Long Starved Poems
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I pray for peace, asking for God's blessing;
for our need has never been so pressing.
Wars and skirmishes are on the increase;
asking for God's blessing, I pray for peace.
Devastated by war, cities crumble,
treading on bodies; the injured stumble.
And Hope dwindles, until there is no more;
cities crumble, devastated by war.
Brutalized and starved, the women are raped,
for their men died fighting; no one escaped.
As newly gained territories get carved,
the women are raped, brutalized, and starved.
Children die mutilated and abused;
when military tensions aren't diffused.
There are no morals when the bullets fly,
mutilated and abused; children die.
Peace is a dream; war is reality;
politicians deal in hyperbole.
Inflated egos stifle a child's scream;
war is reality; peace is a dream.
I'm grateful for the timing of my birth,
for I've not yet faced a war or a plague.
And my perceptions of either are vague:
though both continue to infect the Earth.
Born within a sweet spot in history:
longevity is a birthright of mine.
And I've not starved nor stood in a food line,
why me will always be a mystery.
From birth to my later years, I've known peace,
whereas all my ancestors went to war.
And their soldier graves, grim yet well cared for,
are links in a chain that's missing one piece.
I've been lucky, but this reprieve might end,
the world's facing war and plague once again.
And my generation might face a pain,
that'll bring Man one step closer to the end.
november is nearing its end
the trees seem starved of life
standing bare in frigid air
i shiver at the thought
of winter’s touch
it’s much like a kiss
upon someone gone
too soon from life
i look around me
and see death
as it stands before me
yet i feel full on thoughts
that taunt my mind
i am numb
tired and weak
don’t care to speak
in a breath that rises
from lips in frigid air
when i see no breath
from my mother, brother,
father gone too soon from life
i want to see life again
or feel their kisses
in a summer’s breeze
yet all i see is death
among the trees
i feel it in the air
i still taste it
it’s everywhere
i snap like branches
beneath a storm
spiral down
become grounded
again...again...
in november’s end
Just imagine
this life
without music
or any desert
without an oasis
or darkness
without light
or a day
without the sun
or food, unseasoned
without salt to taste
or strong black coffee
without cream and sugar
or a garden in spring
without flowers in bloom
or the sky
without the moon and stars
Oh yes, it's true, my darling
It is indeed unthinkable
to be so starved...of your love!
STRAND PICK 3,any theme,any form Contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date submitted: 04/06/2020
Anything You Want Poetry Contest(N/A)
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
Date written and submitted: 11/02/2019
Writing Challenge - December - Any Poem Na'd In November 2019 Poetry
Sponsored by: Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode (Winner: 3rd Place)
Submitten on 12/03/2019
Society punctured into strands of hell
The fracturing of innocence for a living dark spell
A mourning of youth wishing hard for new life from a well
A generation of abused who could not speak up and tell
The air is ablaze with the military lights of fire
While international talks seem to delay and retire
The people are caught in a catastrophic quagmire
From the helm comes the truth that was told by a liar
Magnitudes of humanitarian aid will be of great need
As the warnings of wise ones have not been paid heed
And the formations of new life are being starved at the seed
All for the agenda of man’s unconquerable greed
There’s a look of solemn despair in the old man’s blue eyes
As the generations of youth bellow out frightened cried
And the broken and poor meet the rich man’s demise
While we wait in the background with anxiety riddled sighs
So gather up your hope and your courage for the brave to stand
And take strength from those who have the presence of mind to command
While the missiles hit targets upon sea and land
The fate of humanity is now gravely at hand
Copyright Elizabeth Moroz 2026
They called it knowledge—
but it came in cages,
neatly bound in books
with no windows to the sky.
We were fed with answers,
but starved of questions,
trained to remember
but never to awaken.
They taught us numbers,
but never how to count
what truly matters.
They gave us alphabets,
but stripped the poetry from our speech.
We learned the names of kings—
but not the dignity of sweeping floors.
Degrees became our chains,
and titles, our silent prisons.
They said,
"Memorize, conform, compete."
But never,
"Feel, connect, or create."
We mastered equations,
yet forgot how to plant seeds.
We read about stars,
but forgot how to dream.
They built minds to serve machines,
but not hearts to serve mankind.
