Long Slavers Poems
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Maybe you have got to thinking
I probably should read more books,
but there’s just so much crap out there,
is anything really worth a look?
Is there anything worth my time,
something that will not disappoint,
something that strives to entertain,
not leave me feeling out-of-joint?
We all know there’s tons on lit fic
that is ‘too smart’ for things like plot,
liked only by some professors
who say ‘post-modern subtext’ alot.
With important sounding titles
like The Scarlett Lilac Dream,
where you muse for countless hours
in a bored bisexual teen.
They put a sticker on the front
claims it has won all the awards,
but you read it and realize
why some ancients fell on their swords!
And there’s lots of self-published stuff,
some of which can rather good,
but for every one you want to know
there are ten that you never should.
A lot of chaff to find the wheat,
who has the time to do all that?
Well I think you’ll be happy to find
I can relieve you of all that.
I call it THE BOYS OF THE BREACH,
the latest book that I have written,
there’s plenty of fun awaiting,
so take a moment to listen:
Two former military men
get a job in the multiverse,
protecting teams of scientists.
ensuring that they don’t get hurt.
They a face a wide array of foes,
of almost every shape of kind,
like intelligent dinosaurs
who are dead-set on genocide,
or a gruff, prehistoric bear
hunting our heroes for a meal,
or German doctors who love sex
but don’t allow themselves to feel,
or alien bugs who reproduce
through a form of body-horror,
or wild west madmen who think
new civil wars will bring them honor,
and transdimensional slavers,
what’s a multiverse without them?
It may be a dangerous job,
but these are dangerous men.
Again, it’s THE BOYS OF THE BREACH,
and it’s for sale on Amazon,
just one click gets you adventure,
scifi fun and action strong.
THE BOYS OF THE BREACH, now available on Amazon!
I saw a man the other day
while I was watching my TV,
he angrily proclaimed we should,
“Apologize for slavery!”
Now this struck me as quite bizarre,
for we did this long, long ago,
we fought a war to kill that sin,
the evil of it all do know.
But somehow his words made me think,
though not along with his intentions,
other peoples’ have not said,”Sorry,”
they should not go without mention.
The Muslim world, the most of all
has much to apologize for,
a million Europeans they
seized as slaves from ships and the shore.
Bad as that is, what is worse yet
was the Trans-Saharan slave trade,
one hundred twenty million souls
were scooped up by Arab slave raids.
To put this into perspective,
in the deep southern USA,
four hundred thousand slaves came in
during the colonial days.
Now there’s black skin in America,
but not much in the Middle East,
since they castrated all the males,
and took off more than just testes…
nine out of ten would bleed to death,
but the slavers didn’t much care,
Africa was full of infidels,
there would always be more flesh there.
Eighty percent of slaves taken
didn’t last through the desert sands,
and two-thirds of them were women,
sold as concubines to any man.
And the Muslims kept doing this
for about fourteen hundred years,
it was only for two centuries
that Europe’s interest did appear.
Now the west admits to all of this,
expresses regret all the time,
but rarely do you see such thoughts
arise from devout Muslim minds.
The Saudis only banned the trade
in the god-damned nineteen sixties!
In Sudan, Libya, Isis lands,
the practice exists presently!
It’s not something the lefty types
want most people to realize,
yet why has nobody ever asked
the Muslim world to apologize?
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
The charnel houses roar like famished beasts,
And I walk among their desecrated cemeteries.
The scent of ruin clings to my charred lungs,
My journey in this dimension is sold at the price of blood and iron.
My tainted hands tremble as I explore the memory of my ancestors' scars,
Their hatred of those *****-phobes shaped me.
I chase vertigoes of independence that other Blacks flee,
Pleasures that burn hotter than fear.
I know the value of gold, of pain,
I measure injustice through the hypocrisy of their human rights.
Survival is learned in grime and fire,
And forgiveness has never found a place in my grief-pierced heart.
