Long Sown Poems
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The day you abruptly went away,
My heart became frozen and my soul grew shades of gray,
My little eyes watched as your cadillac pulled out,
After listening to all those screams and foolish shouts,
The driveway was vacant, the house became dark,
I knew at that moment we would never again go to the park,
When I got home from school you would not be there,
I prayed to God that you would still some how care,
No one explained to me at seven years old,
That I would have to watch so much unfold,
Depression set inside that vacant place,
I no longer had that bright smile on my face,
The tire swing we built together fell apart late that June,
I would now have to learn way too soon,
How to fend for myself and take your place,
I had to fill your empty space,
I tried so hard to be like you,
Even built a tree house in honor of you,
I learned how to fix things around the house,
I even protected mom once from a mouse,
But no matter what I did,
It did not make up for me not allowed to be a kid,
Other kids got to see their dads, even when their parents got divorced,
But that wasn’t the case for me of course,
All I did was think of you, my first love had been devastatingly untrue,
The events that happened after can’t be written in just one poem,
Only God could possible have the right size thread to have sown
The chunks that life took out of me,
All because my daddy never came back to be
What every little girl desires
The protector, provider, the one who inspires
All grown up and it is now bitter sweet
For now I help other little girls whose dads caused them to have years of defeat
One day when I have my own
I will be able to set the right tone
I will be able to feed my inner child
Embrace her and enjoy what you so freely defiled
We either repeat are parent’s mistakes or do whatever we can to prevent
That generational cycle from becoming like cement
Braking it now and forgiving you
Was the best thing I could ever do
For I harbor no resentment and I have no anger
I just know that not having a father put me in a lot of danger
But I am blessed to have had my heavenly dad
He was the one who was there when I was sad
He was the one who protected me from strife,
The one who taught me how to reverse my life,
I can live free because now I see,
what you did in the end, hurt you more than it did me.
By: Sabina Nicole
Written 9/6/11
Lament was so excited
He had finally reached the age
Where he discovered the meaning
Of his name, so that he could gage
....his future
As the clan gathered
Into a circle around the fire
Tears of sorrow and grief
Lined their faces, as he began to desire
....no name
His "father" spoke a truth
Nothing or no one wanted to hear
"You were left in the woods
After the battle, so we took you into our fear
...of the gods
No child is to be left alone
But you are not part of our clan
We vowed to raise you
Until this day, when you become a man
...of no land
Your name means sorrow and grief
And identifies you as a bastard child
No matter where you go
Your name will cause you rejection, like the wild
....animal without a home"
Lament picked up his belongings
And walked away with crooked bow on his back
He finally understood the why
Of his life, always needing, and constant lack
....of basic necessities
Along his journey, he met a man
A wanderer in the desert of time
He gave him a huge bag of goods
That would entertain, as he dealt with his mind
....of intense rage
A few years down the road
He met a woman with a red coat
Who offered him wine for sorrow
And a harp, to play out, note by note
...his grievances
By the time Lament saw the next man
He yelled out, "I can't carry anymore stuff!"
The man, in patient assurance
Asked, "So you have had enough
...of seeking your own?"
Lament laid down his burden
And walked away from all he had known
For the hope of seeing fruit
From the constant toil and struggle, in the seeds he'd sown
...throughout his journey
After decades of walking with the man
Lament was given a brand new name
His name became Isaac
Laughter, in sorrow, means he would never be the same
...bastard, as before
He found out who his true father is
He created the ground Isaac walked upon
Every moment with with the man
Strengthened and solidified, the eternal bond
...of belonging
One day, the man asked Issac
"Where is your bow that made you a man?"
He answered, "It was crooked
So I left it behind, with the clan
...who gave me my name"
Toward the end of his life
Isaac met a clan member on the road
Who shouted out, "Lament"
But Isaac didn't respond, to the name with a goad
...of rejection
He walked on....fully accepted
Written by Trudy Schrader on 04-20-2019
It stands alone four square, white-washed straw-thatched,
small window panes, black frames, and out back chickens hatched,
pecking weedy ground around a single willow.
Set just a little back from single country lane,
high-hedged between the farms with tracks for bumpy tractor rides,
strong arms to try and guide wobble wheels on hardened sun-dry ruts,
to draw trailored dung across winter's dark and muddy fields.
Father's fingers, numb with frost by hand-picked sprouts,
with dawn's dim light not yet bright enough to warm his back.
