Long Shamefully Poems
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There seems to be silence within the serene night,
yet those indoors have eternal cries of unspoken fright.
One man drowns in chocolate, shamefully eying his hips,
as the woman next door kisses the hundredth man’s lips.
Two floors below, one screams out in pain,
as fatal anger has won the game.
The killer, shadowed, makes no remark,
but watches the blood flow, immersed in his soul of eternal dark.
Three doors across, an elderly man sits, rejected and broke,
hiding his face with tendrils of smoke.
His trusty cigarettes always at the ready,
when his finances where never steady.
Another flight down, a woman drowns in her agony sip by sip,
her life seems to slip by like a commercial blip.
Yet all she can think
is that her marriage is on the brink.
Before she fades into the night of another day,
all she remembers is throwing her wedding ring away.
Traveling down to the ground floor,
the troubles seem to equal more.
A woman tosses about in her anxious bed,
while her worries do pirouettes in her head.
Try to let the past and present go,
but the future looms like a horror show.
Outside, in the darkness, a piercing light shines
as a moth flutters by, on the still air it climbs.
It seems this beacon, as bright as the sun,
new hope has just begun.
The moth bangs itself against the glass,
trying to reach glory at last.
Yet no matter how much its antennae bend,
or wings grow fragile and not able to mend,
it seems like the only thing to do
to deal with its feelings, old and new.
Until it steps back and looks at the light
realizing that harming itself won’t set anything right.
With the last of its strength, ending its plight,
the moth flies off into the night.
At this moment, the man decides to rid his house of fat-packed glory,
as the woman on the ground floor takes a deep breath, changing her story.
The killer at large turns himself in,
the end to his years of sin.
The woman pours the bottles of wine down the drain,
finally she can remember her name.
The elderly man exhales his last puff of smoke,
the grueling memories no longer prod and poke.
And the woman kissing her hundredth man
lets him go, heart no longer sinking in deadly quicksand.
The light of dawn finally breaks,
and the darkness of the mind no longer takes
away from the people’s lives
as the light of hope is now by their sides.
Imagine trying
to freeze
a ball of flames
to no avail
Rumors of
being on ice
fail to fit the bill
Still these
exaggerated tales
are spoken & cast
as if the dye won't tell
This well of fire inspires
many to hate nicely
yet & still its dam
won't break
They're driven by
a hunger they'll never
sate so their wicked
mouths forever salivate
Trying to extinguish
a fate housed
by the unseen is a
job for the blind
Their actions have
no rhyme or reason
other than what they've
imagined in mind
This is high treason
in the eyes of
the divine
Is it possible
they still do not
see?
The probability
of such leaves much
to be desired
Shamefully
these archaic
expressions
have sired many
Plenty of room
in the ash & rubble
for those still hell bent
on causing trouble
A penny for
your thoughts
on the double
if I may
Maybe I'm being
facetious but I find
these egregious bees
terribly funny
It's no secret those
honey traps & jars
have seen far
better days
Still silly rabbits play
pulling everything
out of the hat
except a brain
Profane tricks
only bring shame
to their
hollow names
What follows are
the tying of shoes
fit for the other foot
The answer to the rain
is simple & plain
It's evaporated
toward the moon
to accumulate & fall
for a boon
Now there's snow
instead of rain
since they wanted
the liquid flow to change
You're witnessing
altar food being
consumed
LITTLE GIRL
THROUGH THE RIVERS OF GANGES
BY THE VILLAGES FAR FROM CITIES CROSSING MILES AND MILES
NO ONE HEARS LITTLE GIRL'S SINGLE LITTLE CRY
BY THE HEART OF THAT MOTEHR WHO VOICE IS SHUT DOWN
BY THE HEARTLESS FATHER WHO HAS NO REGRET OVER TO HIS LITTLE LAST CRY
NO ONE COULD HEAR HER , HEAR HER FOR THE LAST TIME
BY THE WINDS BY SEAS BY ROADS NO ONE HAS SAVED HER
NO ONE HAS THE COURAGE OR GUTS TO PRESEVED THE LITTLE LIFE
CORRUPTION TRAVELS FASTER IN THE COUNTRY
MORE THAN THE FASTEST TRAIN HAVE BEEN SEEN
BRIBERY IN ALL SECTORS COMMON LIKE , COMMON TEA
MORE THAN YOU CAN COUNT THIS COUNTRY AND ALIKE HAS LOST
MORE LITTLE GIRLS BEYOND THE COUNTABLES
NOT COMMON IN OTHESR BUT TRADITIONS HERE
MORE LIKE A ACCEPTABLE SOCIETIAL SHAME
NO ONE HAS THE COURAGE OR GUTS TO PRESEVED THE LITTLE LIFE
IS THERE A WAY TO SAVE THAT LITTLE CRY
TO SAVE THE INNOCENT BEING FROM THE CLUCHES OF PATHETIC DEVIL HANDS
CAN YOU SAY ANYTHING CAN YOU SAVE HER
TO LET HER LIVE TO LET THE LITTLE CRY TO SPREAD
TO NAME HER ON GODS NAME TO NAME HER LITTLE GIRL
CAN YOU CROSS THE GANGES YAMMNA AND INDUS TO SAVE HER
TO STOP THOSE BRIBED HANDS TO TAKE HER LITTLE LIFE
NO ONE HAS THE COURAGE OR GUTS TO PRESEVED THE LITTLE LIFE
WHEN THAT LITTLE GIRLS CRY WILL BE HEARED
WILL BE SAVED
WHEN THE LITTLE GIRL WILL HER LIFE BEYOND HER KILLERS
NO ONE HAS THE COURAGE OR GUTS TO PRESEVED THE LITTLE LIFE
EVERY YEAR IN MANY DEVELOPING COUNTRIES THE GILL IS CONSIDERD SHAME AND DISGRACE AND THE UNBORN FEMALE CHILD IS GOD FORBID PUT TO DEAD IN MOTHERS WOMB , SHAMEFULLY SOME UNETICAL MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS AND POLITIANS INVOLVES IN THOSE HEINOUS CRIME PLEASE LIKE SHARE AND COMMENT
*Image of A Universal Star by Private Stock.
