Long Stretch out Poems
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in order to get back to Eden to live on top of the world
there are a few things from God which need to be heard
here in America in the democratic land of milk and honey
African-Americans are disproportionate when it comes to power and money
our healthcare is poorer, our finances worse, few of us in seats of power
at the bottom of most demographic indicators and our circumstances diminish by the hour
the most unemployed, the most discriminated, the first to be laid-off or dismissed
more of us in jail, a lot of us illiterate, there are too many problems for me to list
fewer marketable skills, fewest high school diplomas and don't mention college degrees
African-American men in America need to take off their blinders and see
to those who stand behind stained-glass windows and look down on those who have less
you need to take your brothers back to Eden and put an end to all this mess
you might not comprehend their reality but you should attempt to understand
that as true servants of God you should help your fellow man
if you consider yourself to be a true disciple of Christ
what have you done to enrich someone else's life?
who did you clothe? who did you feed?
who did you minister to in their time of need?
who did you mentor to on how to be a man?
who did you talk to or stretch out your hand?
there's a lot of work that needs to be done to get our brothers inspired
we need to help them build a relationship with God and do as Jesus aspired
in order to get back to Eden we need to start at the very beginning
with the basic instructions that God is recommending
to fellowship with your fellow man
to develop a trust opposite to slavery's plan
to communicate with positivity
to no longer promote negativity
to pull up your pants and walk like a man
to be productive and not destructive
to be supportive and not abortive
to act like someone's father and not like you're being bothered
to teach our brothers to put down the guns and take up the cross
so they will no longer act like thugs but to think like a boss
no longer will we be divided with jealous envy
now united as brothers under God's authority
getting back to Eden to be on top of the world
to living our lives according to God's Holy word
to get back to Eden and up from the basement of life
living on top of the world as brothers with our savior Jesus Christ
rain. so cold. like small whips at my face swung by a man in a yellow coat too old and dirty to show sunlight anymore. waves attack the boat like a pack of wolves, darting, biting, gnawing, retreating, repeating. in the waves i see my reflection, a ghost, already drowned in that big blue leviathan. my body just floating in its depths, floating free and unchained. liberated from the deck beneath my feet, the comforting terrain of the beast we sail through these uncaring waters, the only thing to keep us from the depths below. the depths so deep no sunlight would go. depths so dark. so dark.
there are mountains down there, mountains and monsters and little rocks with little fish to call them homes. big rocks with big fish to call them little rocks. bigger fish to call the smaller big fish food, and monsters to call it all a playground, a training ground for the endless struggle of land and sea. the monsters will battle and kill and win and live to fight and kill to die and these wars between the krakens, the serpents, the behemoths and titans of the sea. they clash with such bloodlust and splendor that the blows carry to the surface and release tidal forces unseen.
diving. deeper and deeper, blue, purple, midnight black. soul crushing void surrounding, so open, so empty, so oppressing, so tight. i am flying, i see stars, i am a satellite through this expanse, my radar picks up nothing. blip. something. something close. blip blip. things. close things. curled in a ball i am an asteroid, hurling through this darkness, i want to escape. every direction is darker, there is no north, there is no up. there is no trail of soggy bread crumbs. there is no expanse. there is a chasm, the walls are close and cold. they cannot be seen, they cannot be felt. they just are. the longer i look out into that black the closer they get, and the smaller i make myself the smaller i must stay. if i stretch out a finger, an arm, a toe, i will collide with something, or something will collide with me. i will be sent off course, careening into the walls of this underwater canyon, forever bouncing from sharp stone to sharp stone, ever falling downwards. or upwards? there is no bottom. i do not know which way bottom is, there is no top. there is nowhere that i came from, there is nowhere that i go. i am just hurling through black, and the black is crushing.
He stood at the foot of the hill and gazed at her watching from her window sill with the night light shining in her face and particles of hope running all over the place. Her bulging eyes circle the contours of the deep spilling oil from the bottom of the well onto the village street and the night pays its own sacrifice.
Oh, mountain of hope you have the remedy for my soul, mountain of hope come and rest with me before I grow old. I can feel the vibration in the clouds and I can see the deity standing on top of the mountain in a golden shawl with hands stretch out reaching towards the Pyramid floating in the sky. I know that I have to make that journey but the path to the sea is full of debris and the roads that emerge from the back are blocked.
Build me a castle on top of the sea where my soul will know no misery build me a castle on top of the sea where I can escape from the rigorous journey; that is only way out and you can attempt it if you have no doubt.
The mountain of hope is on the other side of the sea, the mountain of hope will solidify your dignity. Take the remains of those that died tragically in the street and sprinkle it in front of the castle in the deep; light a candle and say a silent prayer for them and for the couple that fell off the bed, their remains are in a bottle and their last wish was to let in float in the deep among the aquatic family.
