Long Texts Poems
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Millie, the mermaid was a reading machine.
It started with a shipwreck, among the marine.
A library for a king had gone down in the wreck.
I can teach myself to read, she said without genuflect.
She started with picture books, one word on a page
Those old Dick, Jane and Sally texts which tells my age.
Moved on to primers and dictionaries with pix.
Now she is reading novels, instead of watching flicks.
She has read almost every book in this library now.
Currently reading a textbook on how to raise a goat or cow.
If I had legs, I would get on land and grab more books she groused.
I’d read poet from Poe, Coleridge, Emerson, Browning and Foust.
I sit in the silence of my room at night
No voices, no sound, but its all in my head
Soothing the ache so I can take your place instead
I stare at your ghost through dull eyes
Keeping its grip like a vice
Your shadow's stuck in my room
Flickering, vanishing, like a smoldering flame
The texts I've sent still whisper your name
Flickering darkness in blinding sun
Trying to find where it all begun
Was it true feeling or was it all in my heart
Was it in the end or was it the start
I lost sleep to your ghost
Your voice still haunts me the most
Like you're the parasite and I'm the host
Love's an infection, a decease
Watching as your love begun to cease
Watching my self-worth decrease
You're the source of my light
The ignition to my flame
We were so.. so.. tight
Now there's silence with your name
I need you to stay by my side
You're all I've known
Please don't go
Like dark clouds cut the light
You took my sun and turned it night
You blinded me on sight
Like early dawn cuts through the mist
Simple charms that are hard to resist
You stole my heart and formed a fist
I wrote my regrets
You're on that list
Rising void
Flickering flame
A silent whisper follows your name
Now I say goodnight to your vanishing ghost
Your voice
Is what I miss the most
Rather than Ten Commandments,
beginning with loving YHWH,
iconically accessible and yet mysterious
as ecosystemic Earth,
Native Americans
and perhaps all original people
mutually deploy Original Instructions,
both matriarchal and patriarchal,
intended to become prescriptive
only as the Golden Rule of cooperative learning
grows descriptive for each one listening
for how these creation and self/other management stories
inform our days and nights
as naked immigrants invited on and in this Turtle Island.
These creation instructions, not commandments,
begin with Gaia's invitation
to do as She loves,
to scatter our best seeds
rooted in healthiest nutritional needs
to follow where and only as long as these grow,
developing seeds of their own to further compost scatter
and to avoid those which ossify
into full-blown egocentric
ethnocentric
anthrocentric addictions,
hoarding out what began as healthy need
and grew to dominate our habits of mind and body
becoming capitalizing wealth through pirating
what began as good times
as good seeds
but turned into transparent addictions
to self-powering over Earth's nature,
Original Invitations to health as wealth,
and not texts and LeftBrain lists and lexicons
of not all that original commandments
to violently hoard fertile stealth
as if this were healthy self-wealth esteem.
Grace can only be truly heard as sacred invitation.
To listen for love as a command,
whether from self or God or other or Earth
as one whole deep and richly wise ecosystem,
sets up a double-bind
competing cooperation competition
between need and emerging addiction to self-idolatry,
between enslavement and self-serving aristocracy,
perennial addictions to overcoming aching loneliness,
rather than becoming cooperative rest,
listening for Earth's invitations
into deeper and richer voiceless grace.
COME TO THE WATERS
"Come all you who are thirsty, come to the waters..."Isaiah 55:15
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Childhood home woven with integrity,
parents steadfast, their moral compass strong.
But talk of faith was silent,
void of scriptures, hymns, or prayers.
Childhood a swirling dervish of unknowing,
wisdom teachings foreign,
the stories of miracles untold
in a heart yearning to understand.
Then came the halls of learning; literature and philosophy
opening the curtains bringing in light of new insights.
Still, church and religion stood half a world away,
the Light never pulling me in.
Not until I met him, the man with a pastor's heart,
his voice carrying the richness of ancient texts,
a man who spoke of love woven in sacrifice,
of the journey towards growth, faith, and salvation.
