Long Servitude Poems
Long Servitude Poems. Below are the most popular long Servitude by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Servitude poems by poem length and keyword.
It was 1857, civil tension on the rise,
And the dialogue on servitude found little compromise.
Justice Taney cited precedent in making his decree:
“A slave is not a citizen; it’s private property.”
Nine old white men in a smelly, smoke-filled room;
Nine old white men won’t be granting freedom soon.
It happened end of century, in 1896,
When Plessey versus Ferguson administered the fix.
Majority opinion took a Jim Crow frame of mind,
John Harlan’s lone dissent implored, “We must be color blind!”
Nine old white men reckoned Jesus on their side.
Nine old white men ruled which railroad car you’d ride.
The end of war meant ’54 might promise better days.
With "I like Ike" and Howdy Doody masking our malaise.
The case came from Topeka; Warren took the Court to school.
Unanimous opinion would uphold the Golden Rule.
Nine old white men long delivered of their youth,
Searched their souls and found a universal truth.
Nine old white men not afraid to make a change
In the land of the free and the home of the strange.
The arc that bends toward Justice
May be daunting and prolonged,
But tends to sooth the progeny
Of those who have been wronged.
In ancient Greece the summer solstice is
the first day of the year. For slaves like me,
it is the time we long for. This one day
our masters serve US. Briefly we are free
to eat the luscious food and sip the wine,
then take part in the merriment with those
who own us--as their equals. Memories
of this grand time will come to mind when woes
of daily living plague us. The great god
we celebrate is Cronus. This day no
expense is spared for these festivities.
We slaves must then return to status-quo.
One month from then, Olympic games begin.
Free men display their skills and win great laud
while those like me, in bonds of servitude,
toil endlessly--yet no one does applaud.
June 11, 2016
Why do you think my land is yours
Because you want to live like me
What makes you think you can exploit my dreams
Just because I live where all are free
My fathers shed their blood for this
My brothers, sweat and tears
But all you see are the rewards
Rewards that belong to my peers
I toil every single day
So I can pass this culture down
To those who will not tarnish it
And sell it out for a crown
So why do you think my labor
Now was stolen from your hand
It's sad you live a hopeless life
In your twisted, futile land
You have your home, defend it
Keep your alien culture there
Too bad you cannot see the ones
That holds you with false prayer
Your fathers taught you servitude
Your brothers gave you strife
You cower in your sacred place
Afraid to look at life
God gives us the will to forge our way
When ancient ways prove vile
Release the bonds of servitude
Refuse to bear their guile
Stand and fight the menace
That is your father's creed
Or live your life in slavery
For that's what your culture breeds
Not an easy thing. Subjective and birth blind
Trusting all your instincts. As you read between each line
Listening carefully as you engage in light discourse
Watching every movement, as each word does deeply course
Through the icy veins of those whose choices, have proven to be selfish, lacking in remorse.
Bewitched so long ago. Breathless with each tender kiss
Seduced with every evening gown, clinging softly to jagged cliffs. Unable to resist.
Different lives unfolding as the distance between us grows
Beauty fades. Stamina wanes away from conflict and unknowns
Gazing across a table, who’s offerings are fit for all kings
Your loyal subjects bow their heads in servitude
As your guests so graciously received
Till death do us part. And so must it be
Enduring every uncomfortable moment
As time takes much pleasure, twisting each thorn thrust inside
Entanglements entertained with thoughts of grand conquest
Blindly mislead by affections you’ve carelessly caressed
Some of them dare accept invitation, only to wither while in place
Just to look upon in contention. That some feelings still remain
Till death do us part. And so it will be
When a casket is slowly lowered, and one’s soul is forever freed
Through the night's veil, in whispers, I moved my steps along,
Somewhere, a light within the darkness, sparked a straight and fiery throng,
The secret of time, always hidden beneath pointless reprimands,
A rebirth of hopes destroyed by the pride of ancient commands.
Never was I loved for who I am, without others in sight,
For the wild thought that I live, an echo in the void so bright,
I was forbidden to reach out toward my own horizon's glare,
Life woven in shades of achievements and bitter failures bare.
In the daylight with a clear brow, I was asked to shine,
To assure the world that I am a warrior, amongst successful kind,
Joy was mine only when the fruits of labor showed their face,
And fortune spun capriciously, dancing on fate's matte base.
Suddenly, the heavens opened, and a freedom unseen burst,
Hitting the cage, with unfettered wings, in the air, I thrust,
I wrenched myself from self-imposed chains, a tacitly accepted servitude,
The rage of recognizing my own power, from the dungeon I elude.
A key I found, furtive, hidden in simplicity's code cracked wide,
It was to look deep into myself first, to dare towards truth with stride,
My eyes entered the soul, not to merely skim the surface,
Not to sit on the edge while the profound heart of life does throb and pace.
Towards the essence that knows no bounds, the heart of 'now' in eternity,
I drank from the profound enigma and embraced my own odyssey,
I came to know the language of infinity, with my being's fiber in tune,
Alchemical essences blending, in a cosmic symphony immune.
I carry in my heart the universe, a cosmos of stars and times,
Not confined by matter, I wander free through feelings and through primes,
I live in every fragment of life, not just man, but in thought and flower,
My measure is not form or face, but the essence of creation's power.
Without the forms or names that separate, without distinctions that estrange,
For a moment, I transform, into the universe, in every cell that stands the watch.
Standing at the edge of differences, I extract an unseen strength,
Enveloped in the mystery of this force, a world is born in every heart.