I swallowed stars of my destiny,
I plunged into the trash heaps of human history,
To tear out fragments of fury,
To offer them to my oppressors like bolts of truth.
The sirens of negrophobia flail when I smile,
Impervious to the morals of these heirs of slavery,
My choices, an explosion of freedom in the silence of supremacist racists,
My victories, scars I wear with pride.
My ancestors weep through my dilated veins,
Their predatory chains are mine, yet I dance over the cruelty of these Christian slavers, without forgetting all those Arab-Muslim traffickers under a false pedophile prophet.
I expect nothing, regret nothing,
And in this chaos, I invented my own light from the darkness of these racialists’ alienation.
A friend asked this simple?? question,
which provoked this universal answer session.
Why wake and get out of bed each morn?
My goddess!! I adore each fresh dawn.
For starters - there's life,
each day a chance to lessen strife.
Pour loving oil on ideas for war,
til each one's a satisfied locked door.
Every heart that's broken,
can be given a healing token.
dark entities that games enjoy,
our emotional ties to employ,
In devious slavers' play subtle,
my golden threads do easily scuttle.
and that's just before my 3rd dimensional coffee break,
while in bed starting physical actions to wake.
To align all within the gestalt's design,
the body must to the day's mandala resign.
Release the need society's matter brings,
Let NOW through and destiny's purpose sings.
Now, coffee imbibed there's work to do
3 breaths and bulwarks of protection are strengthened too.
this day needs - a dozen souls to be freed,
in several more, ascensions goals to seed.
but I hope you get the drift,
this is my list to shift.
Yours is unique to your own soul,
Intention is all that is needed to fill that bowl.
Ask and it will be given,
Concede to serve and despair will be riven.
Useful joy will companion your days,
this is what universal Source says.
777
Written 22 June 2018 in response of a special lady's question on Facebook.
Submitted to Contest by Dear Heart
Your favourite poem for June 2018
,
The colored pains are carved onto the back of my ancestors’ history.
My oppressors see my Africanness as a curse,
the rotten fruit of savagery, slavery, and the barbarity of colonization.
The blackness of my skin has made me a suspect since the cotton fields.
I am from the cradle of humanity.
I grew up in a colonial trading post.
My homeland never had factories that manufactured weapons of war,
yet I know how to handle a Kalashnikov like those child soldiers.
My first shock: an infant, cut to pieces and stuffed in a sack hanging from a palm tree.
After the colonial massacres, dead cities to soften the cruelty of a bloodthirsty dictatorship.
I share the same convictions as those independence fighters
that the general’s colonial army labeled as “rebels.”
I am neither a suburban kid nor a ghetto dweller.
I took my first steps in a shantytown of Equatorial Africa.
Some cross the Mediterranean toward the Western tyranny of misery,
while others choose the illicit path to shine in the gloomy cells of capitalism,
lit by the flashing lights of the “Republic of Enlightenment” slavers.
These Western impostors treat Africa like an open-air dump,
while their neo-colonial military bases protect the safety of multinational corporations
that have been savagely plundering Africa’s wealth for centuries.
They finance Islamic terrorist groups so that African dictators
can sing the globalist symphonies of Western democracy.
I am a Sub-Saharan animist like the first pharaohs.
I remember the massacre of the Amerindians
when I see African Americans filling the prisons of a nation born from genocide.
My holy land is Africa.
I will never submit to the negrophobic laws
of supremacists indoctrinated with the vile delusions of the Third Reich.
I remember Pope Nicholas V’s papal bull
when I see the Catholic Church meddling in the political affairs
of Africa’s banana republics.
Slave blood in my veins,
in my heart too much pain, only love, no hate.
My conscience has never been chained.
My criminal record remains spotless,
like the orifices of the Christ’s own mother.
I have a few insights for every situation.
I walk alone on this Earth like a fugitive demon.
