Long Slaves Poems
Long Slaves Poems. Below are the most popular long Slaves by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slaves poems by poem length and keyword.
With the tears of yesterday let's build today. Not for greed like our oppressors but for equality. The past will not be rewritten but the choices we make will determine our our success or fall. Don't be fooled by the trimmings of the leaders who encourage crime like our oppressors, but for the inclusion and ownership of our business and our wealth to be dispersed amongst its citizens . Unless we collectively enforce this call we will always be the slaves of the wealthy. On the world stages our people are rich in wealth but forget their brothers and sisters who lives in poverty in Africa, thus ensuring that we will always be enslavement to the oppressors. We are full now is the time for unity amongst the divisions .the call to unite is our duty to take back our resources that is given for peanuts and returned to us for our wealth. The elite will only use us as they have proven by giving only to their own while we wait for handouts just to feed ourselves. Rise to the call of incision and equality. don't run to Europe and America who promises wealth and takes everything just to enslave you again . one Africa for the people of Africa.
Closing in by land, the Egyptians on the attack
From the other side, the deep sea at their backs
Had the newly liberated Hebrew slaves
just dug themselves watery graves
Prayer may be the Jewish weapon of choice
but this time one man found a different voice
From the tribe of Yehuda, Nachshon, its prince
taking steadfast steps into the sea, convinced
The G-d of Israel to command Moses, "Your staff, now raise!
Split the sea!" The courage of Nachshon of Yehuda forever praise!
_______________________________________________________
The Torah portion in synagogues around the world this week is Exo-
dus 13:12 - 17:16. It includes the courageous act of Nachshon, son
of Aminadav (as he is named in the Torah), the miraculous Splitting
of the Red Sea, and two famous songs of gratitude and praise after-
ward: the first, that of Moses and the men; the second, that of Mir-
iam and the women.
The Ancient Stone Wall
Green fields going on forever
Traveled by Romans, Celts and Brits alike
They each left their marks before they left
Walls built ages ago still stand
Made of rocks dug by hand
Carried by slaves taken from conquered peoples
Thousands of them stacked one by one
Each one a piece of art on its own
Covered by dull green moss
Ferns grow in their narrow cracks
They go on for countless miles
No one really knows who made them
Their names were lost to history
Still they are remembered
Their legacy remains in an ancient stone wall
Rocks placed with their sweat and blood
A timeless memorial to their spirit
Something that says the they were there
Observe; glance to see
Ow my word-this is so much of these slaves,
I hear they talk swag
Living to be trendy enough
Living to get the tag
Giving an impression of how they possess the truth
of vanity,
Nike's mark as a flag
Louis Vuitton's loafers has to bring justification,
From getting attention to forbidden respect
Attention
From the budget they reserve
To wild spending of honesty
Only to let the poor observe
Alteration
Nevertheless Mandela's tribulations had to be for
This young lady's Gucci
Empowered slaves
Jesus' Crisification is ironically given gratitude,
Like our lives are at wage-money
Brings some attitude
Like uprising & loving the mirror from any latitude
Unknowingly our grace we let darkness intrude,
We starve for spiritual truth,
Spiritual food
Ego surely is some messed up pursuit,
If the next generation will ever experience the
epitome of real humanity...
Let us feel free to fly.
If not,
Let us love one another not love the status of money
but of God in all sanity,
Even if its like insanity,
Let us not live only to die...
The vagueness behind your statute is just the worst
profanity,
More like
A
Slave
Of
Vanity!!
Why, so much progress has been made from the days of my grandfather
Now, it already does look like we do live in the future
But what would it look like in fifty years, pray, do you wonder
Would Christmas be still a joy, a family getaway
Would the birth of Christ still be celebrated
Would faith still be there
Pray, would life be still so fair
Even if now, already, for some, life does be so unfair
See, I believe in some fifty years, the way people celebrate Christmas would change
Why, the whole setting of the Earth itself would change
Seas would cover the lands
Maybe life would be no more as dense as it is
Maybe by then aliens would have conquered Earth
Or maybe, humans would have colonized some other planet
Whichever, in some fifty years, only a blessed few would get to celebrate Christmas
Forgotten would be this grand event
Forgotten for, the world would have other cares
More important ones, like catering to humanity's survival
Yes indeed, how to stay alive if seas do be everywhere
How to celebrate freedom when aliens would have made of humans, slaves
How to celebrate Christmas when some of your family live on another planet
How to celebrate Christmas when food is scarce
When living has become so dangerous
When hoping would all of life, hoping of being by some way or another, saved
Why, I see Christmas as being someday a mere memory
As do be the Legends of ancient Egypt
Maybe, in some fifty years from now, a Christmas tree would be a mere drawing
Maybe Santa Claus would be unknown
Maybe in some fifty years from now,
Parents would have no money to buy their children gifts
Maybe, they would sit, thank the skies for allowing them to be together
And remember of the days when Christmas was a grand celebration
Maybe they would have to be fast
For the alien masters would be needing them
Maybe they would even have to celebrate in hiding
For the aliens would have other celebrations, other beliefs
Why, the future does be uncertain
Nothing does promise humanity a positive gain
Life can turn dark, as it can get better
Whichever, for now, let us be thankful for what life does bestow on us!
