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Long Stone Poems

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Silent Mission


  

Glass shattered Saturday afternoon tea for  S I L E N C E

holding steady raven momentum for its own  r i p p i n g
fire from heartbeat slashes its void to tumble wounds of 
wisdom weeping slow dirty tears of biting burns inserting 
into wordless flesh of waiting before window panes were 
smashed with stone docile ornaments, rampant afternoon 
unvoiced holding a blank white canvas for dripping 

bookshelves tumbled, poems torn to sheds, laundry strewn 
with glass splinters as lead, aphonics slithering into dried out 
stewpot waiting for maniacal tsunami to cremate emotions 
tweezer them from dna soiled in possessive prisons ridiculed  
Divinity spoke in all pervasive silence on testing timeline taut 
holding breath to His nostrils imbibing a billion frequencies
I chose to brave open His serene lips for unutterable  L O V E

lashes He crafted brushed breathy implicits with assent 
for missions of courage traversed embracing solitude 
observed in stillness whilst across eerie forest moss 
carpets I deciphered “They Don’t Care about Us” 
hush self wears a daisy cloak from heavenly dew fields 
luminosity unzips not as lies hop chaotic across 
spiderwebs it can chameleon transmute into gentle 
streams to soothe that which hides for right timing 
~ first bud of white rose birthing delicacy or benign 
waters over pebble backdrop quietude   

biscuit baker feeds jealousy, deceit, shame, guilt, indecision
escapism ~ swampy keys of stagnant quagmires will too utter 
her heart’s eclipsed light breaking egoic invisibility as 
softly I breathe her shadowed taciturn  s t e a l t h 

quiet petaling garment breaks open blackout mission
regurgitating quantum memories incubated in beckoning cell 
fertility for decades perhaps centuries, marching crusades of
soul conquering ancient lands, majestic mountains, raucous 
seas, ports, yellow spices, when women with babes gagged 
anguished longing for men to taste their honey in serenity
hot crusted bread speaking truths of labouring backs bent
cows chewing cherrywood cuds ~ what could be a more 
knowing   t r a n q u i l i t y  ?

now wafered soundlessness is lamb yet diamond piercing 
raw, a lark offers sotto tones as harmony cupped in two 
musing wings to ascend where it can quintessentially 
quiver, hover in expectant repose for another silent mission

abusechangecouragedeepgodidentitylife

Form: Free verse

I reached into the depth...
But could not withdraw Excalibur from the stone.
Yet I knew I was the one.
Why else my 'Grail Vision' in the sun?
The depths call me to reach further still.
And Mary's eyes bled.
Realizing for whom the tear's shed.

I know not what to do.
Vainity reaching to withdraw from the glue.
I stare blindly in the distance a 'bust' of my former self.
Passing the secret of excalibur being drawn by someone else.

And passing by the oracle of Ephesus, Medusa's eyes
She drew the sword stone in deep catching my contemplations of the mirror.
I could loose myself in her forever.
Secret Sweets. Stained Sheets. and shaking cold she wraps me in the golden fleece.
Covered in snakes, I melt into the secret skin.
Learning the name, I see my fathers before me distrought.
And see now the blindness of the Kingdom Oedipus wrought.
Sophoclese Tragedies and I am forever Oedipus.
Betrayed blessin' between whorish thighs and my camarades' lies.
Where is Helena these days?
Gone so long, I've forgotten her ways.

That's the trick-she sucks in your depth.
I am Horus, my seeds sewn in the west.
Innana's dead. I broke my maiden-named womb.
Long ago I allocated multiversic kingdoms for Osiris' perversion tombs.

And in the mysteries of deep misery.
I have witnessed my seed coming of age.
To lay thoughts like these out on a page.
Christ, Annubis, and I planned this on a street in Greece, A.D., B.C. I can't remember which.
I bare down frost-bitten from the North.
And my Christ of peace bore symbols from the East.
Our dog-eared down-home friend brought simpler lessons from an outdated South.
And we witnessed our births spread out over time.
Three wise men we were singing dark-hearted songs of a blackened Madonna we couldn't find.
So we relinquished ourselves to Daddy Darkest who knew best.
Redistributed seeds, we pushed ourselves to a static line beyond myth; where men like us no longer needed to exist.