I draw nearer to the flames with every transgression.
I despise glory, yet that harlot will make my legacy immortal.
Wounds remain open in my tormented heart.
I chose solitude to preserve my surroundings.
Dark forces shine in my eyes ever since I discovered the pleasures of chaos.
My contempt for human beings makes me laugh when piles of dust try to undermine the rise of my celestial spark.
They will never betray me.
I have never granted my trust to those traitors.
I do good to my fellow man to erase a few sins in the grimoire of my karma.
I speak with eloquence,
I dress with elegance,
To conceal the fury blazing through my veins, widened by the darkness of the abyss.
My stay in this dimension is a nightmare filled with scenes of horror.
I watch men preach democracy while dropping tons of bombs on lands overflowing with wealth beneath their fertile soil.
I am not your brother, I will not lie to you,
We do not share the same indelible scars.
I will never be a hypocrite, unlike those parrots who repeat the fleeting vanities of liberty, equality, and fraternity.
Where I come from, a man is free only if he accepts to bear the weight of his chains with dignity.
The heirs of the slavers wish for me to remain property.
My family tree was ransomed by the predators of the Republic of Enlightened Slave Masters.
I have excelled in excess since the very first minutes of my life.
The only laws I respect are those that sanctify the blasphemies spoken by my insolent tongue.
When I was younger, consumerism scourged my convictions so that my ambitions would be merely financial.
You who read me, do not seek transcendence in the obscenity of my ramblings.
I wield a colonial language like a weapon of war against those who sanctify anti-Black hatred.
I await the reaper like a condemned man at peace in death row’s corridor.
I am not a poet, merely a prophet confined between filthy walls shaped by human madness.
No tears will honor my dusk.
In the furnaces, my throne is gilded like the entrails of the sun.
This debt crisis they postpone
And due dates will vary
It may come with no warning
Stalking the unwary
"Ban hate!", "Ban hate!", they holler
Their war is not with sin
God's Word is the enemy
The truth they have to spin
They say they're not for profit
Still, they pad their wages
Deception and trickery
Mask them as great sages
Not in the Lord's inner ring
Still, they claim His favors
"Love makes sin acceptable."
This lie enriches slavers
They cheer those who are sinners
Their "change" produces cracks
Their "love" lacks morality
They like to get kickbacks
Though a debtor to His Word
They put it out of mind
Their lives become more absurd
Their character maligned
There's no ceiling on this debt
The payment will come due
It cannot be written off
Excuses won't rescue
"My war is always with sin-
Sin that ruins within.
The sinner can never win-
Debtors' death a shoo-in."
So what, pray tell, should they do?
Turn back from apostasy
The devil holds them there
He's a debtor just like them
His lies they should beware
Ask God for minds, ears, and eyes
That grasp the truth of things
That "aha" moment they'll see
The "Light of the World" brings
See, Jesus paid the sin debt
He sets the captives free
His blood was shed for many
He rose to guarantee
From a debt they cannot pay
To forgiveness - and more
Their hope has been set free
And treasure is in store
At one time eight different Native America Indian Tribes lived in peace,
In the state of Kansas, sharing buffalo, shared lands with no lease.
The Iowa, Chippewa, Delaware, Kansas, Osage, Pawnee and Kickapoo,
Shared venison, and fresh cool streams with the Wyandotte too.
Animals found in my yard today like the snake, raccoon, opossum and fox,
Were here along with the iris, daisy, dandelion, wild raspberries so chock.
On the California gold rush trail, plenty of settlers were injured or killed.
As treaties by the government were continually broken, considered nilled.
The Kansas-Nebraska Act signed by President Pierce in eighteen fifty-four,
Stated the colonists could decide if the immediate area would be slave or more.
Kansas was one of the main battlegrounds of the Civil War
With many free staters and slavers lying dead on the floor.
The “free staters” caused a ruckus, to try to get slavery abolished.