And hundred weights of summer grain on neck and shoulder,
staggered through barn doors to store, to tip hessian sacks piled high,
sack upon sack.
My mother, crushed and bruised at milking stall,
squeezing squirting teats to fill the milking pale,
to complete them all before mucking out the dung and straw,
then moving on to something more which bends the back
and rubs sodden foot sore in chilled hoof-trodden boot.
This was no Eden's garden which followed war enough to harden
even softer souls.
Yet, it was a paradise for smaller feet to roam free among the fields,
not caring when to make for home and sup on sprouts that dad had picked
and mum had peeled, and soft cooked, with such hard labour,
all overlooked by youth, and by youth's youthful ignorance.
For some, certainly for dad, and for mum,
Eden's garden gave way to thistle and to thorn,
and to sweated furrowed brows serving children's carefree days,
and precious hopes for first and second son.
These rode upon the carts and crossed the dykes in leaky barrels
and threw their stones at tethered bull not caring for the weather,
whether fine, or whether dull, or whether small gloved fingers numbed with chill.
For them that Eden's garden was a Paradise still,
and though choking staining seed was sown, it was not yet grown,
and eyes not yet exposed to serpent's smaller gardens,
composed for ever younger eyes, for the tainting and enslaving of ever younger lives.
That wiley snake now lurks and lies inside dark orchards of delight,
a world explored unseen from pillowed comfort,
and sometimes in the darker night with a different sky blue light,
that Eden web now known world wide, that Eden made with fallen pride,
that Eden oft obscene, that Eden all of lies, that lies behind the pixel screen.
I was cursed with ink
intoxicating blank canvases
with toxic scribbles,
releasing twisted tales
of suppressed troubles.
I was a forsaken ebony rose
in satan's grasp,
kneeling on ungodly needs
in a gothic fortress
of woeful odes,
surrounded by black knights
and colorless blossoms,
searching for legitimate sestinas
and versatile villanelles
to ignite my quill to bleed
without semantic barriers.
Swaying like a pendulant,
on the edge between
light and darkness,
resembling midnight's
black ice queen,
I thirsted for a
universal prophecy.
A poet who would engrave
perennial verses upon my
discoloured healing heart.
To paint antique stones,
during sunless days
in a moonless kingdom.
A calligraphic catharsis,
adorning the sincere crown
of an imperial ivory king,
whose angelic voice
glitters like gems,
soothing insensitive beating drums
within my pondering pensive mind.
A majestic master of his quill,
reviving poetic intimacy,
fusing his musings
deep inside untouched chambers
with an unscratched itch,
of my undanced fandango.
F a t e has a way for
versifiers to assimilate.
From the first drop
of his couplet,
he had my tongue
rhyming to the rhythm
of his unspoken lyrics.
Now, I am a slave to
what I have become.
Handcuffed and blindfolded
by preserved petals
between perfumed pages
written from the tip of his
magical wand like fingers.
I am weaving crystal quartz
words in witching hours,
whilst he pours dulcet musings
incensed in white sage
over my rustic bronze silhouette,
as I am his willing mistress:
a submissive subservient pawn
to his silent slavery.
Throned in intricately carved
prose and poetry,
where monochrome strokes
of thin lines no longer perish.
There’s no need for a sorcerer
when his sentimental sonnets
are an addictive elixir.
I am deliriously comatose
and chained in piercingly
euphoric sagas of his saccharine soul.
Even Lilith seized the moment
to behold what belonged to her
In the name of infatuated love.
So this is me, stealing
scented seeds
sown along parallel paradigms
of his rightful Parnassian paradise,
d r o w n i n g in
metaphorical monograms,
leaving memoirs of a poetess~
seething glitters and gold
reborn from the depths of
a savior that saved
me from burnt chapters
of darkest oblivion.
INSPIRED BY “SCENTED LEAVES” CONTEST SPONSPORED BY KIM RODRIGUES
Aromatic avenues with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you grace with your presence
Those delicate feet treading the petalled pathways of his heart
Enticing a new spring in the Autumn of his life
Autumn
A cold bleak reminder of the rains that are still yet to fall
And yet, he sees the smile that your soul wears just for him
And the seeds are sown in the depths of his heart
A heart that he thought no longer beat
A heart that he no longer wanted to beat
Because a beating heart can bleed
Faster
Harder
Making him weak
He is a man
He cannot afford to be weak
He must be strong
He must prepare for torrential downpours
He must retain his shelter
His armour
He must not wear a smile for you
“He will not!” he tells himself.