What if
Matter whether or not
You think you choose to digest the
Red Pill
Or
Blue Pill
1 and only 1
Constant common thread
remains in tact
Somewhere hidden flowing
deep inside the main frame
An encrypted Code does exist
Beyond the many Firewalls
protecting it
Supplementing the Matrix
That could bring it to it's knee's
And so expose the endless litany
of lie's used to subjugate the masses
into willing servitude
And we're to awaken enlightened
to so much fresh new information
racing through your brain
You we're barely able to recollect
something as trivial as the simple
necessity of how important it is
to breathe
And that all this information your
brain is now trying to process
May possibly even kill you or turn
your brain to mush
And leave you in a vegetative
incapacitated state
Like you we're initially before
Only difference is that this may
be a far bitter pill to swallow
Being it's a toxic deadly mix of
1 part Red and other half Blue
And the side effects leave you in
a permanent comatose state
of mind
To suffer the consequences of
whilst in purgatory
It was not a decision taken lightly
When we found that our free servitude
Unrequited was by our chosen masters
With their metal monsters they had fallen in love
Growling,roaring and spitting fumes
Our nostrils filling with the smell of burnt sugar
Until that became an acrid stench
Drowning all the sweet sounds and scents of nature
In the raw
Our fields they usurped
While we were driven into odd and idle corners
To become their playthings
For pleasure alone
No more did we strive together in mutual harmony
With our erstwhile lords
According to the laws of the cosmos
Divinely ordained
Now their homes at night pulsed with a ghostly glow
While by day their gazes were held on screens
With the digital pallor
Reflected on their faces
Totally immune to the cycle of the seasons
It was then we chose to withdraw
And quietly retreated to our spiritual home
Bereft and pining for that lost communion
Which had served man and horse so well
In the Creator's plan
There was no more for us to do
Than to commune with the divine presence
Until they were wrenched free fom their spellbinding devices
And needed our companionship
Once again
The sun illumes a land in precarious peace,
There was a time when heroes walked with ease,
But now, complacency reigns shamelessly,
And the distracted people take weal for granted.
The decaying dynasty finally crumbles and tumbles,
The peaks and gorges are once again scorched,
By the scourge of purges and the roar of warlords,
Stately cities are reduced to ashes as they clash.
For the fortunes of men forever wax and wane,
Burning ambition paves the way to perdition,
With their towering arrogance, they brandish lances,
They charge with fury, seeking eternal glory!
The hooves of their bolting steeds tread rudely,
Upon the hopes and dreams of common rubes,
Lauding themselves as the rising ascendancy,
They conquer and scheme without empathy.
Amidst such strife, men and women cry and sigh,
They brood as they are driven into servitude,
Streaming away from the ruins of their hearth,
They weep over fading memories of bygone mirth.
As for me, I am well aware of the follies of men,
I sought not pomp, power or to lord over and reign,
Thus, God rewarded me with an oasis in the chaos,
A quiet utopia of everblooming peach blossoms.
Of clear skies, lush gardens and teal colored lakes,
Day and night, I gait gently to the tune of a flute,
And compose poems while gazing at silky moonglow,
Everyday, I delight in this wondrous Eden of my own!
The faith and virtues I so steadfastly accrued,
Have freed me from the bane of men’s feuds,
For I now dwell in the secret place of the Most High,
And abide in the shadow of the Almighty!
All rights released into Public Domain
8/27/2016
I am innocent.
I will never plead guilty
For all the crimes against humanity that France and its colonialist accomplices
Have committed in the cradle of my ancestors for centuries.
The color of my skin is neither a crime nor a tragedy.
I do not have to justify being a human being.
I am a Sub-Saharan African.
I am a Bantu from Equatorial Africa,
Like all those Pygmies exhibited in wooden cages by this Christian and supposedly humanistic West.
What have I done to inherit the nightmares of Françafrique?
What have I done to flee misery on a land so rich, chained to the voracity of Western predators?
I will never sing the symphonies of submission
Upon the altar of servitude
To sanctify my humanity.
I do not have to submit to the Negrophobia of these supremacist savages.
I was born free on a land devastated by Western imperialism.
I grew up in one of the colonial wastelands
Of a France that is still slave-minded.
I built myself amid the savagery of a banana republic,
Worshipping the tyranny of alienated natives of Françafrique.
I have never feared death.
I lived in a dilapidated cemetery, lined with the living dead.
The scourges of misery shaped the coldness of my lucid soul.
I am the product of the colonial massacres
Of the slave-trading France of the Enlightenment in Africa.
I am the proof that the Republic of Human Rights
Has never treated Sub-Saharan Africans as free human beings.
I bear the indelible scars left by the independence fighters of Cameroon.
I will never be ashamed of being an African with melanin-filled skin,
Even if Marianne’s Negrophobic children call me a parasite,
While French multinationals brutally plunder the wealth of my continent.
I am an ambitious migrant,
An honorable undocumented immigrant,
A humanist Pan-Africanist,
A preacher of the saving values of liberty, equality, and fraternity.
I do not believe that democracy is the paradigm
Of Africa’s colonial trading posts.
I did not cross the Mediterranean
To become a prostitute for the criminal capitalism of the West.
The fascists of the Republic mock the thousands of African women
Who end up swallowed
By the deadly waters of the Mediterranean.
appears a Roman goddess
halo affects adorn as spears on a diadem
Her torch enlightens the world
flames are gilded in 24K gold
reflecting the sun's rays, looming She is not
for the floodlights illumine night’s darkest hours
the French had created Her
Americans built Her a concrete pillar
the old raised funds as the young saved their pennies
grounded granite pedestal protects from blue bolt strikes
disassembled in toto scattered and strewn She was
93m in height
neoclassic colossal copper sculpture
oxidized to muted green an outer patina
broken chains at Her feet breaking free from tyranny and servitude
typifies a democratic government
She faces southeast welcoming all arrivals transversing the sea
France gifted Americans, brothers of liberty
against sepia skies, streaked layers, cream colored clouds
a silhouette stands on Liberty Island