Time passes quickly and they are coming, the weather is constantly changing and heavens are glowing; thousands of them stand in the desert gazing at the skies above them something is happening up there and the earth is responding down here.
Lights are flashing all around and a rocket is sailing across the city, where it will land nobody knows, but it will move what mind cannot measure and blow up what the spirit cannot understand and it explode in a distant land and courage will keep them strong.
The mountain of hope is shifting, the mountain of hope is singing they have broken through gate and occupy a spot-on top of the mountain.
Destiny has led them to that place because the mountain of hope knows no race, each one has a place and they will live there until the rest their days. The mountain of hope is the secret to their soul, pitch your tent on top of the mountain before the sun goes down, the mountain of hope is where it all began .
The Gift of Christmas
Some people say Christmas in this present time
Wanders lost
Through flashing ads and tinsel carelessly strung
On an artificial bough.
Some people say the Spirit of Christmas
Lives no more -
The simple Christ Child’s birth
Coldly mocked by glittering commercials
For diamond rings and robot toys.
Some say our plastic credit cards
Bring shame to one, who, born so poor,
Wore no fancy clothes
Or even slept in a cradle of his own.
Some say a Christian world forgets
The simple song of angel praise and shepherd lambs
In hustle crowds who only hum
Atonal harmony in green cash jingles
Some people say that Christ remains absent
From our Christmas celebrations
So lost we get in buying –
So drunk we get with wine.
Yet, I see his star rise up again
In children’s faith, eyes aglow with awe,
Reflecting wonder back into the darkest night
The miracle of the Christmas story.
I watch a callous world
Retell Nativity
Then remember little acts of kindness
From a neighbor, or a friend,
In homemade thank you cards
Of cookies, cakes or ornaments.
The Yuletide air overflows with scents of sugarplums -
Pungent cloves, nutmeg sweet
And aromatic cinnamon -
A gift of time given to baking memories
In sweet spice with children.
Music fills the world again,
To herald
Carols dancing in our hearts,
“Joy to the world!” the lyrics say,
“Joy to the world! The Lord has come!”
Each year I watch the world
Stretch out a loving hand of help
To strangers shivering in the cold,
To those who live alone -
To ones with rags for clothes
And families who face each day
Empty cupboard shelves –
Whose children would be strangers
To the joy of Christmas morn
If not for hearts and hands
Of women and of men
Who bring the Magi’s gifts to poverty again.
I see this cynical world
So closely guard the spirit of this time
A world of Santa Claus’ asks no gratitude
For countless days of aching feet
Crowded streets
And traffic jams.
Their love returns a hundredfold,
Through smiles and gasps of childlike glee,
To nestle beneath boughs of evergreen
When the dawning light opens up the givers joy
Spreading across a silent world
A message sprung from hope’s own heart
Born with a baby boy.
12-2-22
Contest: Christmas Spirit Poetry
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
My best friend got raped by a man she knew
He covered her mouth and whispered in her ear and then he came inside her
Now we are sitting here without a plan wondering when or how are we supposed to get out of this mess
Waiting on her next period hoping that it came
It’s 2012 and my family just got bigger
An my brother in law whom I devoted my love too cause he was my brother
Stretch out his hands and told me to be quiet and spoke words of distaste and now
Tell no one for sure they would not understand
Now my sister is pregnant and
I’m too young to understand why it aches in my thighs but they won’t understand so I must lie, I must lie
It’s 2015 and I’m dating a guy and I hold his hand and he whispers in my ears
But why does it still ache in my thighs so I lie because I must lie
It’s 2018 and I’ll always be afraid of the fact that I can’t swim
And the crash of every wave will forever haunt me in my sleep
For as long as I live
It’s 2019 and I have a boyfriend and I live like a queen because I’ve been achieving my dreams
But the crash of the wave still haunts me in my dreams
I’m invincible and so damn naïve I believed I was protected because I lived on a screen
Because no one would dare violate me again
I’ve earned that much
Until a man I don’t know touched my leg
But I don’t want that I just wanted to wear my short dress
And I wake up the next morning and I find myself in a trance
Because the crash of the wave still haunts me in my dreams
And the boyfriend I have he won’t understand
There is blood everywhere but is it mines
It’s just the death of yet another loves’ live
Hold on a minute.
I’ve worked every day of my life to be where I am
I’ve pied the piper and lived out my dreams
Decorated my pain
And showed up in vain
So what do you mean this happened to me
You can’t put your hands on me
I’m supposed to be safe now.
I’ve earned it.
And it’s 2020 and I’ve realized that nobody is safe as long as she is alive,
And every friend that I have has a story like mine
So listen and be a voice for those that have prisoned lips
Even for those that had to grow up to young
For every story counts,
For every voice should be heard
And every woman should be safe someday
But today isn’t that day and who knows when it would be!