A Penitent Soliloquy
It is in junctures like these that I encounter myself
traversing a meadow of spring colors just yon the lea
where purples and pinks contest further
plus blues delivering pursuit for an actual take.
In the completeness of the stretched out rivalry
as its foremost spectator wavered I in gratefulness
for its breathtaking rainbowed exhibition of magnificence
existed through our ambitious custodian in heaven.
Reluctantly, yielded I to my reason for it lay
just round the bend farther than the footing of
lowly chaparrals fronting the forest boundaries
like sentries of some consecrated hearth.
Unexpectedly, a window of circumstance burst
open from the back of me and as slightly revolved I,
beaming rays shot back hosting a flurry of blue jays
landing within the shrubs thrashing about till only a chorale of tweets were heard.
Again, found I a pensive motivation rallied to fruition by song, nonetheless, the journey must I and the pathway didst return me towards shallowed trees until giant redwoods rounded themselves about me.
A laden rock, the purpose of me being at that spot, was a makeshift altar stone where cometh I to pray, amidst the ambiance of consolation, the serenity of solitude and isolation factors in profound deliberative candor.
All that I've seen and heard this day, truly believe I to bear witness of your awesome omnipotence, your overwhelming omnipresence, and your omniscient being overall, I come humbly before you in supplication.
On penitent knees, I beseech you oh heavenly father as I look upon thy countenance I pray, forgive me of the iniquities that shamefully bore I and give me the strength to shed off the wiles of evil so that I may be your good and faithful servant, unto you, Lord the Father, Lord the Son, and Lord the Holy Spirit, I pray, Amen and Amen!
2022 January 29
*10th Place*
Repent and Believe
~~Regina McIntosh: Judged 2022 January 30
I can feel your beauty flow
I can touch the essence of your smile
while all the while. . .
Though I can't see you, I can feel you
I can hear you whisper in my ear
So clear
Oh I can
Oh Lord I can
and I shall, I can love you Lord much
with each and every breathe, Oh I can
I can sense that you're here
Even though I can't see you, I can feel you
Lord, I love you, I love you so much
I can think of pleasant dreams
You are always here
You're closer than my skin
I await you to come even closer nearer my Lord
Oh I can
Oh Lord I can
and I shall, I can love you Lord much
with each and every breathe, Oh I can
I can sense that you're here
Even though I can't see you once again
The fragrance of yourself leaves me breathless
I am not shamefully not to be embarrassed to say that I do
I love you
I can feel your smile
And I know that I'm your child
I'll never let you go, because this you already know
That I won't go away I'm here to stay
And I do that I love you Lord Jesus I really do
I love you
Lord I love you and I await your touch;
Yes I love you this much (cause I can and I shall)
Oh I can
Oh Lord I can
and I shall, I can love you Lord much
with each and every breathe, Oh I can
08/16/07
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
from anthology " The Love We Have Inside"
though I yam Caucasian,
tis rightful to honor that most bitter
racist genocidal crime
nonetheless ovation qua
quintessential significant contribution
vis a vis that doth litter
anonymous multitudinous peoples
many unknown dark skinned souls
bravely fought as non quitter
with melanin so coon sitter
this asthma feeble attempt
made to mind of literate
parent, guardian or sitter
adorn aye rhythmically twitter
to *****Sapiens with Negroid color
who, despite being human bondage
managed to adorn
worthy contributions to society,
though an American (though not so proud)
and civilization since time immemorial
hence, I wanna pay poetic homage
to persons born
akin to diversity exemplifying gamut
analogous to Indian corn
debased brutally and forlorn
and raised in cornucopia horn
of plenty with rare serf tenderness
whipped by wicked task masters
from the crack of morn,
aye cannot fathom why
a great proportion of humanity
must struggle on scraps of subsistence
viz with fifty plus shades of chocolate
vile shamefully opprobrious sworn
vengeance toward those
via heroic efforts escaped,
page number 2
manacled, tortured, et cetera history
as slaves an existence
until...pacified family dislocated
sans rent asunder, ripped and torn.
