Long Slaving Poems
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The coziness of domesticity
A shoulder to press a cheek to
Someone to come home to
after shedding a quart of sweat
slaving away at work.
A precious quality time to kill
with near and dear ones
that love me, and still will,
at my worst
Putting away the cell phone,
folding shut the laptop computer
in the gloaming in favor of
a much-needed human connection
Making time for a quiet reflection
and prolonged cogitation,
a conversation with God, for rest
and relaxation, for creativity
Someone with whom to share a laugh
Someone to walk with, arm in arm,
step by step among the fields of gold
despite all the madness in the world.
A skin to touch, a hand to hold when
Autumn leaves begin to fall.
Being emotionally available to people
I love and care about.
Most importantly, loving
and being loved in return.
What Matters Most To Me Poetry Contest (Winner: 3rd Place)
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
Date written: 04/01/2020
Natives interrupted
Guns pointed to their chests
Blown away like beautiful dandelions
Into that sweltering sun
Americans lollygag
In their newly claimed land
Under that grand old flag
Slaving away, picking cotton
Under the South’s heat of injustice
Scarred with inhumane treatment
Sweating tears and pain
Burdens heavier than sandbags
Yes, they’re slaving away
Under that southern flag
Stripped away from homes and work
And terrorized prior still
No voice spoke louder than the writing
Of no. 9066, President FDR
Away from homes they’re dragged
Into camps full of prejudice
Under Franklin’s flag
My old friend Alice
Just arrested
For obstruction of the traffic
Roads men proudly trample on
In handcuffs she was dragged
Into a sad, sad prison
Under Wilson’s flag
A poet in the midst of Caesar
On a shelf in Alexandria
King was shot and killed
Right of speech suppressed
Six feet under in a grave
Betrayed by the very country
He tried so hard to save
Yes, six feet under, toes tagged
Underneath that grand old flag
Spying on the enemies
Can’t afford to lose
Separated by a dumb old party
Worldwide on the news
There comes a couple lads
Down at watergate
Under Nixon’s flag
Furious and crazy
Past the point of no return
A noose is hanging for Mike Pence
Violence calls to burn
A mob gone mad
Pardoned from hurting their own police
Under Trump’s old flag
Marching home from the military
To a world full of hatred and unacceptance
Comes the obedient soldier
Disregarded as a crime
Yes, called hideous words like you-know-what
Barred from inclusion
Protected in the constitution
Under Trump’s old flag
“Situations”
In the morning when I rise
On Sundays watching the game with the guys
At the table when I eat
In the car bobbing to a beat
At the job on the paper chase
In a session with smoke in my face
In the church listening to the Word
In my notebook combining nouns and verbs
In the gym while making baskets
On the court hitting balls with rackets
In my bed lying all alone
On the field trying to reach the end zone
At the bar buying a drink
Under the stars just trying to think
At the board ironing my clothes
In the club throwing them boes
At the house just trying to chill
At Mama’s house enjoying a meal
At the track kicking up dust
On the corner catching the bus
On the couch taking a nap
In the circle trying to rap
At the mall buying some shoes
In the room feeling the blues
On the porch staring up at the sky
In the encyclopedia trying to find out why
In the yard manning the grill
Under the weather waiting to be healed
In a boat pulling fish out the water
Under the hood putting on a new starter
On the side of the road fixing a flat tire
On my knees saying prayers getting ready to retire
In the kitchen cooking it up for my lady
At Victoria’s Secret buying a gift for my baby
With my boys bragging on my girl
On the clock slaving just to give you the world
But regardless where I’m at and regardless what I do
The only thing constant is I always think of you
running,
and running,
and running
on a spinning wheel
like an indefatigable hamster;
persisting...
on and on
as dawn creeps into
dusk's front door
and makes a backyard exit,
a dyed-in-the-wool workaholic
can barely move a limb
after slaving through
his graveyard shift.
he's finally home early morning;
body and spirit, exhausted.
with a cold brew in his hand,
he leans back
on his comfortable recliner
and takes a big gulp...
a h h h h ! ! !
temporary freedom
from back-breaking work
never tasted
so refreshing!!
he's earned his right
to be blissfully idle
throughout the day.
he's got hours of sleep
to catch up on!
