Long Sides Poems
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Engaged In Cage
Cage comes with captured thoughts from well inside
Spirits paint it green with envy
Screams leave their marks on wires
Shake it. It still remains
Bars measured to contain
Rain can only rust so much
As cage takes on the gray of days
But still remains inside with pain decaying
Wires, bars, measured to fit just right
To capture thoughts
Emotions form with pride that needs to die
Boxed in from all six sides
Bars that hold no reason but holds you
Pins you in from the beginning
No rising from the dirt or earth with an opinion
You must be held on this small island
Accountable to become the cage before all else
Before you become yourself
Live out your days with you and it together
Contained, removed from all external life
No one the wiser
Not even water for your pleasure
Cage and you remain together as one entity
If you simply become the cage
And stop all this
There would be no misery
Engage the cage
Be one with it
That Sabbeth day when both sides bled,
Palm Sunday fourteen sixty one.
A blizzard raged as arrows sped,
With armour piercing bodkin head.
The war of roses had begun,
That Sabbeth day when both sides bled.
The frozen ground and beck ran red
This battle site was near Towton.
A blizzard raged as arrows sped.
When all seemed lost, the vanquished fled.
The White rose claimed the day was won,
That Sabbeth day when both sides bled
With nine and twenty thousand dead.
No place to hide, nowhere to run
A blizzard raged as arrows sped.
The Crown of England it is said,
With bloodied hands when day was done
That Sabbeth day when both sides bled,
A blizzard raged as arrows sped.
3/ 2/ 2015
Warm healing water, soothing, calm and sweet
Compassionate, caring, loyal and kind
The values of honesty, she never cheats
For her friends, she’d lay down her life in a second
Ice cold daggers that glare from her eyes
Stabbing the hearts of anyone who gets close
When she’s around, there’s danger awry
Breaker of hearts without a second glance
Cheerful and playful around those who she trusts
Giving them her all, her dedication unmatched
Fighting their fights, lungs full of stardust
A gift giver, a helper, an undying lover
Willing to kill those who have done wrong
Icy fire in her veins that burn from betrayal
The friends who she makes never stay long
The cause of her hardened front of a personality
The first world war started because of poverty
The first world war started because of greed
The first world war started because of an assassination
The first world war started because of Ideas
The first world war started because people wanted revenge
Each Statement appears to claim, all of the truth
Each statement, appears to conflict with the others
Yet each statement is a different side of the truth
To see all of the truth you need to look at the life of people
To see all of the truth you need to look at all sides of a problem
The first world war started because of poverty
Gavrilo Princip start his life in poverty his family suffered
with six of his sibling dying in infancy poverty became
the breeding ground for his feelings of discontent
education brought him into a world of ideas
The first world war started because of greed
people in power, used the assassination as an excuse,
going to war they thought, would bring them profit,
they didn't picture themselves losing but instead,
pictured the profit of taking wealth from other countries
The first world war started because of an assassination
Gavrilo Princip joined a group called the Young Bosnia
Believing in ideals of unification inspired by ideas from
Romanticism, anarchism, and revolutionary socialism
Serbian military puppets encouraged to commit the assassination
The first word war started because of ideas,
Ideas are all around us, flooding our lives every day,
people say, get rid of the immigrants, they take our jobs,
Immigrant's say, we are better than you, we have less criminals
communism was an idea that inspired Gavrilo Princip
The first world war, started because people wanted revenge,
Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife where assassinated
People wanted revenge people wanted retaliation
supporting government decisions people became ready for war
with the support of the country people go to war.
Nobody started the first world war because of religion,
it started because of many, conflicting reasons
these are but a few, I sure their are many more,
but if we want to learn from the past, to make a better future,
Think hard, of how to make a better world, without war.