Once a proud family akin to Brady
bunch, now brutally, nasty
and short lived poorly destitute
(case in point) like Haiti -
once a nation extant with cultural finery
insidiously raped "Lady"
lacerated odiously robbing
unique peoples as owners didst slay
practically naked "Primates"
encaged like wild animals in zoos
culturally robbed while
abhorrently marched in ones and twos
shredded souls without shoes
(analogous to persecuted Jews)
of singular ambition to break shackles
though tightly fused
to life as they chose.
-To all those who died believing they were failures
Madman, fool, fraud, disgrace:
Curse your insolent mind and set alight your life’s work—
Forget about happiness; forget about fame
When money and power is needed to get ahead of the game.
Forget about passion and making things right;
Someone will steal your ideas in the dead of the night.
No one likes change, so don’t dare to be different—
New ideas aren’t needed when old ones have always existed.
Just sit on your hands and bite down on your tongue;
Your words mean nothing—they won’t let you talk for very long:
The sound of your voice will never be valued here,
And, shamefully, you can’t stop letting your eyes show fear.
So just get up and walk away; no one would blame you—
Throw down your vile heart’s creation.
Out of bitter resentment, you constantly rise and fall;
You become more insistent: shoulders back, head held tall—
You don’t let whispers poison the way you think:
After all, the more you rise; the more they sink.
And a hundred years later, after being laughed at for so long,
Your work is exhibited and admired for what it truly is.
Whilst those who doubted you lie forgotten in their lonely graves.
Yet another defenseless Black man
Screaming to no avail
For his mother as his life is...
Slowly,
Shamefully,
Dehumanizingly snuffed out
By police officers, this time, Black police officers.
Black on black crime at it's most brutal, and why?
Why? For heaven's sake, why?
Heart-wrenching it is watching a human being,
Clothed in my chocolate skin,
Stripped of his humanity, of his dignity.
Why? For what?
I felt like driving my clenched fist through a wall.
I felt like pulling strands of my hair out, except,
There are none to pull.
Watching a deadly black on black crime
Televised nationally - utter outrage!
What is this world coming to?
Rest in peace, Tyre Nichols.
I Felt Like Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
Date written: 02/09/2023
That one lost their tongue
somewhere along the way
long ago, the sound,
doesn’t come out the same
anymore, so they roll it up
like a carpet containing
a nakedly dead body
of blunt words
like unplucked violins
untuned to how it all
really works
begging to be heard,
and the flowery prose,
purple and bruised
like over-ripe fruit
teeth rottingly sugary sweet,
is now seen
day-in-and-night-out,
struggling with ease
way too much
like madness overgrown,
the dense overgrowth
of language unspoke
hides glittering gems
blushing shamefully
more exquisite than
the now daily averies
all penned in babel
that flow in glass jarring
anticipated patterns
of suffocating
paisley prose,
the simple beauty
in the plainly spoke,
never again
to be seen nor heard,
the mercurial metaphors
birdfeed scattered
to the begging migrations
of petulant bluebirds
naughty nightingales
honey trapping
wet-beaked hummingbirds
all beating hearts
with their wild wind flapping,
tossing sticks and stones
to those tongue thirsty
kiss lapping, lap dancing
love parched, gargling
swallows
Candide Diderot. ‘24
they spoke it as shame and
talked about
what the Lady had said
when they told the story
of Spazinchon my Missus'
cheeks turned red.
I found it shameful to repeat it
since I can't say how
it begun.
Love inspires those who
seek it.
The right kind of love will make
you feel dumb.
Ya'll know the story of Miss Trickus
the quilting blanket making Madam.
she stitched together a classic
she used satin p$nties to make flowers
and sewed them in the quilt
she she shamefully kept it secret
until her husband would reveal
His Saloon night at Nuevo Krucuss
a postentail customer worked a deal
he needed ten quilts for his business
he like the one's his ole lady
made for real.
The gentle men laughed and told me
he had a secret.
the Inn keeper would often sell
the left over garments lefted behind
by strangers
we'd stitch all up and sell
well a band of traveling gypsies
came to town one summers month
they had rags ,scraffs and under garments
they left behind the a whole bunch
we stitched the satin thangs in the quilts
not knowing if they would sell
but the stories behind the materail
went to have an interesting show and tell