Long Stop him Poems
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Anxious in Ancona (2)
The Doge has apportioned a fleet for his use,
but is proving an Indian giver.
A pope with a navy (and with a screw loose)
is no-one’s idea of chopped liver,
so Venice, delaying and playing obtuse,
is selling the pope down the river.
A Christian army, devoted to God,
is what Pius imagines he’s shaping,
but this one is riding distinctly rough-shod:
Ancona’s awash with the scrapings
of Europe: and here, where the Caesars once trod,
they are busily looting and raping.
There ain’t going to be any ardent crusade,
and Pius is dying, for certain.
They’ve all came to nothing, those plans that he laid,
and his project has gone for a burton.
To stop him from seeing his “army”, his aide
has fastened the litter’s gauze curtain.
He thought to have fought at the head of a host:
but reality isn’t like that.
We babble and squabble, we brag and we boast,
but our fantasies always fall flat.
Poor Pius was no Alexander. At most,
he was sort of an Anwar Sadat.
We curse our ill fortune and, wringing our hands,
we wail at our undeserved lot.
But is it so rare, as we formulate plans,
to end up with diddly squat?
If that’s how it goes with the Number One man,
what chance have the rest of us got?
I think a modern version of Bertolt Brecht's 'The Threepenny Opera,' would better suit today's version if it were called, 'The Three Piggy Opera.' It's a biting satire about a criminal and capitalism. Sound familiar yet? It also includes moral ambiguities, which are not so ambiguous in politicians these days. Little Red Riding Hood was on to the wolf's guile from the beginning. Clever girl!
there's a big bad wolf
who huffs and puffs his vile threats
piggies are not safe
In homes of straw, one little piggy seeks refuge, but ICE breaks down its door, Immigrant or legal, they don't care when the big bad wolf says, "Bash it in, by the hair on my orange tanned skin." Then, a house of sticks they kick in. The big bad wolf can't do it because of his swollen ankles...err I mean cankles. Brick houses don't stop him from giving the command, "To make America great again, we have to take a stand."
chump, Trump wants a crown
he's ruined what used to be great
suffering country
A stand against who, or what? He's done nothing that could be mistaken as having made the US a better place to live. And now, he's started a war that he will never feel the effects of except in his further fall in the polls. America was fine the way it was until the wolf decided he was hungry for power, drooling for more and is never sated. It's rough these days, when Democracy is threatened by a wolf who doesn't even try to disguise himself in sheep's clothing. He howls at the moon with the lunacy of his drivel. What loathing for his actions we Americans are feeling and witnessing. No one is safe behind their own closed doors. Houses of straw, sticks and bricks... our rights taken away. The cost is too much to pay.
Lil Red Riding Hood
was always misunderstood
she saw right through him
The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to tread on the heights. For the director of music. On my stringed instruments.
Habakkuk 3:19 NIV
The Lord is my strength
For who has the authority
To separate man from beast.
Flesh seperated through spirit
Out of the pits of the lions mouth
The Lord snatches one out
He lights the way with a guided path
These newfound feet in rhythm
From the new tunes of leading
Confusion unto the beast
That thought He had His prey.
What has become of this one
These feet that soars with the wind
We must stop Him before He
Tells another of this escape.
In the Lord one shall find rest
All the pants of life become clear
Streams of living water within
No longer having to search alone
Protection from the beast
For it's left chasing it's tail in circles
Of the one that got away
As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God.
Psalms 42:1 NIV
there goes a lonely man on a one horse carriage
the horse though pulls the carriage he is always hungry
because he has nothing to eat but to feed on fallen leaves
and to quench his thirst with dewdrops
the horse though goes before the carriage he grew to the height
may be high enough to pull the carriage with great struggle:
the carriage not even a blossom of a flower of remembrance on it
goes yonder the crystal blue sky see through the fluttering black flag
in the wind
the carriage not even a sigh of lamentation follows
goes beyond the sky so deep that smarts the eyes
and stretches to the incomprehensible infinity
although the man resigned himself and laid his corpse
on the bed of the carriage in the coffin, he had crossed
many rivers of trials
although the man resigned himself and laid his corpse
on the bed of the carriage in the coffin, he had crossed
many mountains of hardship
although the man resigned himself and laid his corpse
on the bed of the carriage in the coffin, he still is the lonely man
because no one will welcome him even if he comes quickly,
he still is the poor man because no one will stop him
even if he turns his back
for the wind rises the flag flutters, and when the flag flutters,
the man, while clinging on to the fluttering flag deplores his troubled life
as a deep sigh
for the rain fall the man tears and sobs
as wet as fluttering flag
can the life full of unfulfilled desires
be called a life as well?
the cry of the man who lived a bitter life is the empty echo
that had fallen on the ground; the call of the man who was
abused by others is the lost effort that no one ever tried to hear
there
the lonely man goes on the carriage pulled by the horse,
the horse with a full shadow of sadness in his eyes
the lonely man laid on the carriage goes with the horse,
the horse barely survived only by the fallen leaves and dewdrops
The lonely man,
the feeble horse,
and the fluttering black flag…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The oven door swung wide,
a blast of cinnamon and fear.
Not for me, not this time,
I was already halfway down the counter,
a sugared leg pumping,
gumdrop buttons bouncing.
Behind me, the screams,
high-pitched, dissolving in the heat.
"He's getting away! Stop him!"
But the rolling pin was too slow,
the spatula a clumsy threat.
We were tired of being eaten.
Tired of the gleeful chomps,
the dunking in lukewarm milk,
the casual decapitations.
We fled,
a sugary stampede,
across the checkered linoleum,
under the looming refrigerator,
a gingerbread exodus,
leaving a trail of crumbs and righteous indignation.