Yet somehow those scented leaves make him forget himself
And it’s Spring again
And he dons a secret smile
You intoxicate his senses and he wants to indulge in you more
He needs you. Craves you.
He loves it
He hates it
He no longer knows what to feel
Trapped
His tortured pragmatic mind
Wrestling with a drunken heart
Wanting to be loved
Afraid of what will become of him
If love walks away
So, he aspires to become love
That way he gets to be the one to walk away
He will love you a little
And discard of you a lot
He will maintain control
Control of himself
Control of his fears
At least
That is what he thinks
YOU
With the look of adventure in your crystal blue eyes
And your aromatic fragrance of freedom
Wafting, as you inhabit all who inhale your inner beauty
It’s a scent that lingers
You are that scent
The smell of what could have been
He will forever wear it
Carry it in his heart
Or his mind –
Whichever wins at the end of each dreary day
Now Autumn is not just a reminder of death
Of life
It is a reminder of death
Of love
Still those aromatic avenues are filled with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you once graced with your presence
Those indelicate feet trampling the putrid pathways of his hardened heart
Enticing a new harsher winter in the awful Autumn of his lonely life
Midnight Aurora
November 12th 2019
WHAT'S GOING ON
The things going on in our families,
The things going on in industry,
The things going on in politics,
The things going on just make me sick.
Most folks don't see what's happening.
They can't seem to see what the future brings.
Our music, our culture, our kids and our schools,
They're changing it all as we sit here like fools.
The things we allow and the things we ignore,
Will kill us at length like malignant sores.
They're trying to kill off our ethnic pride,
And pride in our country has all but just died.
We hang head in shame when they mention our God,
We apologize for being Christian clods.
We defend with a vengeance the idols brought here,
Reminding each other that their faith is dear.
While allowance is made for strange cultures and faiths,
Our own God and culture's pushed back, loses face.
We sure have been lucky God's so full of Grace,
And has waited so long to put things back in place.
Our country was founded on God's good promise,
And no we treat Him like some obscure premise.
Some think it's so cool to insult God Almighty,
They think they're so witty, so with it, so fiesty;
But soon they will sing a whole different tune,
When the seeds that they've sown have all come to bloom.
When they've all lost their freedom and there's nowhere to turn,
And they see when they die for indifference they'll burn.
When they finally see there's a Heaven and Hell,
And all of these changes were their warning bell.
When they see the cost of their wicked ways,
And it all comes to pass at The End of Days.
Judy Ball
"Let the one who does wrong still do wrong, and let the one who is filthy still be
filthy; and let the one who is righteous still practice righteousness, and let the one
who is holy still keep himself holy.
Behold, I am coming quickly and My reward is with Me to render to every man
according to what he has done.
I am The Alpha and The Omega, The Beginning and The End.
Blessed are those who wash their robes that they may have the right to The Tree of
Life and may enter the gates into The City."
Revelation 22:11-14 "
Pay Day is going to be a blessing for some and a curse to others.
What's it going to be to you?
I have written to Him the great things
Of my law but they were counted as a strange thing
My people have sown the wind, and lands
but they shall reap the whirlwind
they were counted as a strange thing
set the trumpet to my mouth
I a tat a rat tat,
This is it, this is that
As an eagle against the house
Of the Lord must turn I from God don't forsake the master's idols, what/
they the people have transgressed my covenant
and trespassed against my law
No golden idols no silver calves
gonna save me from myself, my sinful life
Israel O Israel shall cry at last my God, my God
we know thee now, we know thee then
Please Father forgive our sins
I have written to Him the great things
Of my law but they were counted as a strange thing
My people have sown the wind, and lands
but they shall reap the whirlwind
they were counted as a strange thing
Israel cast off the things that's good
Enemies shall pursue you sure
They have set up kings but not by me
They have made princes and I knew them not, you see..
Users silver and gold made idols that they may be cut off
I have written to Him the great things
Of my law but they were counted as a strange thing
My people have sown the wind, and lands
but they shall reap the whirlwind
they were counted as a strange thing
Oh, Samaria hath cast you off, God say watch your steps or you'll be lost
Mine anger is kindled against them
How long how long will it be here?