Education became the altar
where imagination was sacrificed
to serve the economy,
where children were factory-pressed
into future clerks of a broken world.
They never taught us
how to cook with love,
how to sit in silence,
how to see a flower
and be transformed.
We learned history—but never healing.
We studied wars—but never peace.
And still we walk,
carrying borrowed truths
like rusted armor,
never questioning the battlefield
we were born into.
But the Earth remembers
a different schooling:
fire forges character,
soil teaches patience,
water writes wisdom
on the bones of stone.
We must return—
to the education of the heart,
where learning means becoming,
where wisdom is grown,
not bought.
Until then,
we are merely literate slaves,
writing essays on freedom
while forgetting how to live it.
*Pilgrimage in Darkness*
I walked through countless paths
Worn down by memories
Each footprint is a spiritual guide
Like a fleeting ray of light
Disappearing with moment's grace
In search of the enlightened mind
Through the darkest of nights
Stumbling upon the various folds of the Earth
To be enveloped in the dark
Victory— a distant thought
Covered by the path of failure
And the thousand needles of destiny
I felt upon nimble feet
I am starved and parched
Deprived of the feeling of hope
Illusion plagued my mind
But only a holy light restored it
Like an endless dream
I wander on
Through thick and thin
'Til my feet are torn
At last we are here!
At the peak of human life!
The nectar of peace upon my throat
As the seed of wisdom took root.
Once our land stretched from coast to coast
and the drums of the people beat proud
we were mighty and we were strong
we were happy . . .
then the white came to our shores
they thought our land was theirs to take
they called it Canada
they brought disease unknown to us
when we fought for what was ours they killed us
and we killed to . . .
we were a savage people true and skilled at death
many of our chiefs were tricked to come in peace
many of our chiefs were hung . . .
they called this justice
the whites stole our land and our way of life
they massacred the buffalo and bear only for their fur
and left their rotting bodies and we wept for them
the ancestors of our people fly with the eagles
drifting and falling on the wind
their cry is our cry . . .
we were herded into reservations like cattle
starved into submission and left a broken people
and they called this justice
but in each of us burns a fire bright that can never die
in each of us is a strength and courage
a tranquility and serenity
we accept the past as the white acknowledge the wrongs
and the Prime Minister of Canada
is trying to say sorry
with tears he apologizes to the people for
the hangings
the killing of our people
the stealing of our land
the 1960 scoop of our children
the residential schools of abuse
the highway of tears that goes on and on
yet, the social injustice to the people is still present today
when they steal the land we have left
for pipelines, and other projects without our agreement
we want to keep our lands pristine for wildlife
we do not want polluted water where the fish die
some of us are living in third world conditions still
with no water, electricity, heat . . . still on reservations
so you tell me where the justice is . . .
I am just a girl of the here and now but
but I hear the drums of my ancestors beating
in my heart . . .
_____________________
April 1, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/They Call This Social Justice
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1009-383-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Social Justice
sponsor, John Hamilton
First Place
Rich Poverty
What fools the rich are,
to think they are better than the poor.
To not be able to cry for help,
or eat scraps off the floor.
To not feel the cold earth,
through ragged torn shoes.
Or tending school half starved,
singing that " I wish I had blues".
To join the local street gang,
and be wanted by their kind.
To know people are trying to help,
lift the poor from this grind.
To not have roaches or rats,
to share your lonely bare home.
Or tattered walls where the hawk
comes in, to let you know its cold.
Yet, this is true life, adventures,
love, and pain.
Where people hope for better things,
to come, and come, again.
another primaveral day dawning upon me
as i linger stir-crazy in the moments unfolding
in apoplectic thoughts within my mind
while watching the carelessness of others
my moue tightly tucked beneath my mask
hides my silent screams for more distance
famished it seems the world has become
beneath the burden of these bare shelves
one could feel starved of more than food
as they buckle to their knees in prayer
feeling like children to a lesser God
in this turbulence that has consumed us
we grasp the need to feel a closeness
a perigee to a fullness to fulfill the emptiness
yet we feel nothing as this greater distance remains
all we have is the hypermnesia of past moments
breaking through the darkness of mind
as we close our eyes just to see a glimmer of light
in hopes that tomorrow breaks these chains
that weigh us down in heart and mind alike
April 7, 2020