Thong Thing Is Wrong
Thong thing is wrong
Cellulite women rolled on folds of flesh
Over waves and seas that crest
What are those monstrosities
Whales washed up on beaches
Thin strings not quite bikinis hide nothing
Obese creatures covered by mounds of pounds
Blot out the sun uncomfortably
As the fat eat Twinkies, dream of being Twiggy
Oh Doris please don't put on weight
Put on your tent. Save us from nightmares in the day
Tides move when you step in the water
Displace the natural order
Fish run from you. Forget how to swim
Naked can be scary by the sea
What is that giant thing standing in the sand
Dressed in almost nothing, held together by a string
What waddles down the shore
Thinking a black cloth makes one thin
Oh this fashion does not make for happy
Dreams and illusions bury the thighs in lies
Under the sun filling up horizons sky
Surprise! Eyes bleed at this frightening sight
Makes old and young cry. No place to hide
Ocean sojourns once were fun
Watching bikini clad women run
Nudity is meant for others more young
Eye candy, shapely, sexy and thin to begin with
Weight escaping on all sides exposed
Pretending to be pretty and thin is quite the trick
Girls come in all shapes and sizes
Some have been known to raise the tides
In disguise, hiding behind a smile exposes it
The thong thing is wrong
Please make it stop. Make it quit
As I find myself inside my mind;
I am dreaming of the waters;
I find myself in the skies falling down, dreaming I'd hit the bottoms;
But through it all, I know that you're holding me;
Lord, God I know you are Holding me
Lord, Jesus you are, you're Holding, holding, holding me;
As I am waling down the alleys and the streets of life;
Your whispering in my eyes, it will be, everything's all right;
I find myself stepping off the curb, as a truck races by;
I can't imagine why, I cry, why I am falling toward him as he's speeds by
My, my, my, my, my God Lord, God I know you are Holding me
Lord, Jesus you are, you're Holding, holding, holding me;
Lord, God I know you are Holding me
Lord, Jesus you are, you're Holding, holding, holding me;
On the roof tops
on the mountains sides;
I won't stop until you walk on by;
I'm gonna embrace you and trust you Lord
Lord you hold my hand, help me to understand;
Show me the way so that I can't fail, I need you I want you and I thank you so;
I thank you for. . .
Lord, Jesus you are, you're Holding, holding, holding me;
Lord, God I know you are Holding me
Lord, Jesus you are, you're Holding, holding, holding me;
My God, Lord Jesus I thank you for always. . .
Holding me, Holding me,
for Holding me
Written words & Arranged music by James Edward Lee Sr.
October 15 2016
From both sides of the world we poets hail
Japanese Chokra and Russian Chatushka
Italian sonnet and African Kwansaba
Keenly delighting each other without fail
Within ballad a most interesting tale
Carpe Diem makes me sigh with a serious Ahh.
Here comes an acrostic – the best I ever saw.
Abcedarian swoops in on a gale.
Cinquains and poetic diminished Hexaverse
Your challenge accepted, the cards are clearly cut.
Get out your pocketbook, believe I can do worse.
The Internet has made writing legitimate.
From both sides of the world we poets hail.
Keenly delighting each other without fail.
Green
Oh Green, how no color can compare
It lies upon the mountain sides
Which, would otherwise lay bare
It props up pretty flowers
and supports them in the sun
It runs along my hot dog
with the yellow on my bun
It's the color of our money
That proves, what it is worth
And the color we give babies
some times before their birth
It's the top of every tree
It's the pride of every pickle
It's the moss beside a stream
where the water slows then trickles
It's the sea down in the tropic's
and in the eye's of Irish girls
And it lies below the foam
when a wave beings to curl
It's heather on a hill side
blazing forth in emerald green
The color of St. Patrick's
And Greatest Party ever seen
Snoopy and Snowman
Snoopy challenged his huge friend, Snowman
Who has no legs, feet and two icicle hands
He gave him snowball and said, “Throw it!
If you can’t, I’ll call you a Triple Naught in 6 Feet!”
Snowman didn’t want Snoopy’s jeering stuffs
He accepted his challenge with his growling puffs
If I can, I’ll call you in turn a Double Diddly-squat
And a twisted nut-puppy who’s afraid of all cats
The two friends kept on bantering each other
Snowman got twigs from a tree without his ladder
Jabbed them on his sides like a pair of antlers
Sticking out like he’d swallowed two stags together
Before throwing, he bragged his brown hand-icicles
He didn’t know, snowball is a wheel of Santa’s bicycle
When he was about to hurl the snowball as far as he could
Santa shouted, “Do it! Both of you will have gifts:cat foods!”
Dec. 31,2017 12.15 pm
©2016Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
Third Place
Contest: Silly Christmas Cartoon
Judged: 1/17/2017
Sponsor: Poet Laura Loo
They say her hair remembers sunlight,
even when the rooms are windowless,
even when the questions stack like files
no one wants to open.
From Tampa’s salt-stung air she rose,
a practiced smile, a courtroom voice,
a lacquered certainty that learned
how to live inside microphones.
Power is a mirror with bad lighting—
it shows you only what it needs.
Behind her, paper storms keep forming,
names half-redacted, dates that bleed.
She walks through corridors of flags,
through praise that claps like shuttered doors,
while somewhere, whispers learn to swim
in darker, colder drawers.
Is it guilt? Or just the gravity
of standing near the grinding wheel?
Even clean hands smell like iron
when history decides to feel.
The cameras love her confidence,
the way it doesn’t flinch or break—
but truth is a slow, patient thing
that never hurries for our sake.
So she stands—bleached, branded, framed—
between the oath and what it hides,
a silhouette of certainty
with doubt stitched softly in the sides.
And Tampa’s sun keeps shining anyway,
as suns have always done before:
indifferent to who holds the keys,
or what is buried in the floor.