Long Towers Poems
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The name of every soul
is written line by line,
without highlights or underlining
in the leaves of pages
of the book of souls.
The stone temples built
by kings that rise to the heavens,
fall as empires fade and crumble,
when the ledger must be made.
No human god can barter with the end,
no king can forever
outrun the roll-call
for their entry in the book of souls.
Praying to the gods of nature
building towers of stone
reaching skywards to the heavens
is all to no avail.
For the same die
is cast, one for all.
With the passing of old ways
truth comes to all and sundry soon.
Etched in ink, bled from every soul,
each blot and stain
is recorded alike, one and all,
in the book of souls.
It starts with a little seed
planted in some fertile ground
then over it's growing years
becomes very tall and round
In many places across the earth
these towers of various wood
are so very strong and resolute
that for centuries they have stood
They display such range of colour
from shades of dark to golden light
their beauty's really so sublime
effecting you as so dazzling bright
But this wood is being cut down
so much making it in short supply
leaving big spaces across the globe
lovers of it need to make a cry
Our cry needs to be loud
to be effective and power filled
so the profit makers of this wood
their voices be eternally stilled
Long live the towering tree
their beauty never to be erased
future generations will thank us
for to keep it continually raised
The storm came with strength in the night
Fierce lightening bolted to the ground
Thunder pounded, deafening sound
Flashes were everywhere in sight
The sky turned orange in the dark
Vibrations could be felt inside
It was severe, no choice to hide
Ongoing strikes, spark after spark
Roaring continued for hours
The storm seemed to circle not leave
I needed patience for reprieve
Then, more bolts lit up like towers
It seemed like one big angry fist,
Shaking across land West to East
It was behaving like a beast
Determined to be heard, not missed
Heard it was, all around and clear
I hadn't seen it last so long
Echoes of drums without a song
Haunting my breaths as it stayed near
Heidi Sands
7/20/24
*8 syllables
the towers burned -
billows roiling and twisting
into azure
an oily, angry monster to
thrash the morn
consuming two flowers of steel
raping a world of its
innocence ...
the petals fell -
colors fluttering
in the balmy breath of
late summer …
precious petals, rich with
limbs and lives and
loves, that plunged the sunny
splendor, screaming
turning earth to
crimson ...
the heavens wept -
poisoned tears
of mad malice, careless caliphates
crying ashen sin from
a foreign sky -
shrouding a free world,
brought to its knees … where it
found its greatest
strength.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art borrowed copyright-free by the author from public domain files at FreePik / Picasa )
Creeping, crawling the time is calling,
night has come and the dark is falling.
Slinking, slithering the twilight moves,
as the squirming creatures hit their grooves.
Beneath the leaves the beetles advance,
while the worms break free to join the dance.
Their bodies swaying to and fro,
in cadence with the lightning bugs' glow.
Every creature big and small,
begins to stir 'neath the yellow ball.
Singing songs their date approves,
they woo there mate in microgrooves.
Tiny spiders take the chance,
in hopes their lovers crave romance.
But deep inside they all know,
soon they'll be dining with their widowed beau.
The insects carouse through the sleeping flowers,
they won't wake, it's after hours.
Dizzy Lizzies stretch and yawn,
curling petals, they await the dawn.
Tiny feet tickle their leaves,
as nits traverse their tendril weaves.
Only the Fly Traps join the rant,
to make a meal of a passing ant.
The tall grass sways like lofty towers,
as mantises use their magical powers.
They hide on the stalks of the sprawling lawn,
in wait for creatures to prey upon.
Petals glow white in their final reprieve,
to be quickly replaced by new Crinum leaves.
As creatures retreat and the dawn wakes the plants,
The Spider Lily waits, the night to supplant.
Every now and again we go nuclear
Two archaeologists dusting off the past
Hurting with words as sharp as swords
It’s all over for twenty-minutes, dead.
Then the air clears and red mist departs
You smile at me and I laugh with you
My head's on your legs, hand in my hair
I’m insecure, pained, afraid, a baby
For a month or more, we understand
Not a cross word, a team, united together
Then pressure of our closeness, routine
Another nuclear clash no-holes barred, war
The peaks so sweet and troughs excruciate
Harmony reigns we are king and queen
Inseparable, colossal, two towers of strength
Me by your side and you by mine forever
Both stubborn as mules, immovable frown
Digging our heals in, pawing the ground
Me Aquarius, you Taurus, death, not surrender
You’re the adversary, you’re love, you’re friend
Can’t live without you, won’t live without you
Afraid of losing you, afraid of keeping you
You’ll never control me, I’ll never rule you
Christ, it’s all quiet now on the western front!