Sweet Virgin, Return
I am old and worn thin.
Now, is your time to begin; A collection of stories your heart has borne, but you lay unblemished.
My daughter lay our bones to rest.
Cook them in your stew.
Reigns handover long overdue, but that's not the style you do.
Don't worry about ole Paw. Jimmy Crack corn.
May you be Princess Disarming Charming laced with meaning...
And I awake sleeping...
Beauty, I next to you.

faithfatherpeacemememen

Form: Free verse

Fashion In My Family

My grandparents lived on farms – both sides of my family.
My mother’s parents and my father’s parents.
Overalls and button down shirts with pockets
Work boots for grandpas

Except my single grandpa did get dressed up fancy
For Saturday night dancing with his girlfriend.
He smelled wonderful too, wore a lariat with a turquoise stone
Shined his shoes as if he was going to church

My maternal grandmother was the only one I knew.
She wore a navy dress with large white polka dots
When we had weddings or funerals, and low heel shoes
The rest of the time I remember her wearing aprons over dresses

My mother was the first woman I saw who wore pants.
She preferred them to dresses, and took to polyester in a big way.
Remember the pantsuits of the seventies? I swear she invented those.
Matching tunics with wide legged pants.

My father wore plaid shirts or camouflage jackets
Unless he was going to work; then he wore a dark suit.
He was a salesman with a skinny tie.
He always looked crisp and clean; mom used starch on his clothes.

My style was wide bell bottom blue jeans that we called hip huggers.
When I was younger, and tops that looked maternity in the seventies.
This was the real style which horrified me in 1974, as I had to wear these blousy tops two years in a row
because I had a baby at twenty and twenty-one.

My new style is comfort. I am sixty-eight. I wear tennis shoes.
Elastic waists, soft clothes that are not tight, I love feeling free.
My husband is the same way – comfort clothes, elastic waists.
We like eating tasty foods; no blue jeans for us now.

We have three children. They dress according to their lives.
One has six children, but she dresses fancy and so do they.
Another has no children, she’s a professional. She dresses in suits.
Third child alternates between casual and fancy; working mom of three.

Our grandchildren are eclectic fashion displayers also.
Super controlled grandchildren wear traditional clothing,
Approved by mom or they do not leave the house.
The ones who are wild like our middle daughter have pink and blue hair.

I see dresses that are too short - the same as I wore in middle school.
I see pants that are too tight on boys, like we saw in the eighties.
I see boots not as cute as Nancy Sinatras or or go-go-boots.
Masks are the new fashion statement for the younger generation sadly.

familyfashion

Form: Free verse

Thinking Outside the Box When It Comes To Pensions

Am I really the only one thinking outside the box,
When it comes to pension costs,
Regardless of whether people are able to work or not,
With some working til they drop.

Let me open my box and tell you how to stop the rot,
In my box is all the evidence that points to the life experience,
That those who are for a pension now due can bring to the table,
Along with the math's calculations that says how much they can give back,
If we ask their help,
To mentor the young and keep them out of jail,
To share a lifetime of knowledge that we may need if the internet breaks,
So, we don't end up back in the stone age.
To help on their good days or even good hours to reduce the rubbish pile,
That is costing us more every minute to manage,

Then there the hidden costs they can help us with,
When you start thinking out of the box,
Like, the longer we employ them when they are incapable,
Of doing their job there is a cost,
Or the fact that increasing their age of retirement,
We delay the intake of the young,
And if the age of retirement keeps going up,
The number of those unemployed for life goes up,
A cost that would burden us  for generations to come.

Then there are the facts about the health problems,
With older people in workplaces,
Bladder issues,
Skin that is less resistant to knocks,
To name but two which will leave businesses no choice,
But to raise prices.

Another thought I came up with while thinking out of the box,
Is that to get the best out of the old work wise,
We should be looking at retirement as a gradual process, 
With flexibility for gradually reducing a persons work hours,
And shifting them to light duties, including mentoring roles,
According to their individual health and abilities to do their job,
This should create opportunities for more young people to
Enter the workforce.

Then still thinking outside the box there is the mental wellbeing of 
The aged which effects their physical health which impacts,
The overall rate of spending on health.
The more useful and less anxious people of any age feel,
Is a win in terms of real dollars saved.

