Long Soil Poems
Long Soil Poems. Below are the most popular long Soil by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Soil poems by poem length and keyword.
We Are The Ghost Dance Poets
by David Lee Herring (The Powwow Poet)
We come together from near and far
Like wise men following the star
from the sweet Grass Hills, We come to be filled
with the Spirit from on high
Holy Great Spirit in the Sky
Calls us to come together now
He’s our grandfather, he’ll teach us how
Peace and Love will prevail
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
We paddle down the Zuni River
As through rusty red silt she slivers
On this quest to quench the thirst of our souls
we surrender all control
to the guidance of Great Spirit
We answer his Call as we hear it
With the rattle of the Gourd and the beat of the drum
We all come together as one
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
Some begin their journey at Bear Butte
Others start their passage at Pahuk
All from different nations and tribes
For We are Great Spirit's Scribes
His poems pour forth from our tongues
We sing songs like our Fathers have sung
Prophetic rhymes of warning to mankind
earth is your mother, respect and love her
We all sprang up from her soil
Now we must all join in and toil
Gather and labor together to save her
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
See, Wounded Knee could not stop the poets
Over a hundred years ago and We still hear it
The sound of the drum calling us to come
and all join together in the circle
And once again there'll be miracles
Bringing healing to our bodies and souls
As from all tribes together we dance
For Dance is a form of romance
It's Intimacy with the Holy One
As all of his daughters and sons
Worship the Father together as one
For that is how true healing comes
For we are the Ghost Dance Poets
Summoned together by Great Spirit
Fighting this battle with pen instead of arrow
Taking the path that is the most narrow
Calling all humanity
to come together in unity
Descending,
I manipulate and manoeuvre for the updraft
Spluttering,
I spiral down, then briefly up again, to glimpse a glowing sky
Flapping,
I fall forever faster, flat-eagled
Plunging,
I watch the unwelcome gloom envelope my horizon
Tumbling,
I twist, turn and turbulate, ... then the thudding thump
Gasping,
I groan and exhale, a noiseless moan
Curling,
I recoil as innards become outward form
Emerging,
a base inside-out creature crawls and creeps
Tasting,
the tongue-tied intestines and the unseeing socket eyes
Groping,
a gruesome grub befriends the worm and slurps the slug-slime
Engorging,
as flaunted members flail blood and flick licky, sticky fluid
Reforming,
dim visions populate carnal shapes with awful movement
Gaping,
a fearful half-formed and startled face averts its gaze
Residing,
in deep gutter niches... these are my companion dwellers
Wallowing,
I sniff a redolent upswell of dank fissured earth
Disturbing,
I scrape, cleave and wipe away a smear of covering soil
Trembling,
I sense a warmth of body, a stretching of exotic wings
Enquiring,
I mutter clumsy overtures and crude enticements
Retreating,
I hear unmistaken rebuke and a sigh of disappointment
Imploring,
I elevate my utterances and seek a further hearing
Caressing,
I feel a welcoming and forgiving response
Pulsing,
the creature's cocoon gives way to nebulous female form
Ascending,
at first a cherub woman smiles playfully down on me
Transforming,
a stimulating and sensuous siren cavorts and teases
Uplifting,
wings gather me in for a swooping flight of fancy
Revealing,
from above, her intimate view of dwellers in the hinterland
Coaxing,
she fills me now with empathy and understanding
Alighting,
my body-mind lies prone beneath her
Tingling,
I feel her form and thoughts slowly enter and encompass me
Exploring,
I arouse and we gently probe between lips and sphincter
Delving,
I follow our rhythm of kiss, taste, touch and thrust
Wandering,
I experience our ambiguous male and female desire
Playing,
I laugh at how we tickle our innocence and sophistication
Loving,
I know for delirious moments what it is to be another
Consumed,
lost in coexistence with a like- but more extraordinary- mind
The Girl Who Cried “Death”
The most special woman
To ever walk this world,
Well, she’s died quite young,
This, I am told.