...Then, of course, there is the idea
that people are nothing but groups,
whether lumped by skin or income
there’s nothing further from the truth.
A group is but an abstraction,
it’s the one where the sovereignty lies.
Think individuals can’t effect change?
Just ask President forty-five.
Or Guttenberg and his printing press,
Mr. Gates and his software codes,
a single man nailed to a cross,
be he a God or man, who knows?
One person can change the whole game,
even in the ‘collectivist’ lands,
the politburo’s evils exposed
by that brave heart Solzhenitsyn.
Did they all accomplished nothing,
slaving for their dreams alone?
They gave us a host of changes,
while the socialists just give us bones.
The Nazis in their cruel madness
left ten million souls undone,
but Socialists, they take the gold,
slaughtering one hundred million.
And those are just the ones we know,
the real number’s much higher still,
all that death, and what has it brought?
No paradise, and it never will.
At least the Germans, after the war,
had the sense to learn from their mistakes,
Socialists refuse to move beyond
their ideas of murderous hate.
They just hide out in schools and claim
that they’re only ‘misunderstood,’
tied identity to failed ideas
so they can never see they’re no good.
To refuse to learn bloody lessons
strikes me as insanely perverse,
in truth they’re not as bad as Nazis,
they’re orders of magnitude worse.
Stared into the empty blue
Thought of how much I feared you
To turn this cloudless sky
Into something to terrify
Could I fall into the sky?
Leave this asphalt road behind?
And the thought made me so numb
I forgot I was driving
And she sits with her young one
Baby daddy's having fun
Every day she's thinking back
To how her life fell off track
And the other man she loved
Is floating up above
A life free from drugs and pain
Had slipped right through her grasp
We shared some tea together
The moment lasted forever
Slaving away for minimum wage
And she's crying
Again, the empty blue
Rested above me and you
And it all seems better now
My life doesn't seem so bad anyhow
And the blue turned into black
And I'm driving home at last
To a better life it seems
But it's all still the same
Now I can see forever
Back then, if I never
Took the chance to make it all better
Who's to say that it couldn't have happened to me?
Loveless life and nothing to make me happy?
How empty would the blue be?
In the corner of the the house, outside
At the end of a long trail of cold, shut up windows
There is a procession, a vigil kept through the night
Beneath the notice of even the smallest branch
Or the thoughts of a bird landing on a tree
There is a band of brothers slaving for their home
Lining up as fine as thread
But chained together as if forged from steel
Lifting broken leaves, a crumb of bread, a sugar crystal
They're heaving cars, boulders, buildings
Silently bearing their burden, they hold a torch for each other
Tiny miracles in the night, performing feats of magic
A struggle that defies ages past carries on- invisible
All for their children they walk, martyred often
While future generations of their families
Hang in the balance
Jeremy Martin 2/19/13
Winning the Lottery
Yes, I dream of winning the Lottery,
Hitting the jackpot on a Saturday night.
Oh, it’s so wonderful to imagine,
So, I cross my fingers and hold them tight.
Our George bemoans his bad luck,
All these years, not even a Tenner.
He told me that a couple from up Orkney,
Won Five million, Mr and Mrs Jenner.
Now I don’t want a fortune,
Just to be comfortable, would be nice.
I could buy me a shiny new sports job,
Without thinking about it twice.
A holiday to the Island of Barbados,
Under tropical skies, that sounds grand.
Or perhaps a Mediterranean cruise,
Lazing on deck, getting tanned.
I would have to update my wardrobe,
With a suit from Ralph Lauren.
A few shirts with the label of Versace,
Oh, and Designer shoes by Donna Karan.
We may have to move from the terrace,
Buy a cottage in the countryside.