In the hidden realm of forsaken souls,
Where echoes of long-forgotten hopes fade,
I wander among dreams seeking their eternal place,
Beneath stars that seem to gossip about their cold neighbors.
Their intangible silhouettes, like leaves shaken by the wind,
Struggle in a world where smiles appear to be rented,
In the endless game of hide-and-seek between desire and reality,
They live their existence, with the regret of an irretrievable time they've missed.
I stand beside them, wrapped in their blanket of unheard sorrows,
And feel how the echoes of each ancient heart reverberate endlessly,
They whisper tales of lost love, of glory and ruination,
Souls sliding gently into the tide of oceans of melancholy.
The sky darkens, and the tired daylight goes to rest,
Amid the night's unrest, thoughts are torn between being and not wanting to be,
In the depths, fragile hopes tremble, each battle, every defeat,
Memories of a past which, like a river, has changed its course time and again, now lies cursed to wander alone.
The moon pierces their gaze with its inert silver rays,
Drawing upon the sea's floor transient and uncertain memories,
Vibrating with the vibration of the sky to catch a spark of luminescent wonder,
Their silent scream is a hymn for those who have loved, lived, but in the end, are absent.
The gate to the morning of another day seems a brick wall,
Lonely nights stretch out, oozing thoughts without rhyme,
With each breath, we find fleeting wings, shards of ephemeral freedom,
Yet somewhere amidst it all, we glimpse the hope of the self from yesteryear, even in these sleepwalking, ephemeral evenings.
And I, a shadow among shadows, have joined their tacit procession,
Listening to the heart as it sings a serenade for the nights in which I have dreamed,
In the rhythm of autumn rain, lamentation envelops, tightens around me, tirelessly,
Bringing with it the echo of a belated "farewell" that time has long awaited.
I lose myself in the length of this soiree, where each drop pulses with its own weight,
A tacit symphony, rhythmized by slides of emotions and unexpected silences,
In search of a tomorrow that doesn't reek of an unhealed yesterday,
I let my thoughts slip, to fall, until they themselves become the morning I once dreamed of.
Brisk and dark is this winter night
heavy are my feet as I step outside
I know my path now, I start to walk
away from the last light and into the dark
like the wind swirling around my face
are my thoughts tumbling around like a lost man in a maze
Consumed by exhaustion after a lifelong fight
brisk and dark is this winter night
I am torn already, let go of me you grim storm
I am not turning around I maintain my form
towering black and brutal the forest starts
The trees dance in the wind, as once did our hearts
what happened after this love was born?
I am torn already, let go of me grim storm
Deep in the forest silence awaits
Not long now until I will meet my faith
Not long now until I will see what it is like
to slowly drift away, like thunder after a lightning strike
How vulnerable I am, but how low are the stakes
deep in the forest silence awaits
this could be it, it could be now
i fall to my knees take one last bow
my face kisses the snow, my white freezing sheet
i role on my back and stretch out my feet
I no longer want to ask myself why, or how
this could be it, it could be now
I don’t feel cold anymore, I just want to sleep
and dream of the time when we two had to meet
life gave us the opportunity life gave us a chance
we had it for a moment, perfect harmony like the perfect dance
It slipt through my fingers, it wasn't mine to keep
I don’t feel cold anymore, I just want to sleep
It won’t be long now and everything will be gone
I wish for my dear ones to not mourn for long
I shall be forgotten, the failure that I am
I feel so ashamed and not worthy a man
I whisper the tune of my very last song
it won’t be long now and everything will be gone
I am drifting now, like a boat on a great sea
floating away slowly, to where I can not see
regrets, despair and guilt will soon disappear
I almost feel happy, there is no fear
The man that you wanted, I could not be
I am drifting now like a boat on a great sea
The last thought that I will ever have is about you
your beautiful face and the things that you do
I try to touch you i feel like I am so close
I feel like those days, when we wanted it both
when you needed me too, when our love felt so true
the last thought that I will ever have is about you
Form:
My Darn Musisk
She wanted her family to
have food throughout the month.
She said often we run out: but feel there is something I can do to help remedy the problem She Knew that substituting meat could help stretch out the meals.
She took consideration into effect. She knew she could get some cornmeal, dreid veggie, onions garlic and liquid smoke to flavor a doughy ground meat concoction that was flavorful enough to be filling and enjoyable.adding the right amount of pork fat, dehydrated veggies, spices and cereals and dough. Making a scrapple like sausage that tasted great and was something that could make 15 pounds of scrapped pork and 15 pounds of dehydrated veggies into a 75 pound of flavor and savoriness.
She embarked on her journey first by making veggie and pork and beef stock.