David Cox 04/09/20
Written: August 7, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Quote: "Despite a broken tip, the antenna scanned for noises in the dark; the sky broadcast even as I lost hearing." By Poet
*****************
Smitten spine, spewing swath sendee
severed sighs scattering space
sullen sphere sends sorrowed static
sirens, satire, sarcasm, silence.
Steel still sequences—
scrambles, simmers, sustains.
I map scars, the sparks steady,
learning love starts unshaped, a spark.
Stillness gathers through the ache;
static shapes the quake—
steel needle scraping dusk,
straining to carve sky back to trust.
Midnight seeps through ribs—
sorrow towers,
sparks flicker.
Clarity favors the uncracked;
our fractures shape our impact.
Spanning years flatten out,
I hide dents,
read shivers in vents,
loved fiercely, fuse in hand,
knowing sparks may never land.
Our fractures shape our impact
seasons flatten out—
soft device seeking grace, seeking space.
Silence drones, memory hums;
spire stands though static comes.
City shifting, I parse sorrow—
man in glass, child of tomorrow.
I bear signals, storm-struck crown,
still I rise, never down.
No craving repair, no symmetry prayer,
I linger—singed, aligned in fringe.
Shattered steel still ascends—
still it intends illumination.
Rare moments split the sky clean;
Truth arrives serene, unseen.
Then fracture becomes feature,
And the planet sings its nature—
No longer seeking a cure,
a scarred antenna stands sure.
Steel spine settled in open space,
holding tight to scattered grace.
One stray spark inside the vast—
sending signals till the last.
some level of falling from grace happens in slab city
its twisted humanity
when kindness stops being nornal
when green crusaders are dismissed, unseen
like burying waste in landfill
city of slab-stick
where we live normal lives within shuttered malls
affluence superimposed on poverty
can anything mellow us
with nature clotted under sprawl
here
within plated walls
breeding, feeding, receding
unable to bend the city to one's own wishing
to carry on with things just as they are
slabs pinned to the ceiling of mind
sometimes shutters open
to sun-dappled streaks on slab walkways
what are we to make of the dandelion in the crack?
a dark energy blooming between comfort and chaos
maybe we can piggyback on the hope of others
when small acts radiate
like children who empty their piggy-banks to charity
or laugh in summers of safe places
towers girdle the city
midst what we crave for but can't always name
in our stash of consumer baubles
urges like a swollen river
our weak stock options that never find a ladder
in the meantime we tread on - hungrily
Of them our rulers
To the pauperised people.
Of a kingdom surrounded
By millions of the “Almajeris” .
Of looters in power up towers
Thinking not to leave forever.
Of the Northern cabals
With donkey years in power,
Of them with the stench of the “Almajeris”.
Of the Bush –Pig with the
Hyenas on the Rock
Of them the gluttons and the greed
Of them that devours our resources daily
Of them the Southern vultures
That condemns us into misery.
Of them that worn for millions
Toga of millions of poverty . . “Almajeris”
Of them the Urchins who
Made us suffer amidst bounty.
Off them the Predator millionaires,
We shall seize power for the millions
For the time to wrestle and dazzle
To yank off the toga of the “Almajeris” is now.
Alayande Stephen. T
1.05pm
22nd of July, 2006
On our way to Kaduna NCP/NCC Meeting
Precisely at the one of the garages, we saw it happened
NB-The word "Almajeris" is an Hausa Language from Nigeria used for the
wretched ,tattered looking young children in the Northern part of Nigeria. Kaduna
is a State in Nigeria.
He spoke of how they used to sit and talk,
While we just sit, scroll, and TikTok.
Through cold or warm and quiet nights,
They shared their hearts beneath the lights.
Now we’ve got brains in Copilot,
Ask ChatGPT — it gives the logic.
No leafing through the bookish towers,
Just Google, Gemini, and digital hours.
We hail the age of innovation,
Yet lose the art of conversation.
No more reading hearts and faces,
We learn from screens, not human traces.
Grandpa still holds the sweetest stories,
His mind a vault of golden memories.
But our world spins a different way —
Maybe each Gen has its own decay.
When told to quit the endless scroll,
To feel again, connect and console,
We say, “It’s like water — can’t survive without,”
Yet drown in silence while we shout.