If we can get more people thinking out of the box on this issue,
We will find it is not an issue at all,
Once the number crunchers see the new evidence,
That was sitting outside their box,
Who knows they might be tempted to think outside the box themselves.

ageappreciationautumnblessingbusinesschangeeducation

Form: Didactic

A Lily Standing On the Pathway Between March and April

The sun peeks his face out from the passing wind 
still chilly and cold, and in this air the tree branches 
stretch their arms to hold the sun as if sails on the deep and gray sky

The sun that is out of reach of a hand 
may be a hope; no, it ought to be a hope

One night I saw a wayfarer, becoming a moonbeam,
going toward April stepping on the footmarks March 
has left behind 

Although he has gone through so many hills and high waters 
with a knapsack on his back that was full with the countless 
sentiments he put in it for pity’s sake, the sack was emptied;
  
for the lapse of time makes things wear and tear
his garment was worn to rags, and when the wind 
passes through it penetrates the garment to chill the bone 

The deep anxiety he is unable to shake off, and therefore, 
reflected on the running water murmuring through the field 
as ripples of moonbeam, which is not from the fleeting of time 
or his sufferings while he was walking among the foes, but because 
he is sorry for and worries about friends he has to leave behind 

The friends, not many in number shared his happiness 
at the time of banqueting, surrounding the table though 
plain and simple, abundance in God; 

at the time counting the falling stars lying on a stone pillow 
by the gap between rocks. The friends, not in damnation but 
in endurance and warmhearted understanding, talked about better day to come while burning the passions in the bone fire on a day when they were wet and shivering in early spring drizzle

For the days he was with his friends were too short,
it caused him an embarrassment in counting the days,
yet they were unforgettable moments of joyous and happy experiences

As he walked through the field with friends he talked about tomorrow
standing on the hill top side by side, he asked them to pray for him, 
sitting on the sands by the water he sighed for he has to leave 
the friends, the sweet and bitter memories behind

Nonetheless, he cannot just stand by a roadside as an emotionless stone, 
he crosses the hill under the shade of a waning moon, and when 
the humble hearted teary-eyed wanderer blooms as a lily on the other side of 
the hill in dawning, the sunray fall on the lily on the dew
as hope to those who remember him, as happiness to the friends 
he left behind, as the covenant of the Lord to all who trust in him

aprileasterjesusmarchmetaphorendurance

Form: Free verse

Elixirs

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.

abuseadventureafricaallusionamerica

Form: Blank verse

Lost Cities of Indus Vale

I hail thee ruins of Indus Vale! 
With scented rhyme, with scented gale
Come on from world of mortal dead! 
O come and lively wind inhale! 
More ancient than the pyramids
That rule on ancient Egypt land

Thy wild wild eyes, with thy soft lids
They gazed on shimmering Indus sand
I will inhale thy breath in breath
O harken me from vale of death

                    (11)
I mount uphill, Thy citadel 
And stood for hours Stony still
I saw minarets there in row
They fail and bow, all in thy woe
O stupa speak! from yonder peak! 
Thy all worshippers where they go
In fog , in sun, while needles run
Thou standing lone in midst of woe! 
I haven't seen a single soul
They faded all in mist and snow
Oh lonesome temple don't be sad
They will come and I vow they will

In evening smiles , my heart beguiles
Thy silver meads lay several miles
Thy rich forests of days of yore
Thy ancient seals and gods and kings

O life stop thou, O time come back
In courts I hear the bell that rings

Oh let me breathe, let me for while
Oh fortune for once for me smile
                (111)
O lower town, Why thou breakdown
Thy aging speed , may thou slow down
Thy tourists standing by thy sides 
All talking of the Times and tides


Thy rooms and wards, o nature yard
All tied devotees thine with cord
They want to dwell in heart of thine
They come and stand and for thee pine
O may phantoms of bygone time
Tell stories them in tune and rhyme
With help and love of Eden Lord
Whose seraphs are thy meadows guard