Or better still a bungalow by the sea,
With a Veranda, to sit watching the tide.
I could afford to have Guitar lessons,
Learn to play blues like Jimmy Page.
Imagine that, me becoming a rock star,
With adoring groupies at front of stage.
Now, I won’t see our Emily go short,
and I’ll give a bit to John and Jilly.
I’d better return Danny’s Lawnmower,
and give that borrowed Twenty back to Billy.
I could retire and take it easy,
No more working long shifts over-night,
Slaving for that Miserly McGregor,
He’s loaded but so flaming tight.
In truth, I’d leave without notice,
And tell him just where to stick it.
My wife say’s stop daydreaming Jim
You’ve never even bought a ticket.
I'm the son of all that's been
Drinking deep of my sin
Of premarital and of lies I've told
And responsibilities I hold
Scattered them all in the breeze
It barely even bothered me
I thought I was king, I knew everything
Thought the world was just a jewel on my ring
But now I see that I was wrong
And I'll confess my sins in song
But like a God that failed you all
You don't believe in me
I went through most my life
Coasting by on luck
And when my lucky stars blinked out
Man, I'd just get stuck
But every day, I'd pray
To a God
That I'm not even sure is a thing
But a spiritual energy
Inside every living thing
Praying to myself and you
City of the lost
Crying out for something to live for
Slaving away in this small town
City of the lost
In endless boredom we found sin's the cure
That's what history has shown
So me and her found a place to sit
No one else knew about it
An hour passed and the air was hot
The sounds were sweet and it was just what we sought
We didn't think about what we'd done
We were just looking to have fun
Now I'm laying alone in bed
Worried sick and I'm clutching my head
Can't afford a mistake
It's more than we could take
Hoping for blood
To end our flood
Of sin and tears
Dearly beloved, can you hear me from afar?
All the way in the other town, where distance keeps us barred
I'm sorry I've lied to you but it's something that I'll fix
Even if you never knew, it still makes me sick
I'm kicking my addiction so I can make you smile
Figured I'll toss my sins with it to make it worth my while
Might as well improve myself so if your blood graces our day
We can try again way on down the road some day
Til then, these are my crimes
From now, til the start of my time
I've lied, stole and coveted
The peace of the dead
And it took until today
When the sky was clear and blue
I left the shelter of my home
And maybe I'll find my way
And leave this town with you
But first, I must...
Atone
It's leaving
I'm leaving
We're leaving
Looks like we're leaving it behind
Born May 5, 1818, in Trier Germany
to Heinrich and Henrietta Marx,
sans the third of nine children
(and second oldest heir)
Karl Marx thinking begot incendiary sparks,
asper his two most controversial publications
titled The Communist Manifesto,
and Das Kapital
which political philosophy
incubating seeds of self destruction didst birth
doctrines of class struggle,
historical materialism, dearth
of equitable wealth, and inherent
contradictions of industrial capital
distributed unevenly
across avast swath of Earth
thus inviting his perspective
(conveniently exploited,
mined, and usurped) advocating
the working class (proletariat)
to expedite organized revolutionary action
to topple capitalism and bring about
socio-economic emancipation,
where wages of sin exchanged for labor bled
fingers to the bone life source, viz proletariat
till slaving laborer nearly became gratefully dead
despite being cased in 12 point
Times New Roman garb, who incessantly fed
insatiably maws of production,
(no way to get a supportive talking head)
particularly highlighted
within schema of Capitalism),
a predominant paradigm
stratifying society led
to internal tensions engendered
between bourgeoisie red
dilly controlling means
of production codified as said
as die a critical approach Marx coined
as historical materialism,
where figurative landmines forced one to tread
gingerly, thus above stated philosophy
would supposedly lead down the road
where self destruction wrought marriage
birthing Socialism offspring from shot gun wed
ding, thus coaxing eventual establishment
of classless communist society meant
to establish free association of producers who spent
exchanging merchandise amidst classless
campy population hood pitched a tent.