For the ash in her breath
Echos screams, melts her death.
And her lover screams out loud,
But, I am told, she makes no sound.
For in the cracks between dreams,
She slips in between.
And no one can listen,
To her, so it seems.
Because who wants to be
With the Girl who Cried “Death?”
And can friends and family
Get a wide enough breadth?
Death has been her constant
Since she was a child.
And the whole village
Always thought her wicked and wild.
The clouds o’er head
Echoed her mind’s greatest dread.
That her single thread
That kept her most sane;
Death would take her love
Before her brain
Collapsed to the ground.
‘Mong the bees and the flies
And ‘mong the soil,
Watered fresh from the skies,
Buried ‘neath it, she lies.
For their Kings and their Queens
Up there on their thrones, they could tame
The mightiest of paws;
The most fearsome of game.
So that the winter plague,
Filled with Death and visions vague;
Destroyed even King
As he lost his loved Queen.
Soon winter won the game.
Now, she joins me in the Tower,
Watches bells toll the hour;
I cackle again, she has failed.
And upon the King’s breath
Fizzing out with the snow,
She gathers her robes
And she bent her head low.
And she screamed her last ails.
For he would go
To heaven, you see,
And she was left
All alone here with me.
Well, I guess they learned their lesson,
Because this time they didn’t listen,
To the girl who cried “Death.”
For she reaps what she sow.
But I’d never do that to her, do you see??
But Death flitters by, he doesn’t trust me.
As I join the Queens by and by,
Into their fresh tea,
They let out a loud cry.
I wonder if she can hear their last breath.
But I pray that she can’t
As Death’s curtain closes,
The Queens join hand,
As they throw Death’s white roses.
I take my nightly bow.
But what of that wild girl
Whom Death flits between?
And what of her lover?
So gentle, so sanguine?
She is safe from Death for now.
Well, this is not a story,
For that girl, she is me.
And her lover, well, she
Will remain a myst’ry.
But Death has her on his list;
Do you see?
It’s cemented and written
Just ‘bove her right brow.
beautification of painted imageries)
Like these broken shadows spread on the floor of my father's tattered room,
Like those weeping spirits by the corner of my mother's excited kitchen singing,
The sky wept in the absence of those beds allocated to the sun of its glories.
Thousand mouths wagged at the dogs for sighting another ghost in the heart of the church that must be hidden at night. we are ourselves the mirror of fantasy handed over to the priest that knows whole lots of women's nakedness,
Let's fire out memories of lost heritages.
"This will cure your madness and gives you eternal life in Christ Jesus" they said "for Chinese Alchemist will come again with a precious gold made by this liquid. we'll drink from it fountain of lost want,
The sand we counted, the priest said It was for the body of the Holy Mary.
The stars we counted, he said it was for the body of Christ who resurrected with sins of the flesh and blood of the lamb.
When next you hear a preacher' mouth preaching ask him of Sodom and sinful Gomorrah before he tells you the truth is bitter.
Here are the eastern equivalent mastery philosopher's stone of creed and prayers before we were born to this clothed love world, mother told a tale of the mirror,
How they found the end in the end light,
How they searched for a way in a way;
But at the end, the clergy men deceived them and saw their prides gazing openly. We'll sit to listen to the pebble of the broken silence the priest will spread yet on another grave for Auntie Tabitha.
Flocks are the shepherd's prey as they lead them into hell of condemination.
We are ourselves the clothes we wear,
The clergy men had sipped the remains of our sanity and gave us insanity of lost. we are ourselves the stream of lines in our thoughts breaking the hun skylines. We believed all they said.
Remember, not all they said by the soil graveyard happen in heaven and hell.
I have been in heaven and tested hell and discovered we're given elixir of life by their lies to keep us following like faithful sheep tracking the greener bush.
You are what you believe and think is right.
We are not immortal but mortals, ashes.