29 Nov 2015
Contest : A Futuristic Christmas
By some old men born some centuries ago their childhood was raped
Without their consent it was taken away from them
Their sense of humor they killed all in the name tradition
Their freedom of choice they denied them because of religion
The right to proper womanhood they took away from them all in the name of friendly relation
Slaves they are turned
Exposing them to things beyond their mental comprehension
How do we define the relationship between a 60 years old man and a 13 years old teenager
Is that how much they really don't matter?
Really? Like seriously?
Forget not the fact that they are also humans
Humans with inalienable rights
Stop depriving them of their rights
Dear ignorant fathers! you cannot always be right!
Dear powerless mothers! you should not always be quiet
If they cannot stop, I ABSOL will talk for them with my ink!
Stop this outdated culture, tradition and religious practices!
And get updated!!!
ABSOL
Honest
Wrestler, self-taught lawyer, eloquent writer/orator, and man of integrity.
Son of Nancy Hank and Thomas Lincoln; beloved stepson of Sarah Bush.
Lover of books, animals and a good joke!
He felt empathy for the downtrodden and sadness, yet the need to persevere.
He feared slavery’s expansion, the collapse of democracy and failed leadership.
He wanted feedom for the slaves, freedom for women and a better world.
Born in Kentucky, he gained experience in IL., and fulfilled his destiny in D.C.
Abe
(Dedicated to my Hero, Abraham Lincoln. He also wrote a little poetry!)
working in the fields, picking cotton, and given food that is mouldy and rotten
Sweating in this heat with nothing to drink clothes ripped and dirty, and they are beginning to stink.
Chains around our ankles so that they cannot run, dropping exhausted in the blazing sun
Women were being raped, abused, and they went through hell
Made to have babies for their masters to sell
locked in at night, in wooden shacks, with welts from the whipping and the blood running down their backs
If they tried escape, hobbling would be done. Our masters would break their ankles so they could not run
So they did what they had to do in order to survive.
Bowing their heads to the masters just to stay alive
And if they were to die there would be an unmarked grave
No one cared who was buried there, just a worthless slave.
Those dark days are gone now; not slaves, they are now free
Able to live as equals, that is how it should always be.
Now go to the grave with no name to see
And say to them thank you for setting us free
With empty capacious cauldrons
the living entities arrive arrogant,
and depart organically desolate.
In between they turn into
instinctive greed slaves to snatch
the unearned fortunes,
getting sucked spellbound
within the abyss of cravings.
In the innate inferno of
corporeal passion temporal,
the frenetic flare laced by luring lust
debases the fervent feeling
of platonic pining dormant,
but in the blooming garden of love
it can sparkle sublime with elegance,
emitting the patina of penchant.
The chase of the migrating mirage
in the desert of deceptive ego,
etches the fragile footprints
of delusive dominance transient,
trails the sandstorm trajectory,
but the surging squall of strife
over the dunes of dwindling life
subsides in the inner space
of divine latent love configured
with the lattice of self-aware surrender.
In the blazing realm of connived conflict
the sane senses of sobriety
turn into consuming cinder,
flaming the fiber of prudence,
but the shower of sagacity,
spurting from the fountain of love
with divine flamboyance,
douses the fire of disdain,
and with the allayed ashes
fabricates the framework
of cordially congruent fabric
of blissful epitome of existence.
As the pristine petals of conscience buds
of my serene soul unfurl
in the subsided swells of stimulus,
and bloom the divine lotus of bliss,
I’m overwhelmed by the shower
of His graceful gift benevolent
of hope and contentment bestowed on me.
The beauty of idyllic life I then perceive,
blessed by the bequest of the supreme,
suffused with the ecstasy of salvation.
News You Can Use
This is Johnny Lately with Channel Too News
Coming to you live from under my bed
Along with all the staff and crew here at Cannel Too News
Wishing you a happy news day
We make it all up as we go in our sleep and in dreams
From the comfort of egos and beds… or under them
The weather is better down here
We invent that as well… It is always clear
Here we are at home and I’m not alone.
Mom’s making me cup a soup
And that’s the scoop
From channel Too News
All the news you can use 24 hrs. a day
We say it as we see it and we see it as we say it
Right off the top of our heads
And from under our beds
Beds that will never be made
As our mothers are our maids and slaves
We hide from the world with our power
And there’s probably no news out there… and who cares
If we say that it’s snowing then that’s how it’s going
So you better invest in some plows
I’m Johnny Lately with Channel Too News
With all the news you will ever use… for now