Mind you, I’m not well-placed on a high moral pedestal
When it comes to poisoning, but limits I respect.
A few enemies now and then, I admit,
Died at my table. The ham was off!
But the earth is sacrosanct. I never salted fields,
For Rome’s venom is stronger than aught I ever brewed.
Where shall this end? Shall Rome vanquish all nations?
Shall all cower to his bloody sword?
But Rome! With surfeiting the eaten, not the eater,
Prevails. The whole world is, even for iron digestions,
Strong meat. It is the sun, not Romulus, whom
East and West obey. Helios rules.
With Rome to east and Rome to west, then two Romes are there,
And I do fear for man and earth. The approach of death
Lends men insight. I fought, I won, I lost in war.
My spirit is still king. Sirs, your health.
The last round! Like Carthage we lose to Rome the third round.
Once more is the Gordian knot in twain. Quirites,
The gods look down. Remember Alexander,
Who died of fever in Babylon!
Author's Note
In February 1258, the Mongol army led by Hulagu Khan sacked Baghdad, the capital of the Abbasid Caliphate. It marked the end of the Islamic Golden Age. Libraries like the House of Wisdom were destroyed, and countless books were thrown into the Tigris River until the water ran black with ink and red with blood. Scholars, artists, and civilians were killed. The destruction ended centuries of science, medicine, and philosophy, and showed what happens when cruelty replaces knowledge and forgiveness.
When Baghdad Wept-CM
Cruel hooves marched, and cities bled,
Cold steel struck, and scholars fled.
Wisdom burned while rivers ran,
Words turned ash in Tigris span.
Mercy slept while towers fell,
Golden age was lost to hell.
Yet kindness waits in hearts to rise,
Forgiveness blooms in humankind eyes.
I will forget you,
Won’t let you forget me!
Yes, I will forget you,
Won’t let you forget me!
Heart would thump upon inkling your pass through,
Come on! I will still not turn around to see you.
Tears will roll down from my puffy eyes,
Won’t still merge myself into the river rise.
In my dreams you may beep,
My love, now dare I sleep!
Now just see, how I will forget you,
Won’t let you forget me!
Yes, I will forget you,
Won’t let you forget me!
You uncouth! you scorched my heart,
I surely won’t let the pain depart!
Shrewd stabber, you taught me a lot,
I will make it happen,
Hey nagger, just wait and watch!
Crushing grief tore my heart into tatter,
Still, I won’t let my dignity and confidence shatter.
How callously you could disgrace,
Love, see how success will now embrace!
Gonna Gonna Gonna, kill you straight,
You will love the way I hate.
How can you forget me,
Baby your fate is at stake!!
You will repent and agonise,
I will wait for that day of tranquillity and my rise.
Still, won’t let you forget me!
Won't let you forget me!
You will crave to get me back!
Dear, you are already sacked!
Hey! I will forget you,
Won’t let you forget me!
Yes, I will forget you,
Won’t let you forget me!
Pick A Title, Vol 13 - Lyric - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Date: 27/01/2020
You're navigating life's jagged labyrinth.
Filled with clutter-a million things to contemplate.
There's no turning back; the nest of youth is sacked.
At the end of a journey lie life and its twin brother, death.
For the first time you feel the hoofbeats and the snorts.
With every blind turn there is fear, in all its white-hot forms.
There's a minotaur who wishes to gore your destiny.
To cheerfully glean the cherry picker from the cherry tree.
In the blue distance you gaze upon that golden mist.
But turn away, for it's just the smolder from the burning ID.
In the shadows lie smirking angels and smiling thieves.
The glow of truth makes you light, but deception chains the feet.
You're growing weary now, all paths trodden, save for one.
Upon it sits the minotaur with horns stained with your blood.
Walk boldly on -walk boldly on-for it's nothing to dread or fear.
It's just the phantom of your doubt holding up a funhouse mirror.
Finally, there it gently lies; is it what you've always dreamed of?
Is your virgin spirit the perfect fit for its destiny?
peaceful death waits in courage I die
the castle is sacked not without glory
courage outlasts defeat’s last battle cry
my slain children are proud of my story
surrender is shameful never concede
no tranquil place for cowards in shame
I don’t ask for mercy when my wounds bleed
the rightful cause grants everlasting fame
when my blood is dry and ancestors wait
sacred memories have christened my sword
privilege of death is part of my fate
sacrifice and calling for my dear Lord
stay well sweet maiden hide your tears and pain
then me holding out has not been in vain
20th September 2020