No eternal life, no eternal youth, when we die, the records closed and the world become silent and silent covers all priest had told us with shadows.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent.
Part Three
...swishing away with your sunshrivelled burgundy knotty arms with broad disdainful harvesting sweeps the cobras come out to water in the sweltering heat by the thatched fly-buzzed hole
your low under-the-breath warning tones a reminder of the will of your self-inflicted charge
you never ate until i gorged myself
like the dutiful wife given with a dowry
watching me all the time through the shield of the wisp of cloud of cheroot smoke in your sentinel corner against the far wall your eyes glinting fearing that i might take exception and even before my plate was half-empty you had already darted across the kitchen floor to bring me more fried brinjals mashed greens fried and sliced plantain the steaming rice lying bare by its metal cover hanging on the lip of the open pot-mouth in a clear aluminium pot by my side
now they say you are gone for some plotted and took your life in haste
even before you had time to ensure an heir
others say you were alone dismayed abandoned by your own
prey to enchanters coveting
the plot of land the house derelict forsaken by your absence
they say some one else caretakes it for himself
others no a forbidden son of your husband’s has raked it for himself
alas would you have known how landless nationless stateless i’d be
this dot of ancestral land clinging-clanging in memory
did you know then you might never see me again
nor probably ever hear of me
or if you had how might you have taken it all
did you believe the tales true and false they told
or only what you wanted to hear
of your precious prince you once served in silence and
who had gone to slave in other lands
Notes
eevaa peerankal muuvaa marunthu is a take on another well-known Tamil proverb: eevaa makkal muuvaa marunthu meaning “children who obey even before the order is given are a God-send”. Here, in lieu of children, the word “grandparents” is substituted
chembu: a small usually copper vessel shaped like a rounded vase with a tapering neck and open mouth, used for holding drinking water or milk
kuul: thick holdall gruel which may also be highly spiced
chemman: red soil
Vaithi: ayurvedic doctor, practising the traditional Indian homeopathic medicine
© T.Wignesan 1997 - Paris May 7, 1997 (from the Sequence/Collection: "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent")
The land is soaked with blood
The sand is soaked with tears
Oh
How many barrels of blood must be spilled
to know that so many souls are gone?
How many basins of tears does it take
to have more than enough tears?
.
I am the voice of the little child
crying in the wilderness
I want to caress the flowers that spring
out of the ground of my homeland
I want to watch the ripples when rain falls
I want to play with my mates on the sand
along Chu Ngoke street
I want to sit at home and watch my parents returning from a bountiful yam harvest
I want to stand at the playground and watch the traditional wrestling
I want to hear the sounds of Egelege and Egoni talking drums reminding me of yesterday and a great future ahead
I want to chase away goats from eating the maize in my mother's garden
I want to open my mother's pot
and pick a meat out of the soup
I want to see my homeland
Sweet little home of ours
Please take me back to Alode
Please take me back to Alode
.
I am the voice of a man
Whose hope lies in shackles
Whose homeland lies in broken images
A town deserted and forgotten
I am tired of being a stranger
in another man's land
I am tired of begging for crumbs
When my barn is filled with yam
Mudskippers can still be found in our swamps
Please take me back to Alode
I don't want to die in another man's land
I want to die in Alode, somewhere in Eleme
I want to be buried near the grave of my father and see my ancestors usher
me home with a shinning crown
Take me back home
Take me back home
.
Take me back to Alode
Let me see the beautiful women that
toss about the streets
Let me admire their buttocks
Let me stare at their breasts,
those two round objects protruding out
of their clothes, breasts that could make me feel like a child again
Let me kiss Nyime Owa Eleme, that beautiful lady of my dream
Let me lay her down on my bedside and
make life worthwhile
I want to go back home and see
the sunshine with it's illuminous rays
and the tender droplets of the rain
Oh Please take me back to Alode
Please take me back to Alode
.
