Long Scourges Poems
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July 25th, 1996 tied the Gordian knot,...
(I spent noose cents)
begot deux daughters, the major events
both since flew cuckoo's nest,
the eldest angry at papa for offense
sieve behavior fatherly bond
forever sundered permanent rents
unforgiving progeny vents
bile, explosive vitriol whence...
Aye yen for bachelorhood every
now and again doth mildly abate
after saying "I do...,"
when axed by justice of peace
nearly two dozen years wedded
bull hissing, rest assured
I will abbreviate
encapsulate, fulminate, narrate...
and forthrightly admit,
yours truly oft times
yearned to abdicate
spousal unbridled warfare and injustice
reason enough to abnegate
null and void husbandry role
ex post facto finding thyself
questioning pledging troth even
Frosty the snowman would abominate
to say "screw this -
marriage nut for me"
bolt in a huff boot (dang)
ne'er did absquatulate
altercations that adhere
to rule of physics
and tended to accelerate
as muzzled, neigh saying saddled
former groom did
lament and accentuate
his physical needs,
she did not accommodate,
cuz this solitary soul
(with good n plenti horse sense),
never did fully acculturate
with female species,
one whose blunt cold front
seemed to accumulate growing
gripe list bestowed courtesy this mate
tit for tat wrathful pitiless,
(not so cherry) feedback unmatched
within annotated coupled courtship of fools,
this scrivener with steely
iron maiden breastplate,
nonetheless did rack up and accumulate
battle scars hitting bullseye,
since donned with
corrective vision spectacles
hen pecking, needling termagant
untameable shrew did acerate
(worse fate than death -
validated by grim reaper)
avowed covenant thru torturous years
exponentially punishing innocent soul
(slightly biased) did acervate
popping one after
another over the counter acetylsalicylate,
no ampule adequate
to relieve permanent suffering,
thus lifetime electric shock treatment,
nsync quaffing prescription
kool aid battery acidulate
ineffective to activate
palliative, and restore
liberty (yeah) sense and sensibility
subsequently providing freedom
against further wifely scourges
whereby Doctor Phil Ander
refused to adjudicate,
perhaps understandable why I advocate
selfless mercy killing (euthanasia)
for this urbane country bumpkin.
I turned away and faced the crashing white rapids. My
evergreen hunting dress whipped in the wind with my
copper hair.
I took a deep breath and jumped. I felt the spray
before the crushing force of the furious river of Ashtira .
I knew.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The crashing Ashtira swallowed Clarisa up like a
famished Lunadford scourges a helpless fox before
a feast.
I don’t know how long I stood there before the Seeker placed
his firm hand gently on my shoulder. I looked up to see
his concern.
“Where is Clarisa Shana? The Chinook whispered that she
was with you and in some marvellous peril,” he spoke
with care.
Despite the fact that I was Shano, I still had a keen
friendship with the Seeker. It was perfectly normal to
break down.
He wrapped his solid arms around me in a protective way that
he always did whenever I needed someone, for big matters or
small.
“Come now young Shano. Dry those tears. Clarisa Shana did
what she had to in order to save Lishon. She knew this day
would come.”
His wisdom did nothing to salve my hurt but I knew that
he spoke the truth. It was only because of this that
I quieted.
“Come. The time to grieve is not now. The Kwana are gathering and
they need you to be on the ready for battle. We need you now
more than ever.
“Aye Seeker. You say the time to grieve is later but now is the best
time. I will use my grief to vanquish the Noli and spread their ashes
in the Ashtira.
“Still your blade Shano. To use grief for your sister as
a tool in war is to shame her. It will be a murders victory,
not a warrior.
I felt shame for what I had said. To
wield the power of Shano is to be merciful. I
should have known.
The Seeker put his hand on my head and tousled my
hair. I was his Shano but he was like my father in many
ways.
“Come.”
A legion of Noli faced the entrance of Lishon, while
the Kwana (who were half the enemy) sat in the courtyard.
Waiting.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I was tossed as far as the River of Ashtira could
throw me. My breath left me as I landed with a
brash blow.
My breath came back in spurts. My heart stumbled with
my constant effort to start my breathing. Why couldn’t
I get air?
As if she had always been there the Spoken appeared
beside me. She placed her webbed hand on my chest.
Air.
I want to start by thanking all women for bringing balance and sensibility to our lives,
For embodying resilience and unconditional love (agápe).
Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers—of furries and Sapiens alike!
Because all life is connected, each sharing a piece of the Divine.
We all need agápe love from God’s chosen people—
The only humans who create life,
The only ones who build a connection with us before our eyes meet the light.
Do we call those who supplied ink to Mary Cassatt the painters?
As essential as they were, painters they were not.
Mothers love—
The kind that shields us mentally,
Protecting us from the scourges of this insidious yet redeemable world.
They are the guardians of life,
The shepherds of minds shaping the future.
In moments when our vision narrows into a tunnel,
Your euphonious voices guide us back with a tender reminder:
“What about the children?”
I extend a special thank you—
To my mother, who never gave up on me even when I was in the depths of despair.
To my Aunt Cora, who saw a man even when my actions were those of a boy.
To Tina, Mario’s mother, for raising a man embedded in the word of God.
To my cousins, who reminded me I was wrong
When my actions were filled with egotistical flaws.
To you all, and so many more, I am grateful.
This world was created by God,
But sustained and perpetuated by the love of its mothers.
So, on behalf of all life on this beautiful planet,
Even though sometimes it’s hard to see—
You are valued, like soil to a tree.
You are heard, as salubrious as morning birds.
You are beautiful, like vast stars in the nights sky.
Even though we sometimes rattle your nerves,
We are grateful for you all.
As Nietzsche said,
“You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.”
Happy Mother’s Day.
Judgment and Grace
” 21 The LORD God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them. 22 And the LORD God said, “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.” 23 So the LORD God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken.” Gen 3:21-23 NIV
The Garden of Eden was a prime example
Of God’s judgment and grace.
God clothed Adam and Eve and cared for them,
But no longer dwelt with them face to face.
Sin finds its destruction
In the presence of our Creator.
To preserve them by His grace
This sentence of death presented later.
Although Adam and Eve fell;
God gave them grace and hope;
Judgment stands in the background
Of this grace and hope kaleidoscope.
From the beginning of fallen human history
Sin, judgment and God’s grace emerges.
Some say there is no judgment,
But let’s recall ‘the flood’s’ scourges.
We may no longer be under the law,
But it’s still there to show what’s right.
Grace is freely given by heaven
When sin’s repentance finds its sight.
Without God’s judgment, forever evil would reign
We’d have no hope of a better world;
Sin, sorrow and death to remain.
Judgment and grace cannot be parted;
They unite in one accord.
Judgment in the heavenly sanctuary
Is presently accumulating records.
When Christ returns the second time,
Judgment will have ceased.
That’s why He brings His rewards
To the righteous living and deceased.
Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2012
www.maureenlefanue.com
In our life, each of us had a question,
That needed an answer, or a just explanation.
A most common question to most common people,
A question that penetrates one’s heart and soul:
“What is this? What’s happening in my life –
Why does God allow this kind of strife?”
When the road is dark and your pathway seems wrong,
When you can’t fight the accusations of great throng,
When your heart is struggling an emotional pain,
Such a vehement pang, you can’t even explain.
When poverty strikes, and there’s no one to hold on to,
When your dignity’s distorted, then despair comes through,
When Death knocks into your very own door,
And you cannot feign, and say “but” or “or”.
When everything sunk down, you become frustrated,
When no one understands, Oh! Misinterpreted.
When physical illness scourges you,
Or physical disabled ness distresses you.
When those trials and sufferings go seriously unfold,
That question will come so clearly and so bold.
Especially when everything’s hopeless and beyond our control,
Not realizing that God is always in control.
For God is refining, shaping, and forming us,
To a more beautiful, blessed and useful glass.
He uses sufferings for us to grow,
He uses trial for us to know.
In the end, everything will be fine,
Now God will us, because we had been refined.
And the question that crushed our emotions weak,
Is the answer and forerunner of God’s blessings we seek.
To God we offer thanks
for medicine and for carers,
for all who've kept in touch,
in prayer been burden sharers.
Through all the skills and gifts
by which you set us free
from scourges of disease
may we now thankful be.
In grief we still lament
the cost of many losses
in life and work and health,
with bearing all these crosses.
Not destitute of hope
in you our God we trust
as guide through days to come
in new life to adjust.
All praise to God of all
with whom we share this planet.
May we be one with them,
respecting every limit.
Each insect, beast or bird
from which disease derives –
we must respect their space
that we and they may thrive.
