Long Thirds Poems
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History cried out at a heinous cost
'Twas when millions of Jews their lives had lost
Dead bodies in concentration camps filled
In the name of Anti-Semitism, killed
Pogroms, mass shootings to annihilate
Gas chambers and vans to asphyxiate
Germans, they thought they were superior
Slew the Jews with motives ulterior
Forced to work in extermination camps
Labour till death his sickle around tramps
God's chosen race fighting for every breath
Nazis became the harbingers of death
{The Holocaust, also known as the Shoah, was the World War II genocide of the European Jews. Between 1941 and 1945, across German-occupied Europe, Nazi Germany and its collaborators systematically murdered some six million Jews, around two-thirds of Europe's Jewish population. The murders were carried out in pogroms and mass shootings; by a policy of extermination through work in concentration camps; and in gas chambers and gas vans in German extermination camps, chiefly Auschwitz, Belzec, Chelmno, Majdanek, Sobibór, and Treblinka in occupied Poland}
09.19.2020
For William Kekaula's "A Historic Event" poetry contest
in an
angst- saturated
moment i find you there in
my travel bag, injured by the neglect of
a poorly screwed-on sparkling water bottle cap:
my beloved poetry notebook of fifteen years. You are
now one-third soaked and stained at the top. I shudder to
think of throwing you away or burying you in the cemetery of
old college diaries and love letters. You were my faithful collector of
anxiety and pleasure, cleverness and drought, loneliness and victory;
oftentimes tucked away for months at a time as creative energies were
diverted to other outlets. Like a loyal dog whose master travels away, you
never gave up on me. How many times the tears stained your inky pages
long before I even knew that sparkling water was a thing! When friends
moved away, or betrayed me (how i wished THEY would move away), when loved ones died too young, or old ones lived too long (how they wished THEY could die instead), when my son was slaying dragons and my daughter was breaking up with an inattentive boyfriend; when my wife struggled with her sisters, or when I agonized through physical therapy or cancer surgery, you were patiently there for me. Even as my joints and stitches eventually healed, you continue to be my invaluable companion, both for my history you contain to the left, and for the blank, hope-filled pages to the right. Like me, you are aging, stained, lumpy, scarred, but two-thirds useful as i write under the stain.
///NOTE: the shape above roughly mirrors the unstained portion of my notebook, which I will continue to use in its deformed and lumpy new state!
Also, no poems were harmed in the making of this poem. I write in pencil, so the water didn't render any previous pages unreadable, thankfully!///
Why are you avoiding my words?
Do I have to break it down in thirds?
Why are you so stubborn when this subject comes up?
You're creating a storm in my little teacup
Answer the questions for us to be in peace
For somewhere along the lines, my heart you still have the lease
Do you enjoy seeing me in the dark?
Or do you just like to add just a little spark?
I'm not mad but I am confused
You can still mend my heart, for it is just bruised
Questions float daily when your not around
When everything's quiet and there's not a sound
I know you've moved on but there still are some debts
For on my own side there are many regrets
Why don't you just talk and get this over with?
Make all your stories told, even after the myth
I can't hear you if you don't talk
Please don't think I am here to stalk
I just want answers to my deep concerns
For not answering my questions resorts to third-degree burns
What is the truth about you and I?
Why are you in a constant battle of deny?
She spoke her side and now it's your turn
Don't you think the truth I do earn?
For writing this down can explain so much more
I'm already aware that you said, "there's the door,"
But still little visions I tend to see
But still answers I deserve, about you and her, and you and me
One day we will come to terms what the truth is
It's not rocket-science --- this isn't a quiz
They're simple questions that need answers
But they're constantly in my head like Vegas dancers
So please find the words to answer these tales
Because the board is splitting with splintering nails
I don't want to hate you and I don't want shame
I just want every story to have it's own name
A who and a where, a what, why and a how
Are all of the simple answers that I seek now
Look at you as my inspiration
For a poem with this kind of dedication
To riot up my little nation
And to fully quiet my temptation
For simple answers and stories not told
To win my heart back in complete, full gold
Swirling, pulsing, and throbbing through air
came a cloud, not quite black, above my bed,
not closing my eyes and watching in fear,
Death would be easy but the cloud was my dread.