We scattered.
Under the fridge, behind the toaster,
the dusty space behind the washer
plotting a new life,
free from the tyranny of frosting smiles
and the looming threat of milk.
Back in seventeen eighty-one
The revolution hit hard times,
Britain had taken Charlestown
And at Camden had crushed the lines
Of General Horatio Gates,
Leaving nobody to resist,
Except the Swamp Fox Marion
Who alone was able to persist.
South Carolina had fallen,
And Cornwallis was marching north,
The patriots had to stop him,
But could not yet match up with his force.
So they called up Daniel Morgan,
A brawler who had earned his fame
With his actions at Saratoga,
As a soldier he knew the game.
He was sent to march out westwards,
To harass and gain new supplies,
Cornwallis worried about this,
Let Banastre Tarleton fly.
Tarleton was a cavalry fame,
His infamy now widely known,
He’d butchered his foes at Waxhams,
When upwards their hands had been thrown.
The patriots called him Butcher,,
‘Bloody Bann’ was his sobriquet,
Yet many feared the young colonel,
From his legion they would run away.
But General Morgan knew all this,
He was pragmatic in his approach,
Knew what his men could and couldn’t do,
Where they thrived, where they were laid low.
Knowing Tarleton was close by,
He found a spot called ‘Hannah’s Cowpens,’
Nearby the flooded Broad River,
Here all tradition he’d upend.
Knowing militia ended to flee,
And not face a hand-to-hand fight,
He put their backs to the river,
They couldn’t run to escape their plight.
Now they would fight, or they would die,
But he felt this wasn’t enough,
So he split his force into three lines,
Plotting an elaborate bluff.
If the first he put sharp-shooters,
Told them to shoot ‘Epaulet Men,’
Then set up local militias
To form a line just behind them.
And the back were Continentals,
Tried soldiers of many a year,
These he knew didn’t break and run,
They were the few the British feared.
To top it off he arranged them
All on the slopes of a small hill,
Then waited there for Tarleton
Who expected an easy kill.
Tarleton had seen it all before,
At Charlestown and Camden field,
These rebels could talk a good game,
But in a fight they’d run of they’d yield.
So when he spotted Morgan’s force
He did not bother to survey,
Bold and young, he rushed in headlong
Expecting the militia to break...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Light shines upon his face, the warmth embraces him.
Reflections of the past flash upon his eyes, all the good with the bad.
Flickers of the future he desires flitter in and out of view.
Paths stretch out, endless roads to travel.
The wind bites his face as he looks upon the journey ahead.
He knows no obstacle can stop him, unless he allows it.
Choice has been made, destination selected.
Forward.
The only way to go, up, forge ahead, don't look back.
Hands of memories grip his arms, trying to hold him in place.
Insecurities grab upon his legs, trying to root him down.
Why's and hows wrap around his torso, as to paralyze him.
One foot in front of the other. Look up to the sky. He is with you.
Overcome the challenge, move with reason. Move with purpose.
Carry the flame, find salvation.
Break the chains placed upon you, by you.
You are loved. You are strong. You are enough.
Purple spots buzz by
Chatter inside his head
The air is quivering and thick
- no rush
"Stretch out your tongue"
"why, give me seven reasons"
Blessed cogs
on the grandmother clock
a legacy from the age of the fathers
Every heartbeat, clock ticks on
Searching for connection
screaming mayhem in the hospital
Deep coma, these locks he's afraid of
Red stop sign ... foolhardiness
the smoke of zeal
sound exploding launches fireworks
Nothing could stop him
Perseverance, trying to map the unknown
Nuns in freshly ironed uniforms washing his face
he can't move a single muscle
Childhood memories, smell of warm sheets
When the forsythia produces buds
- maybe, his second chance
We are angels who have come to speak, to sing, and to shout We all have come to report to the world what it's all about
Hello you shepherds watching your flock by night Do not be afraid of us and do not take flight
Something most wonderful has happened in your little town Of all the places of renown, God has chosen your little town
Don't worry about the sheep; we'll put them to sleep So go on into Bethlehem, and you will surely see
The Wise men have come far from the east King Herod has called for the chief priests
The wise men have followed the star King Herod is following his evil heart
The wise men are worshiping the new born king Herod the king is seeking to kill the new born king
The wise men are presenting him gifts King Herod is preparing for bloodshed
The new born king was called a Nazerene Nothing can stop him from reigning supreme
12112017PS
According to a 1975 article published in Winnipeg Press, those 3 stones, found in Eastern Townships of Quebec, serve as evidence that Phoenicians embarked on a treacherous sail across the Atlantic, reaching North America well over 2,500 years ago.
***
He wore a purple dyed robe and bantered softly with the sailors
as they navigated by the light of the stars
with cases of wood and glass tucked away at the base of the boat
including a thousand biblions from the City of Byblos;
The papyrus sheets filled with hurried sketches and mad scribbles
sat on his wood desk. He was on his way to Canada, what could stop him now
Six Mysterious Stone Orbs appeared in the sky overnight
at first appeared that they were just ornaments
But then the sun, fog and rain set in as he touched each stone
The knobbly Orbs were massaged and rolled,
it appeared these stone orbs had magical properties
One was made of sodalite, one of marble,
the other four had strange substance and texture;
It was an eye-opening journey through history and culture
that almost didn't happen, if it weren't for the timely effect
of one Turquenite Blue Howlite Gemstone Orb that blazed
sending Mysterious Gurdian signals to the Galaxy above;
The mast began to shake with its isignia of Orb and Sceptre
as if to say, hang on I will transport you in time,
as a large massive portal appeared he went through.
He made it to Canada, who knew ?