Dear Jesus you've been here
through times of isolation,
in us to hold real hope,
restoring motivation.
Then arms outstretched once more,
set free from all regrets,
we'll open wide the door
to welcome back our guests.
We meet again in joy
refreshed upon our journey.
As we move on from here
with Christ who shows us mercy,
there's much that we can learn
as we survive the test –
in prayer we can discern
how care is best expressed.
I, just like a page
Have a true story to tell
It, may not be a best seller
But a story of my life, nonetheless
And, with every page, that I tell it
The pages burn into dust and get lost in the breeze,
the breeze that is life
I've never, stolen to the detriment of others,
Nor have I toiled for the poor to slumber,
in a voidfull darkness
I've never, burnt any soul, with whip in my mouth,
thereafter leave scourges without smoothing them in balsam
And yet, night after night,
as I look to the heavens
I'll still ask my Father, whether I,
have offended or cursed
These lips, sure as a kiss,
I have used just for healing
As springs, endlessly warm,
I have lent these hands, to fill up hopeful promises
And yet, night after night,
as i gaze, into the constant ocean of green
I, light as a kite, flapping in the wind,
sailing to new words of promise
I, just like a page
Once had a story to tell
Whether you, can take a page,
from this book, and burn its pages
Just as, these pages burn, leaving no words
of regret or sorrow to linger
Time, passes the pages, burning the book,
leaving the legacy of a man...
05Aug2015
A walk of freedom from the dark days of suffering,
The yoke shattered as the sun shines on his dusty face,
Once Slaved to his fellow man for integument difference.
The toil of his endless slavery accompanied by scourges,
His bare back bent to the sky and the whips of his master,
The Black Man was fervent in his virtuous desire for his good future.
The rusty chains left a shackled scar on his freedom path,
The virtuous future once longed for granted to him,
He's now a master of himself no longer bound to slavery.
With a pure heart of Gold he ascent to abide with his torturer,
Anew beginning for both race as they sojourn in peace,
All to the detriment of the Black Man.
Just like the saying goes “Old Habits Never old masters became wearied of equal rights with the slave,
Soon He was tagged niggard for trying to survive,
In a stound prejudiced once more for his skin colour.
Enslaved once more by laws of the old masters,
The Black Man returns to a mental plantation picking cotton.
Judged By the skin colour the Black Man continues in a race of life seeking equality and servile to Racism.
SAY NO TO RACISM
At times my world is foggy and nippy
rainy and droopy..
I am rolled in a niche of fickleness
My colors and glory may be blurred with mist
And my sun is shaded with grey
Or may shine brightly with temperate heat
I am wishing to stay long and nurture
this barren land with my fecund desire
Waking up in the first light of hope
When the world is reluctant for colder grope
I make your barn swells with harvest
From my garden of bounty wrought
By frenzy wind , gentle rain and
stormy nights..
All these scourges must I meet?
To strew your dreary trail with blazing
foliage hues..
And turn your frigid-melancholic confine
mirthful...
As time unfolds, my trees may be bare
and unsightly...
But limbs are bold and strong, fit
to stand the heaving harshness
of winter...
And have survived from muted desertion
and silent struggle...
Decayed proceeds of earth, I scatter
to bring forth spring flowers
and pleasure...
My landscape is always an inspiration
for lost and seekers...
to poets and writers...
I am always a delight in your wonder gape
Mysterious, short-lived yet haunting...
MISERY
Life and death
Entails the other
When I die where will I go?
So I wonder?
What is life?
And the essence of living
If the world was created free
Why are we not giving?
The air that we breathe will pass away with time
And we shall take no silver with us
Not even a dime
When your time is up
And your heart stops beating
And light becomes dark
And your mouth stops eating
And our soul departs
To a place yet unknown
But our flesh nourishes the soil
See how big the trees have grown
For fate is marked with cruelty
But why have you treated me so?
Quench my fire
Like a candle wind blow
Lonely hearts
In homely carts
Isolated in the world of greed
Yet we have naked women and babies
With nothing to feed
And wretched men in need
Wallowing in hopelessness
Scourges afflict the earth
Once green like olives
A man’s success is measured
By his control over the soil
This makes my blood to boil
Because I eat not from my toil
And everyday I am a prisoner
Trapped in the labyrinth of misery
I pray that one day all of these
Will become history
Form: