Long Selling Poems
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I spied Grace she was in a gentleman's club
her moves so pure but am more enchanted
by her disposition that inner purity radiating
a paradox for one involved in such a service
selling her flesh yet yearning for respect
Many are the times shes had to cry alone
asking God why do i have to do this..
do all these hungry eyes have to feast
upon my sacred sanctuary for them to offer
their filthy but desperate needed money
I offered her a bottle of beer and partook
the feast that never fills one hunger..
it only makes one more hungry than before
I reminded her they say king Solomon had..
a harem with hundreds of concubines..
They all craved the attention of their king
and if tomorrow is Judgement day grace..
remember to say that you were with me
i ended spending the office petty cash...
but i got at least to chat with lady grace
At church next day cant concentrate images
of a pure grace dancing as she was born keep..
keep invading my mind.. am attending this service
for her with her in communion with her.. grace
for if tomorrow is judgement day grace.. Cbartrakx
cybartracks
small worldwaters
code 254
Never the never
If all was to disappear in front of your eyes,
Would you still reach out for me?
In an echo chamber I am only ever,
Calling out for you to hear the words that I need to speak.
If I was to whisper, into a gale force wind,
Would you find a way to hear the words that I say?
If I am gone in the morning light, as you open your eyes,
Would you still reach out for me?
Would I still be near...?
Would you find a way?
You resonate, around my mind,
When ear plugs are in, to drown the din,
Of everything that I can’t help but think.
When I am blind drunk you are still the only one;
A sight for sore eyes, that feels right inside.
I keep you next to my heart, to never be torn apart,
By your absence or absinthe; a step too far.
We are in a three legged race to the finish.
Broken wishes, broken promises;
Never heart’s in broken pieces.
We regenerate each other every day with the words we each say
And in the way we move in tune, so soon, I am with you again,
As without you could never even be considered.
All the love, I have to give; if selected,
I would never again have a heart of wither.
With or without, you are priceless; no selling out.
Counting diamonds as they escape from your mouth
And leave me intent on making this last.
You are my first; you will be my last.
You take me past the past and into forever.
I am statue, made human by you.
Brought to life by your promise of never the never.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Down in the puddle of a Pig pen hole,
Caught me a Fish with a garden Mole.
The Fish got battered by a chip shop man,
Ate it for supper watching Jackie Chan.
Chan was fighting in a Kung Fu style,
Stylish and lean with broad beam smile.
Smiler is a cool Cat from Paris, France,
Frenchie plays piano at the ladies’ dance.
Tango with a Widow lady cheek to cheek,
Gracious man of 85 could dance all week.
Gracie is a Gibbon from Chester Zoo,
Serving up Bananas like young Apes do.
Bananas fall from trees in Costa Rica,
Costa has a Coffee house, selling Arabica.
Lawrence from Arabia has a dairy farm,
Keeps his Friesian herd in the cattle barn.
Shutters on the barn kept the cows awake,
Daisy Cow’s escape was a big mistake.
Mistaken for a Rat, kicked a garden Mole,
Down in the puddle of a Pig pen hole.
Hope Among The Rubble
Lego gangsta rap telling truth from inside Irans regime
Another political trap selling the youth out to be redeemed
The sound of a unified clap as the population is demeaned
Another international mishap that could cause a quiet man to scream
Unimaginable consequences that play out on the global stage
Unfathomable instances that cause a malevolent narcissist to rage
Inconceivable happenstances that are appearing on histories page
Irredeemable incidents occurring as they silence a visionary sage
Economic collapse looming upon every possible horizon and shore
Moronic demented relapses that leave you questioning what it’s all for
Subsonic missiles retract as they mine the ocean floor
Bubonic particles exact themselves upon the greedy and the poor
Ambitious universal moral urgency forces a meeting of minds
Suspicious controversial resurgence of a refining of the times
Auspicious infomercials divergence from ethics that mimic a lie or a mime
Pernicious propaganda converges as the age is redefined
Reflections from a mind that ponders only upon the wise
Deflections from a ruling class that has long avoided its own demise
Detections from a leader that’s crass that has collided with his own compromise
Injections of aggression and advertising that need to be revised
Twighlight being the rarest space for beauty and reprieve
Highlight the hope among the mess as the masses are deceived
Insight for both the young and old as they fight to accurately perceive
Delight for one who has the might among this to create and to conceive
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz
Flattery will get you everywhere
You can buy justice it’s for sale
DEI now has a red cap for flair
No need for degree from Yale
You can try to erase history
demanding a page preserved
Replacing fact science lobotomy
White washing learning disturbed
Changing the rules being cruel
New way of pushing agenda
Defunding schools hiring fools
Send troops if they won’t surrender
To the dumbing down around
In every leadership role
Ignorance preferred proud peacock now
Selling your soul for gold
No one is above God’s law
Our money is not enough
Censorship blocks our talk
Here free speech once was
Every Empire not of the Lord
Falls at a loss history ignored
One year and more if people should die still,
Bombs keep raining, missiles shower red rage,
All seem routine to hearts hardening nigh,
World feels sad as an after-thought on stage.
But so had people died of Covid scare,
They’d died alone, though buried in same grave,
Becoming just a number so lonely,
When threshold of pain goes up man gets brave.
All suffer, even continents apart,
Not merchants and brokers of war machine—
Business that hardly has a feeling heart,
What with Shylock’s sharp mind ever so keen.
World markets learn to adjust with the time,
Deficit, surplus seek levels anew,
And people’s life gets attuned to new rhyme,
They only suffer—the suffering few.
Alas, today’s wars can go on and on,
Putin putting up an ever grave face,
His rival, far from a chameleon,
His country getting the maximum mace.
Nations now spend bigger bangs on defence,
Merchants of war sole beneficiary,
Defence a pseudonym for an offence,
A way to boost dormant demand from ranks.
Who the gain and who gets pain, hard to say,
Humanity has lost a few rungs more,
West’s happy to harm, shy enough to bleed,
To US of A one more proxy war.
Like enmity do wars on their own breed,
The motion kept alive oh to save face,
Unwillingly as with its handbrakes on,
As if to prove who ahead is in race.
What if heads roll in this senseless charade?
False prestige must go on a starless stage,
What if the stands are all but deserted,
It matters not, shallow gets when the rage.
The price paid has now turned statistical,
Selling bible to atheists in mirth,
Leaving in limbo issues ethical,
In last throe seems UN, Oh since its birth!
_____________________________________
Happenings | 07.02.2023 | war
Poet’s note: Call it an outright aggression or a lingering war. Forget who’s right and who’s wrong, leave all pros and cons. The conflict goes on even after one excruciating long year. No one is the winner, all world a net loser. It just goes on as if it is a routine, international trade. All else have learned to adjust, not Ukraine which is bleeding heavily, but still no less keen to wound, if not win. Is all this war-mongering of any worth? This narrative in quatrains wonders.
We all fit where God has chosen and yet we believe it’s us who have coveted
That we do the desiring, selling tickets to your mother and then selling a dance and then you
You swam upstream with strength and the olive branch, twisted into a circle to form the crown
The rest died and your jubilance was pure and watching I held you screaming and I looked into my eyes which you had taken
The change came quick from infant to boy and we moved forward with the wind at our backs
Sitting at the top of the stairs you asked me each night,” Daddy, will you rub my back?” And I claimed it as my medal
You grew into these new clothes and life which manipulates all who are different and I fought them as they tried to make you fit
We traveled the World and the spinning. It never stops as your mind. You had friends and I got on and slowed
We looked eye to eye and you taught me who you were. You looked at me and our love came as the Sun each day
I knew you were getting ready to fly
And those strong wings spreading and waiting for the gust
I saw your first flight and it didn’t go as intended but you were in love. The ankle wasn’t. I saw your eyes
You had seen her and she had told you about yourself with her eyes.
I knew you were going back and the words
I look for you still on the horizon but it’s been long. My eyes have weakened, my heart has aches. I pray for you and to see
I hope you remember the lessons. They came from my father and he has grown cold and yet I still talk with him everyday
I’m just around the bend in your memory if needed. Just pray and you will see me and the fire burning
I’m hoping you make it home and as that last ember slowly dies. I’m always scanning the skyline and the light is on
Mr. Jerry Reed Hubbard was a native of Atlanta.
That is the biggest city in the Peach State of Georgia.
The people there were proud of their native son.
A few of his songs made Country Billboard’s number one.
A gold record and Grammy Award is what he got
for the best-selling single “When You’re Hot, You’re Hot”.
Many of his songs were funny, and I certainly laughed
when I heard his “She Got the Goldmine, I Got the Shaft”.
We also saw him with Burt Reynolds in the movies
where he warned the Bandit about those pursuing smokeys.
Jerry undoubtedly had a career that was great
until he sadly passed away in 2008.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
A photo of the near past
The year is 19O1, a market on a muddy field
selling, God knows what, I see cattle, and children playing around
the muddy ground, it had been raining in the morning
but this does not dampen the excitement of the day; the people
back then did not bother with posh umbrellas.
The men wear suits that look like hand-me-downs from the rich
people on the hill, the women too, try to look elegant
wear hats, the children run around in long dirty frocks
they look happy living an alternative life among the adults;
not to forget the ever-present dogs.
At a farm workers' market, everyone has a half day off
before returning to work to feed and milk the cows.
On the scene rests peace of an unchanging world that will
Soon be shattered by wars, hunger and economic forces.
Nothing will be the same again as the 19th-century approaches.
I look at the photo and think, every living thing at the market
on that day is long since dead a few of them are remembered
perhaps a faded photo of great grandparents as young is found
in a cottage for workers, due to be demolished for a new road.
Forgotten is the life lived by farm workers of 1901
Where you headed
When your on the run
Staring down the barrel
Of a loaded gun
Blue lights in the rear view
Life’s looking dim
Push the pedal harder
Escape the unlawful grim
No money for food
Thieving at night
Jacking and selling
Will all my might
Dealers and creatures
Of the night
Sidelying shadows
Oh what a sight
Sun creeps up
Moon goes down
Running like crazy
A faceless clown
Nowhere is somewhere
Running around again
Escaping my dark fate
Can’t see the end
Sun goes down
Moon rises up
Blue lights in my rear view
Ain’t life tough
Where are you going
When your on the run
Looking down the barrel
Of a loaded gun
Thoughts aren’t normal
Drug fueled craze
Can’t see straight
Through all the haze
Finally caught and
Locked in a cell
Life’s looking bleak
Scared as hell