His patience, a calm and steady river,
flowed over me,
smoothing out doubt’s rough edges,
gently carving a riverbed of understanding.
Now, in the quiet of our shared evenings,
my interest piqued in the biblical passages he shares,
I find solace in the warmth of wisdom,
and grace in every story, as faith softly unfurls.
Each day, guided by conviction and strength,
together we navigate our lives creating
an ocean of faith, love, and hope~
our days filled with wonder, color, and grace.
Poem written for “How You Feel and How God Feels Poetry Contest,” Sara Kendrick, sponsor, July 31, 2025
Dear Diary,
I really think I'm ugly
It's been 16 years
And my mom still doesn't notice me
My dad shows me attention
But his intensions I do dislike
He only shows me this "attention" in suspension
When he dims the lights
And I told my mom about this
Actually many times
But I guess its kinna true
When they say love is blind
But see I tried to escape this "love"
With something wild
I met a boy and let him in
To see my other sides
We spoke on things
Like secrets goals and future plans
I asked him "will you build a life with me?"
He said "it depends"
"Depends on what?"
He said "I need to get your body first"
I said "ok then have it"
He said "let's commence"
I was only looking for some love
If you could see
I went John Legend on this boy
And gave him all of me
For the first time in a long time
I felt a bond
And its incredible that feeling
When we both made one
But as you know
These things are quick to finish not to last
He got his clothes, unlock the door
And said let's have a chat
"I'm inlove with you my dear
Your body and your soul
And I look for ward to be by your side
As we grow old"
As we grow old?
It was a month and his discard my texts
But then he finally replied
Saying there's someone else
And see I said to him the same
Because a human being
Is twisting, turning, breathing,
Growing up inside of me
He denied that it was his
So I denied that it was mine
Society is funny
They wouldn't accept my child
So I did you all a favor
Hope you can thank me later
I walked into Dad's study and looked around
A wooden bull with ivory tusks stood its ground
a German Bayonet lay before lines of books, and
On the wall was an olde map of the holy land
Behind a schooner with three proud masts,
Lay volumes of worlds, of futures and pasts—
Palestine before the Hebrews, a Rhodesia Guide
Three Deserts, by Jarvis, hard to lift, I tried.
The Golden Bough and The Struggle for Greece
The Revolt of the Masses, The Golden Fleece
The Lost Possessions of England, Leviathan
The Firmament of Time, and Darwin's Descent of Man
Stonehenge, The Heathens, The 30 years war
Each topic a window, each book a door
An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, then On Tyranny
The Wealth of Nations, Jewish Confederates, A Goodly Tree,
The Medieval Village, Capitalism and the Jews
Fred Bastiat, Thomas Sowell, Dad had free market views
Texts of Geography, that was his trade
Shelf by shelf, in a proud parade.
I can't put my finger on why, I feel a sad chord
For knowledge should be its own reward
On much of this knowledge the world turned the page—
His room remains—his shrine, his stage.
Coercive Persuasion, On Aggression — much more to the list,
And framed on the wall, the lives that persist:
There's how Mom used to be, full of interests, just like him
I step into those hard streets; the world starts to spin.
Politics is all about haves and have nots.
Who gets ahead. Who waits in line.
Privileged ones, and the rest get denied.
Politics is about relative truth.
Data be damned. Conspiracies claimed.
Favors for votes. Constituents maimed.
Politics is about what party plays.
Which party stays. What's your world view.
A main course of elephant, donkey fondue.
Politics is I’m right, or maybe you’re wrong.
Debates and train rides. Buses and airlines.
Things heard on open mics and dark dye on hairlines.
Politics is lighting, cameras, makeup aglow
It's who do you know, and if they'll debate.
It's speeches, fundraisers, babies and chicken plates.
Politics is white houses, state houses, stained blouses.
It's tourists with playlists, local, statewide or global.
Incriminating texts, on phones that are mobile.
Politics is Uncle Joe's jail time, Aunt Betty’s brew.
And a family’s deepest dark secrets,
That cause church splits in the name of Jesus.
Politics is vote counting, as valuable as blood.
It's the trust that weaves things together.