Take me back to Alode
Let me touch your borders
From Alesa to Ogale
From Echieta to Onne and
From Ebubu to the Onu Nmu where they say the hands cannot reach
I want to touch the land of Alode
I want to touch the Eleme soil
I want to touch the soft green grasses of home
.......
God painted this portrait of emerald and crimson
Soothing my soul with the brilliant and vivid
Colors of miracles caressing my heart and spirit
Breathing out whispers of sentiments that touch me
With a sense of faith in all that gives hope in this world
God graced the misty mountain morning with a touch
Of joy and inspiration that comes from discovering
Peace that knows no worry or anxiety, but fulfills dreams
With the tender embrace of rainfall that brings with it
Dancing lights of star and moon, insights into satisfaction
God welcomed these jubilant flowers that touch thoughts
With charming desires for tomorrow’s creativity and vision
Moments of encouragement colored in hues of acceptance
Prayers that come alive with amazing intuitions combining
To produce heavenly aromas of kindness felt in this place
God breathed the sparkles into the stars and light into sunshine
Flavored the gardens with delicate hands to harvest all the gifts
From this rich and raw soil which knows nothing of depression
But feels alive with all of nature’s senses and direction, the course
Toward sweet talents sent down from heaven to bless us
God’s garden was Eden, free from evil and even the least sin
Even now, on this earth, there is the feeling of purity and hope
Discovered in the tiny seeds that are planted and nourished
Bringing sprouts of loving plants which fill hearts with serenity
Tranquility that leads hearts to believe in God’s forever, eternity!
God blessed me with a garden and I feel sure He has, ever so gently,
Touched my heart with a piece of true fertility only found within
The one who believes in the Son who found Himself in the garden
Of Gethsemane, awaiting the moment when we would be spared
From the death that only He would need to experience to free us all
God gave us more than a garden when He spared us our own Gethsemane
He gave each one of us a gift of pure, phenomenal love without conditions
A love that would be the answer to every prayer, every mystery,
Love that arises when we discover the answers can only be found
In the spiritual intimacy attained with a relationship bought and paid for by Him,
Our personal Savior… The giver of all the flowers, gardens and vivid portraits
Of nature!
Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies! Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
July 30, 2020
I wake up another day on my bed
A bed crudely made of stones and rocks
It's dark outside as usual, and again
I'm awaken by tremors and aftershocks
It's the same from the day I was born
There was no one to care for me, except her
She always shelter me and clothe me
Who is she, you ask; she is my Good Mother
The days are hot and dangerous here
The sun burns and blisters my skin; I cannot go out
I have to remain in the womb of the Mother
From sunrise to sunset, in a fetal position throughout
In the night I roam for food with efforts futile
Many a times I starve, few lucky instances I eat soil
There is no animal, no bird, no river, no lake, no tree
Not even a hint of grass, which makes my blood boil
Where there used to be trees, there are withered roots
Where there used to be grass, there is scorched earth
Where there used to be water, there is baked land
And I haven't seen a single animal since the time of my birth
There are no rains to fight the endless summers,
No flowers to distinguish scents and colors,
No sounds which feel music to your ears,
There is only darkness to see and all you feel are tremors
The mountains give you a view of agony and distortion
The earth has opened up with pockets of hell inviting you
The air is stale and you feel dizzy when you breathe
The world has shades of red and black 'stead of green and blue
Today I walk the scorched earth staring at Hell below
Wondering what the Devil might be thinking of me
Cursing my destiny, when I tripped over something
And I saw a defiant sapling aspiring to be the biggest tree
I saw it more closely, watched the young one fight all odds
It had strong roots stretching far beyond the horizon
I wondered where it found that much energy and life
And it came to me, that it was the Mother who had it chosen
A Mother who creates the best out of her children
A Mother who always cares for all, young or mature
A Mother who always gives but asks for nothing in return
Who is her, you ask; I say - She is Mother Nature
Unlike God, she never forgets her children,
Unlike Humans, she is never selfish,
Unlike me, she never gives up,
Unlike mortals, she will never perish.