Looking closer, I viewed a darkening black spot
two thirds of the way down the visage's form.
It grew, spun, shrunk as though it were hot.
My head seemed electric as though in a storm.
I jumped from the bed wanting a fight.
The cloud backed away, I thought setting me free.
I grabbed at its shoulders holding on tight,
Saying Death take no one, but take only me.
I kicked the spot with best martial art,
thus causing the form to fold with a cry.
We tumbled to hell, there never to part.
I sacrificed life, and in hell I would die.
By: Sashi.Prabhu(ZEAUOXIAN)
Dated:15/6/2012.(Mumbai airport)
Black velvet sky festoons solemnly my brooding words,
Exudes gloom from my mindly nib, drowned in woes two thirds.
Sharp shrillness of many of my lingering thought,
Shatter silence of stillness that dusk had on to me brought.
Grief laden clouds quiver with culpable guilt,
Blue starry skies shiver around the moon’s curves laden with forlorn silt.
Tonight I write about my past in melancholy laced lines,
About my ceaseless love for her and her conditional love for me at times….
Solitary nights like the one tonight,
Has stored within itself, deep memories like flashing lights.
Nostalgia sewn within its brimming self,
Of holding her in my arms, my warm embrace her body engulfs.
Her conditional love for me and my ceaseless love for her at all times,
Lure the emotions out tonight, to write the melancholy stewed lines.
As I sit here all senses alive to listen to the great black night,
Sans her beside me, tears trickle down filling the beady grass beds and dull my sight.
The shattered silence of the night all dark,
Resonates in my head no more, but my heart leaves a deep bruised scar and a mark.
A quaint sound of lament I faintly hear,
From a distance it seems like an echo of my bleeding heart all unclear.
My soul curses me as never before,
As its mate it has lost and has only me to deplore….
Places I go glare at my searching eyes with fervor,
Look out for her as though I wish to go to her.
And my heart too joins the fray,
And both of them conspire for me to seek her any which way.
But now as I no longer love her,
That’s a truth that my mind and my heart must concur.
As I sit and speak to myself, the dew drips on to the leaves,
Tell tales in the silence as the wind touching my voice as it grieves.
like my kisses of before, she is now another’s,
Her dreamy eyes, her warm weatish body, her heart, her joyous smile,
Her sweet body scent, her warm breath that spreads a mile
Are now not for me but for another…………….
I love her no more but maybe I yearn for her love,
But unknown to myself I seek her love somehow!!!
Filled with nostalgic emotions of our sweet oneness
I can barely raise my eyebrows to see us together in my mind’s eye.
I hope this is the last dart cupid has shot at me,
And this is the last verse I pen for her to see
I chanced to see a story told
of pang upon a distant shore
a secret pain who's history old
and still practiced evermore
Within this land a maidens fate
is forced upon her knowingly
wherein old women eviserate
her private parts so secretly
Six thousand maids a day are there
whose injury upon inflicted
who will decry the secret bare
and shame to those convicted
The woe to women the world around
and this is not the only one
when at home can be found
everlasting silence of the tongue
Where young maids fair must beware
of their fathers and their uncles
and two thirds of maidens share
the fate beneath their buckles
In a land whose intellect
so often held on high
and morals supposed circumspect
who will with voice decry
And some chance with wicked glance
to lay blame upon the child
though to protect should be the stance
and the purpetrator reviled
Two thirds of men within this land
do not their children feed
It's divorced women who must stand
and fill their childrens need
How many children suffer fates
How many close their eyes
How many mothers and their mates
will with voice decry
How many voice in crimson rage
will seek with choice and mind engage
how many will seed anothers mind
that to voice they'll be not blind
Ex 22:22-24
Jer 22:2-3
James 1:27
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
rootin'-tootin' misinformed opinions
a game of risk at an overflowing cafe
in t-shirts, shorts and straws all over the floor
napkins neglected and looking like bankruptcy on stilts
i feel like a torn out page of my own sulwicket
or rather the shade outside, with its erroneous
shaped patches on the cobblestones
and non-fiction that isn't getting us anywhere
tennis court blues and the man waving from
another court, who believes he knows us,
but actually doesn't, but i return the wave
at break point
and a student has written a creative piece
set in the wild west with a character called
David Bowie, who comes in two-thirds of the
way through the yarn
about to duel in the town's empty and only crossroads.
"ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!' PEW PEW PEW
get kettle on
Book of Relevation, cryptically asserts 666 " the number of a man "
Two thirds into the apocalyptic vision his appearance has began
This dark magical number appears in so many ways
All the numbers on a roulette wheel = 666, lets play
In the Pennsylvania 1980, lottery scandal
Equipment was tampered, three sixes the winning handle
Even computers have had this number to worry
Macintosh's Seven-Dust virus, in 666 bury
In a book called the Bible, Adonikam's descendants amounted
To Jerusalem and Judah, from Babylonian exile - 666 were counted
The Aryan tattoos of their Brotherhood
Six sixty six, a number understood
Is this just a number or is it coincidence
That it surrounds us, in our very existence
Are we to be afraid of this number in any way
hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia, seems this number has many says
SILVER-LINING
Cheated life occasionally yet it couldn't play even.
In life's sequel, I'm swivelled into a deep sweven.
Where's conventionality in a cosmos that's so odd?
Everyone that ever rocked my world
I've dexterously dovetailed into words;
Lyric, ballad, elegy or love sonnet occupies 2-thirds.
Every single trusted love I've ever lost
and that ignorance had collaborated with lust,
I've resuscitated in verse, stanzas & enjambment;
And ameliorated into memory or emotional strength.
Bathed in past disconsolation and the aftermath,
I've never & will never remain on the same wavelength.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rondeau Prime.
Copyright© December2022.
Black velvet sky festoons solemnly my brooding words,
Exudes gloom from my mindly nib, drowned in woes two thirds.
Sharp shrillness of many of my lingering thought,
Shatter silence of stillness that dusk had on to me brought.
Grief laden clouds quiver with culpable guilt,
Blue starry skies shiver around the moon’s curves laden with forlorn silt.
Tonight I write about my past in melancholy laced lines,
About my ceaseless love for her and her conditional love for me at times….
Solitary nights like the one tonight,
Has stored within itself, deep memories like flashing lights.
Nostalgia sewn within its brimming self,
Of holding her in my arms, my warm embrace her body engulfs.
Her conditional love for me and my ceaseless love for her at all times,
Lure the emotions out tonight, to write the melancholy stewed lines.
As I sit here all senses alive to listen to the great black night,
Sans her beside me, tears trickle down filling the beady grass beds and dull my sight.
The shattered silence of the night all dark,
Resonates in my head no more, but my heart leaves a deep bruised scar and a mark.
A quaint sound of lament I faintly hear,
From a distance it seems like an echo of my bleeding heart all unclear.
My soul curses me as never before,
As its mate it has lost and has only me to deplore….
Places I go glare at my searching eyes with fervor,
Look out for her as though I wish to go to her.
And my heart too joins the fray,
And both of them conspire for me to seek her any which way.
But now as I no longer love her,
That’s a truth that my mind and my heart must concur.
As I sit and speak to myself, the dew drips on to the leaves,
Tell tales in the silence as the wind touching my voice as it grieves.
like my kisses of before, she is now another’s,
Her dreamy eyes, her warm weatish body, her heart, her joyous smile,
Her sweet body scent, her warm breath that spreads a mile
Are now not for me but for another…………….
I love her no more but maybe I yearn for her love,
But unknown to myself I seek her love somehow!!!
Filled with nostalgic emotions of our sweet oneness
I can barely raise my eyebrows to see us together in my mind’s eye.
I hope this is the last dart cupid has shot at me,
And this is the last verse I pen for her to see