But it would be four more years before that idea got polished.
Wheat, potatoes, corn, soybean, zinc, coal and salt, assets of late.
President Dwight D. Eisenhower, made us proud of our state.
Women got the right to vote in nineteen twelve, check the archives.
Reluctantly, but we wanted to go back to sleeping with our wives.
It’s a state with the best barbeque, and Kansas City is a cultural delight.
Come on down to visit; we will welcome you easily and leave on a light.
Written: 9/05/2019
Contest: Your Best Rhyme Poem
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Why I think it should place: I had to do a lot of research to pen this poem,
and I am extremely proud of it.
So you’re all probably thinking
that these winter months sure are dull,
and I bet that you are wishing
from something to break the lull.
What if I were to tell you
that it all can end right now,
that there’s a new book out there
That will make you all say, “Wow!”
TALES OF THE FAR WANDERERS,
that’s the title you need to seek,
and I am not just saying that
because it's written by me.
I say it because this fine book
has action and adventure galore,
a true rollicking, rolling romp
that will leave you shouting,”More!”
It’s set in a medieval future
twenty thousand years removed,
with Mount Rushmore half in ruins,
worshipped by believers true.
There are strange fertility dances
that catch our heroes off-guard,
and chases over long prairie
against slavers gone too far.
There’s trading towns more dangerous
than any rugged wilderness,
and woods containing bow-men
who put to shame the very best.
There are sieges in a lonely keep,
and a roaming half-man man,
there’s a king who takes any woman
who he thinks can bring him land.
There’s a hero with no home left,
and his girl, the last of her kind,
they fight tooth-and-nail just to survive
in a world that’s lost to time.
They are heroes holding to what’s true
in a land of brutes and thugs,
so great I think you’ll forgive me
for this truly shameless plug…
TALES OF THE FAR WANDERERS,
Available now on Amazon.
There’s even a short epic poem in there, near the end.
It’s awesome. You should all go buy it.
Right now.
Why are you still reading this? Go.
...Have you ever seen true madness
take full possession of a man?
Gobayth’s dreams of coming home
were now all well and truly damned.
It’s said he screamed for half the night,
so much that it damaged his throat,
and it was not long after that
he started slaying ‘settled’ folk.
The first target was a merchant
travelling with his concubine
and his two slaves on the ‘cleansed’ moors,
but no safety would the man find.
He took an arrow to the neck,
his whore took one straight through the breast,,
Gobayth then slit both their throats,
as the two enslaved men attest.
When he finished that bloody work
he set both of the bound men free,
they became his first generals,
I know, since one of them was me.
We gathered those who had survived,
allied with others nomad tribes,
within a month you Black Flint knew
to step on the moors was to die.
But that was not enough for him,
he very quickly did decide
that those who built of wood and stone,
who grew up plants just to survive,
were too evil to be human,
he’d let no one live who kept slaves,
and with the horde that he had build,
he and his men started to raid.
Those men never learned his true name,
they started to call him ‘Diyal,’
in their tongue that word means ‘vengeance,’
he means to spread it to you all.
He’s ravaged you valleys and hills,
crushed your armies beneath his hooves,
he’s purging all the ‘civilized,’
so no one will remember you.
Your halls and walls he’s burning down,
your ‘kingdom’ will be turned to ash,
where your palaces stand right now
will soon become nothing but grass.
Your wives and daughters? Our war-brides,
we’ll father many sons on then,
your livestock we’ll add to our herds,
nevermore will they know the fence.
This is why you, and all your sons,
are tied up, fearful and perturbed,
waiting the knife that will end you,
you can’t say that it’s not deserved.
It’s what we bring to ‘settled’ men,
we promise to them futures grim,
had you not sinned so greatly the
gods would not send a scourge like him.
This is what awaits all slavers,
this is why all your cities burn;
Diyal liked to slit throats himself,
be patient, you’ll all get your turn…