Transparent as mud, and stable as weather.
Politics makes life better and sometimes much worse.
In the end, Politics is people.
Often rotten to the core sometimes even lethal.
When she texts too much —
her mother, her father, her brother, her sister, her friend —
it’s not a cry for attention.
It’s not a plea for validation.
It’s a plea for help.
A plea for someone to listen.
For someone to see past the surface, past the “lol’s” and the jokes.
A plea for someone to see that she is hurting.
She wants nothing from you but a response.
A response that makes her feel less alone.
A response that shows she matters, even when she’s overanalyzing everything.
A response that notices she is not okay.
She is struggling.
You may not see it.
She hides it behind jokes:
“It’s okay,” she says.
“I’m just being dramatic.”
“I’m just emotional.”
“I’m not breaking. I’m not hurting. You don’t have to worry.”
But maybe you do.
Maybe she’s minimizing it.
Maybe she’s carrying the weight of her own pain — and everyone else’s — alone.
They don’t want to see her pain.
Her illness.
How much it affects her.
And she doesn’t want them to see.
Will they truly understand?
Have they even tried?
A girl with two chronic illnesses,
trying to be there for everyone but herself —
or will they dismiss her because they don’t understand?
Because they didn’t make an effort?
Her suffering isn’t enough to be seen.
She isn’t enough to be seen.
Her physical and mental pain become
just another conversation,
something they think she’s exaggerating
or using for sympathy.
No one knows the pain she feels
inside herself, outside herself,
for the people around her.
She carries it every day.
Every day it gets heavier.
Every day it wears her down more.
Every day she is tired.
And every day she hopes
someone will notice
before the weight becomes too heavy to carry anymore
You’ve given me another year
365 blank pages
To fill up
I know that your ultimate desire
Is for me to fill them in ways
That are according to your will
And that bring you joy
And that make your divine face
Break out into a smile
Of approval and love
That lights up the universe!
I know that I’ve lost the plot
This last year
I haven’t followed the plan
And I’ve wounded you
With things I’ve said
Things I’ve done
Things you wanted me to do
That I’ve left undone
The things I’ve thought
And yes, Lord
The things I’ve written
My unruly and rebellious heart
Grieving your heart of infinite love
You’ve given me life
All the days I live
Are written in your book
Before one of them came to be
You also know
When I will breathe my last
And rest in your arms
And yet….you grant me life
And you keep this heart beating
And this soul breathing
Giving me chances to get it right
Not the call to obedience
Though that is important
But the giving of my heart
And all that I am
Wholeheartedly…
Without reservations
That’s what you want
For me to get right because….
Once that is in place
All the rest follows
I know, Lord
I know…
I am grateful
For this gift you’ve granted me
This birthday I’ve celebrated
I’m grateful that you wink
And turn a blind eye
To many of the things I do
For you remember my frame
And know that I am dust
You know…as high as the heavens are above the earth
Your thoughts are than mine
And so…you are patient
And loving
And devoted to me
You wait
And you long
And you reach out to me
Granting me more days
So that you can recreate me
The way I’m meant to be
More years
To get it right
Because in the end
This life that I live
Is just a breath
I’m a flower
Blooming today
Withering tomorrow
But you want me to be
A forever flower
Resplendid in glory
Blooming for eternity
And that’s why
That’s why
You’ve granted me
Another year
Another chance
To love you!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
*I've used several Bible texts in this poem. I haven't given references, nor have I used quotation marks because I've paraphrased, but I do want to give due credit to His Word...which is a revelation of who He is! :)
Why need to accept psychology?
Why? The human-made principles?
All are false. Dark. Smoke. Not the God
Not the Truth. Not the ancient texts
Modern human sciences are poisoning life
Yes. My life too. Psychology. Anti-moralism
God gave nature. Modern science rules God’s
God. God’s nature. Look around. Destroyed nature
I want to get back my life. The Nature. The God
Without the human-made science. Psychology
I have a Bible. That is the psychology. By God
My Bible was written by God
I don’t want psychology in my life
I want to be free
From psychology
I want Light
Not the Dark