They attain to innocencey
Can't quite believe but I must forgive
I have written to Him the great things
Of my law but they were counted as a strange thing
My people have sown the wind, and lands
but they shall reap the whirlwind
they were counted as a strange thing
From Israel was it also the workman made it known
It's not god, it is not the Lord and the calf of Samaria shall be broken
God's people should never worship idols. . .
for they have sown the wind and they shall reap the whirlwind
It has no stalk the bud shall yield no meal and if so be it yield
the strangers shall swallow it up
I have written to Him the great things
Of my law but they were counted as a strange thing
My people have sown the wind, and lands
but they shall reap the whirlwind
they were counted as a strange thing
They were counted as a strange thing
10/03/12
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
What Holds More Resplendent Gifts Of The Great And Vast Beyond
Seas of poetry orations, I once took my swims
being strong in spirit, stouter in heart and lithe of limbs
What dread had I of illness or passage of Father Time
when great beauty of verse sang so deep, dancing in its rhyme
Waves of its amber grains, its sandy beach, its great pleasures
stirred heart, pleading soul in immeasurable measures!
If tired, I cast myself upon lands flowing true and fair
seeing magnificence in Earth, Life, Nature- everywhere
Before dawn, before slumber flees this soul's poetry dreams
of paradise shores, poetic thoughts, soft cast golden beams
Winds of change and sublime words to describe and thus to match
castles of hope, beauty's grace and golden eggs- set to hatch!
Fearing not of, high flying fancies and heavenly flights
of lost romantic desires, cast adrift on stormy nights
Or that of abandoned ships left behind in gleaming seas
for poetry gifts its love and blessings of granted pleas
Bountiful harvests of word-seeds so pleasurably sown
are but summer days sending cool winds so gratefully blown!
What holds more resplendent gifts of the great and vast beyond
than poetry, its powers, which poets are so very fond
How its paintings, colors memories one sweetly recalls
of life, living and flames of hot-romance youth often falls
Beyond poetic seas of white-cropped waves and foaming foam
may this old poet's soul, in death, forever gaily roam!
Robert J. Lindley, 12-03-2018
Rhyme, (Inspired verse) (Poetry is Life and Treasure too)
Note- I dedicate this poem to my very good friend Susan Ashley and her wondrously inspiring new poem that inspired me to write this today.
Her new poem titled, The Red Leaf- set me to thinking of its beautiful poetry
and life. And how much poetry means to so many dedicated and in love with poetry poets!
I sat down and this flowed right on out, early this morn.
Note: Use in my poem of "white-cropped" = "white" for good, "cropped" for "appearing unexpectedly".
Thus translated- beyond poetic seas of = unexpectedly good waves and foaming foam.
Definition of “crop up” - English Dictionary
American
English
“crop up” in American English
See all translations
crop up
-pp-
— phrasal verb with crop US ? /kr?p/ verb [ T ] -pp-
?to happen or appear unexpectedly:
(POEM ENTRY)
A SISTER'S LOVE
THERES A HELL I FEEL INSIDE, AS A LOST CHILD CRIED, I WAS HELPLESS TO SAVE HER LIFE
SHE WASNT READY TO BE TAKEN AWAY FROM ME LORD,SHE WASNT READY TO DIE
TEAR A HOLE IN THE SHY TONIGHT, LET THE ASHES OF RAIN,PUT OUT THE FIRES OF RAGE INSIDE
THIS I WILL FOREVER KNOW IS TRUE SISTER , I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU
FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP ON FALLIN, FEELS LIKE THERES NOTHING LEFT TO HOLD ON TO
FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP ON FALLIN
A SISTERS LOVE, NEVER GOES AWAY,FLY THROUGH THE SKIES OF YOUR DESTINY
A SISTERS LOVE, NEVER GOES AWAY,RESTING IN THE ARMS OF ETERNAL GRACE
I WISH I COULD WALK DOWN THE STREETS OF YESTERDAY, NOT A CARE IN THE WORLD,JUST HAPPY YO BE PART OF A FAMILY