A new world will rise on the ashes of old,
Life will again find a humble abode,
This time there will be no races and religions,
Because Nature will be our "GOD".
Form:
Bertrand Russell
was intrigued by systems theory,
appalled by systemic racism
within himself and others,
corporations and churches
not recognizing each other's wisdom
also found in temples and synagogues
and community investment banks
and poor houses.
He was also interested in political philosophy,
power of aristocrats
anticipating growing personal economic despotism
offering no respite
to green/blue democratic EarthLovers.
A contemporary of Einstein's,
who shared Russell's political philosophy
and perhaps his interest in 4Dimensional
prime NonZero-entropic space/time
co-arising dipolar bilateral
spatial/integral
physical/metaphysical systems
also sort of bicamerally structured
Russell writes,
"The reason physics has ceased to look for causes
is that, in fact,
there are no such things.
The law of [unilateral linear] causality
is a relic of a bygone age,
surviving, like the monarchy,
only because it is erroneously supposed
to do no [win/lose, either/or leftbrain dominant reductive] harm."
Here, Russell's parenthetical analogy
betrays his political philosophy
favoring natural/spiritual green/blue co-arising systemic democracy
of We The Healthy MultiCultural EarthPeople
causing and effecting
monoculturing
narcissistic aristocratic collective fantasies,
anthropocentric Naked EarthExploiting Emperors.
Causal systemic power travels down to up,
like root systems toward flowers,
nutritionally before,
secondarily, communication flowing back top to down,
like seeds embedding in Earth's co-invested future
multiculturing fertile soil
bearing multi-regenerational anticipated win/win fruits,
Dipolar co-arising in polyphonic apposition
more normatively nurturing
than win/lose bipolar challenges of monoculturing,
too aristocratically self-delusional
short-term empowering aggressors
leftbrain straight white western male predators
on organic polycultural matriarchal fields
of original nature/spirit win/win systemic energy
in which each individual ego
is EarthMother sacred
eco-politically born
For growing systemic
democratic cooperative green energy,
power,
empowerment,
enlightenment
of integrity's systemic multiculturing potential
for climate health,
internally ego-inspiring spiraling spiritual
as externally natural rooted
organic ecosystems of life
reversing monoculturing death.
The Sweat of Thy Face
When we were young, we were given a charge by the Almighty…
“ Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it.”
( This, we seemed able to do.
It was the second charge we've had trouble with…)
“...In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground…”
History, according to the Bible, tells us that, one reason Adam was formed was because God wanted someone to till the ground…to work the soil, planting seeds and reaping the fruits of their labor.
Since it goes on to say we will do this with the sweat of our face, we can deduce that this will be hard work. Perhaps mankind misunderstood the words, “of THY face”, reading it as, “the sweat of THEIR face”?
****************************************************************************
Slavery,
Bond servants,
Free labor…
Sacrificing humanity and compassion for a footstool.
****************************************************************************
Freedom! Finally, unpaid and forced labor is rejected and despised…outlawed.
However, the ones in power were still the wealthy.
Mankind, always searching for the loophole to save their soft, lilly white hands from respectable callouses.
We began to forget how to work, how to grow food, preserve it, and how to be self reliant.
We sacrificed quality for quantity, flavor for convenience, health for sloth.
We've been blessed with intelligence, ingenuity, common sense…what do we accomplish with these blessings? Discovering more and more ways to avoid a sweaty face and those calloused hands.
****************************************************************************
The industrial revolution,
The Sciences, Technology,
Our superpower, Pollution.
****************************************************************************
Now, on the cusp of inventing the ultimate slave, we could be creating a world where human beings are merely dumb animals relying on our own creation to do all the hard stuff…like thinking.
Once again we create the tower of Babel.
Not to reach heaven, no...
a tower that controls our very own Adam...
Our highly polished, Eve.
When one tries to control Artificial Intelligence , how will we know who holds the leash and who wears the collar?