              ( ...)
O whistling toys, of girls and boys
In graves of stone why heave thou sighs
O happy ruins with face so fair
From thousand centuries slept thou there
Forgotten by the madding race
Then thou begot a heart sincere
Who wake thee from thy beauty sleep? 
From fathoms deep wherest thou live
Wherest thou sob and moan and weep! 
I pay homage to Cunningham
Who found thee there in seven three
Then came thy lover Daya Ram 
Who thee from heaps of mud set free
Thy lips of ice, why not rejoice
Thou gaze this world with wild wild eyes
              (...)
Thy fowls thy sheep, lie half asleep
In meadow green in forest deep
Thousands and thousands years passed by
My far off sky , he smiled he weep
When from thy beauteous Indus plains
The robbers carried thy remains
Thy ancient bricks, all gems of past
Continued

adventuregodhistorylonelinesslosslostworld

Form: Ode

Theres a Place For Us

“10And he carried me away in the Spirit to a mountain great and high, and showed me the Holy City, Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God. 11It shone with the glory of God, and its brilliance was like that of a very precious jewel, like a jasper, clear as crystal. 12It had a great, high wall with twelve gates, and with twelve angels at the gates. On the gates were written the names of the twelve tribes of Israel. 16The city was laid out like a square, as long as it was wide. He measured the city with the rod and found it to be 12,000 stadia in length, and as wide and high as it is long. 17He measured its wall and it was 144 cubits thick, by man's measurement, which the angel was using. 18The wall was made of jasper, and the city of pure gold, as pure as glass. 19The foundations of the city walls were decorated with every kind of precious stone. The first foundation was jasper, the second sapphire, the third chalcedony, the fourth emerald, 20the fifth sardonyx, the sixth carnelian, the seventh chrysolite, the eighth beryl, the ninth topaz, the tenth chrysoprase, the eleventh jacinth, and the twelfth amethyst.21The twelve gates were twelve pearls, each gate made of a single pearl. The great street of the city was of pure gold, like transparent glass. 27Nothing impure will ever enter it, nor will anyone who does what is shameful or deceitful, but only those whose names are written in the Lamb's book of life.” Rev 21:10-12;16-21; 27

There’s a place for us
In heaven’s glory land above
Mansions of mercy
Golden streets paved with love
Living waters sweet
Fruits grown for our healing
The pathway’s narrow
Requires God’s special sealing

There’s a place for us
Made of diamonds and emeralds
Japser, sapphires; every precious stone
Twelve gates of large pearls
No pain or heartache
Just joy and peace reign
Our loving Saviour is King
His kingdom forever will sustain

There’s a place for us
God planned long, long ago
A palatial,‘holy city’
With a sparkling river that flows
We are His children
Heirs to His throne
Each one will receive
His own rightful crown

There’s a place for us
It’s not just a dream
Revelation describes it
Enlightened with God’s glory beams
I plan to be there—
By His sweet mercy and grace
I want to meet you there too
With our Lord face to face.

2008-2012 Copyright Maureen LeFanue

faithreligioncityme

Form: Rhyme

It's Not Over Until It's Over

it's not over until it's over until God has His say
and it's not what it looks like until God has His way

when you look at a Pastor of anyone who's in service to the Lord God
you have no idea what they've gone through nor the things that weigh on their hearts
for it's not easy to be a true disciple and teacher of the Holy Word
it's not a walk in the park no matter what you have heard

King David was a true disciple, an anointed gift from God
he was a special type of man who possessed a contrite heart
he was given the huge responsibility of leadership over a nation
the people demanded much from him and had high expectations
a catastrophe occurred one day when all the women and children were taken
David's men were so grievously upset that they were physically shaken
they then became angry and bitter over what had gone down
they held David responsible and wanted to stone him into the ground
yet David himself lost two wives and he was also dismayed and discouraged
but as a true disciple of Christ he knew in God to be encouraged

David had a true calling, he was aware of his divine mission
he was appointed by the Lord God to take on the Great Commission
for whenever God has called on you 
there's not much that you can do
for you can't run and you can't hide from what of you God desires
and He'll equip you for the task by giving you all you'll need and require
and be you a Pastor, a disciple or a deacon and you feel you're at the end of your rope
encourage yourself in the promises of God and hold on to its hope

life may sometimes beat you up and knock you all about
but it's not over until it's over until God calls the final out
encourage yourself in the Lord and embrace His authority
you might be down to your last strike and He'll give you the victory
and even if the final bell has rung
it ain't over until God says its done
and even when you're down to your last shot
it ain't over until God says it's not
and even if it's fourth and long yet you can see the goal
trust in God to make the completion for He's in total control

it's not over until it's over not even when the fat lady starts to sing
as the Lord Our God has the last word when it comes to everything
the buzzer might have sounded, the clock has run out and you're down to the final play
but it's not over until it's over as long as God has something to say

angstfaithhopeinspirationalsportsgodgod

Form: Dramatic Monologue