BLACK CLOUDS ABOVE, AN ONCOMING STORM ARRIVES, IM FIGHTING TO SURVIVE, I MUST CARRY ON HER NAME NOW, AND FIND AN END TO THE HARD TIMES
FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP ON FALLIN, FEELS LIKE THERES NOTHING TO HOLD ON TO
FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP FALLIN
A SISTERS LOVE, NEVER GOES AWAY,FLY THROUGH THE SKIES OF YOUR DESTINY
A SISTERS LOVE, NEVER GOES AWAY. RESTING IN THE ARMS OF ETERNAL GRACE
AS I LOOK UP AT THE SKY, WATCHING THE CLOUDS PASSING ME BY
I SEE AN ANGEL FLY,THERES A FEATHER FALLIN IN MY EYE,
THE SEEDS THAT WERE ONCES SOWN,WILL FOREVER GROW, YOUR SPIRIT LIVES ON, INSIDE YOUR CHLIDRENS MINDS, YOU ARE THE BEATING HEART OF THEIR HAPPINESS, CREATOR OF ALL OF THIER DREAMS IN LIFE
FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP ON FALLIN, FEELS LIKE THERES NOTHING LEFT TO HOLD ON TO
FEELS LIKE FOREVER WHEN YOU JUST KEEP FALLIN
A SISTERS LOVE, NEVER GOES AWAY, FLY THROUGH THE SKIES OF YOUR DESTINY
A SISTERS LOVE, NEVER GOES AWAY, RESTING IN THE ARMS OF ETERNAL GRACE
THERS A HEEL I FEEL INSIDE,AS A LOST CHILD CRIED, I WAS HELPLESS TO SAVE HER LIFE,SHE WASNT READY TO BE TAKEN AWAY FROM ME LORD,SHE WASNT READY TO DIE, TEAR A HOLE IN THE SKY TONIIGHT,LET THE ASHES OF RAIN, PUT OUT THE FIRE OF RAGE INSIDE
THIS I WILL FORVEVR KNOW IS TRUE SISTER, I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.
RESPECTFULLY SUBMIITED & THANK YOU FOR TAKEN TIME TO READ AND CONTINUE A MEMORY
Written & Dedicated to Joy M Williams
Etched in Paper & Everlasting Marked PJW
Collaboration by Paul J Williams, jim Oslager, Jack Oslager
All Words Lyrics & Music
320 S 3rd Street
Oxford Pa 19363
215 901 3073 cell
The smoky clubs of thought/ where shadows dance and poets talk of truth whispered low/man, a story without end/ can you dig it, my friend/ improvisation’s the key, always unlocked in time, a jazz riff echoing truth in research of a paradigm/
assumptions about the nature of reality in jazz talk, scales, and harmonies, the framework we embrace/is not life the same? like established knowledge, but thinking out of frame, lighting up the space, to build on a jazz note we create, we innovate, say, give the funky drummer some/
just like Miles on his horn, exploring what's in the score, man, the vibing brain, a hipster’s thought, where networks of creativity ignite, and a conscious soul control breaks through/
The mind unfurls its thinking wings, a melody takes flight in a jazzed-up symphony of science, burning ever so tight/
a rock steady beat, the rhythm deepens, but the jazz spills over, it paints a wider scene, Pollock's action strokes, vibrant, raw, and jazzy, mean/
Oh, but the freedom in his canvas, a rhythm in his hand like McCoy Tyner’s dancing on the keys/
improvisation's spirit, always in jazz and graffiti wall art on subway trains sprayed across the Bronx highlands/Miles himself, he painted too, abstract hues so bold, from horn to brush he journeyed, a creative, restless soul/ life jazz influence profound, taking its hammering toll on his body and soul/
man, the tempo picks up, into the evolution of funk more emphatic, much more in the pocket of James Brown/ ya dig? exploration, a pattern found, a quantum leap into the unknown jazz heap of sounds/ like a jazz horn solo taking a giant step into the ubiquity of a jazz riff, a seed that has been sown across the river of stars/
In science and music, the spirit intertwined/a quest for understanding, etched upon a circle of fifths/ and the universal wind cries Mary, a jazz solo vast like a Jimi Hendrix acid jazz blast/
repeating rhythms echo across jazz music and cosmology/ in spoken word harmonies with in and out thinking with room for improvisation, improvise your life, and breathe it in/ get hip to the rhythm in your soul/ let it flow, man/
Let the jazz of physics make you brilliantly whole/gung-bow-chi, chi, gung-bow/ drums as the backbone to the funk thing/ It’s a strong emotional and spiritual bond into Life, and the physics of the Jazz sound