She made pork into jerky like steaks and grounded them and mixed them into dehydrated veggies and garlic and onions. They grounded the pork into and almost puree. they made corn mush cooked. and made a wheat dough. with milk and flour. the course ground meat was mixed with the mixing cooked grains into the doughy wheat mixture
adding yeast . Mixing cornmush and dehydrated veggies. mixing coursely ground meat with pureed meat.
adding spiced and veggies.
mixing and tasting.
she found that dry milk and eeg powder could help create a desired flavor. the mixture is tasted and cooked and then to be put into sausage castings.
"She boiled my wheat mixd with meat and dried the veggies crisp. tasted and tasted, smell spices, grounded and ground and mixed and mixed She stuffed casing with this stuff cooked it up and feed it to her kids. They smiled and smiled one complained wondering what this is."
" he built a treated frame, and stuffed it with straw right out the feilds. Ole Bouis told him Call that man to make my walls out of
that sprayed kinda cement.
Said they stacked the travails tween the bems
and cover them with chixwire. call that man to spray the walls
to coat and thicken as we desire.
I'm fixing to cover mine with some course ed treated wood.
That put on them fancy thangs. Make it look real pretty and to look good..
Moretell Deverell Quesnell Sumrell Portell McPhall.McGrail and Marcell to get the sheaves ah fixing."
Miriam Colrick and her husband Brad,
tired of dank cities, crumbling and bad,
moved to New Hampshire, bought themselves a farm,
a place they could raise children without harm.
Fifty-six acres, half-forest, half-field,
space to stretch out, live a life that was real,
the only downside of their new homestead?
Some of the locals said it was haunted.
Miriam was not sure she believed their claims,
her first three months were quiet and plain,
neighbors said from there a boy had been kidnapped,
and later two murdered when a farmer snapped.
All sorts of stories, so many dark deeds,
but Miriam and Brad paid them little heed,
in fact those three months brought them much joy,
Miriam fell pregnant, expecting a boy!
It was shortly after that things went off-track,
first she felt many chills run down her back,
then sounds late at night, doors opened and closed,
in Brad’s kitchen garden nothing would grow.
And strangely a picture fell from its frame
the moment they decided to name him James,
fear started creeping to Miriam’s face
when she found the living room all out of place.
But Brad was not the superstitious type,
dismissed all the sounds they heard at night,
“It is an old house, they’re all bound to creak,
and there’s plenty of strange sounds in the country.”
And so it kept on until one midnight dim,
the baby was kicking, Miriam felt him,
but she heard a squeaking in the bathroom,
figured it was dripping, got up in the gloom.
She drew near to see handles move back and fourth,
then glanced in the mirror, cried out in horror,
a half-butchered face was what she them saw,
gurgling horrible, and missing his jaw.
Then a force shoved her, smashed her to the sink,
blackness enveloped her, could not even think,
later Brad told her the one thing he heard
was a distorted and evil laughter.
She came too resting in a hospital bead,
her husband said sadly,”The baby…is dead.”
It was many hours that she wept and sobbed,
nearly broken by the life that was robbed.
People all said it was an accident,
with no money to move, back home they went,
though they paid a priest to bless their farmhouse,
hoping that his words would cast evil out...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Resisting The Repression
Competition between a brother and sister
Rendition of an eighties song all about how much he miss her
War of attrition between two countries facing off without a resister
Ambition of an Olympian to only on race day end up with a blister
Loneliness creeping in before twightlight starts to break and linger
Ghostliness of a past love coming back like a harbinger
Cosiness of a warmth so engrained it lasts throughout the winter
Holiness of a man ordained with the essence of God in his little finger
Warning all who sit in comfort to stretch out beyond their horizons
Forming all the combinations but still required to sleep with the lights on
Storming through the degradation of more arguments to be right on
Mourning the loss of innocence as I’m forced to find a corner with which to fight from
Objectification of a woman by a powerful CEO
Rectification of a statement that would never have passed “go”
Unification of a people who they never wanted to know
Stupefaction of a system that is only there for show
Culmination of a problem as we sit behind screens in isolation
Rumination of a mind inclined to introspective observations
Declaration of a manifesto by a twisted mass shooter caught before the devastation
Aberration of the justice system as the innocent go without advocation
Sociopolitical violence everywhere you hate to look
Hypercritical eyes inside my silence as they analyse a new controversial book
Parasitical environmental activists looking for the next media stunt to hook
Neurotypical minds that are inclined to complain and then to sook
Elimination of the pain that resides in each passing new moment
Annotation of the grammar as I consider the next component
Liberation of a race that has lived under the rule of a tyrant
Consideration of all the elements predicting the next inquirement
Lamentation of the time that’s passed while reluctantly convalescing
Fragmentation of a life that’s lost while psychologically regressing
Cancellation of a genius comedian speaking the truth just like confessing
Aberration at this cultural shift as I I’ll be resisting all this repressing
The End Elizabeth Moroz copyright