Long Trilogy Poems
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The “Mayday” radio call message was the final voice from Air India 171 flight bound for London seconds before it crashed creating an eternal memorial for 241 gracious beings, with one survivor. My heartfelt sympathy and condolences to every family member, friend, and associate of those who made their ascent into the heavenly realms. May they rest peacefully in God’s kingdom, and may He dry the salty tears, and erased the heartaches of their remaining and loving family members, friends, and loved ones.
I have written a Trilogy Poem to commemorate and remember them reflecting God’s grace to their family members, loved ones, friends, and associates. These situations are never easy to fathom, accept, grief about, or remember. May God’s richest grace and blessings rest and abide with each of you, your loved ones, and family members until eternity!
In Three Winds They Rise
A Trilogy Poem in Tribute to the Souls of Flight 17 - June 2025!
I. The Silence Before:
The sky, it held its breath that day,
no warning sang, no wings betrayed—
just echoes of a thousand dreams
still packed inside a cabin's seams.
Some reached to call, some kissed the light,
and then —
the fall.
The hush of dawn could not undo
what humanity had flown into.
II. The Names We Whisper:
We gather now, with hands and flame,
each soul remembered, each with name.
The uncle, daughter, child, or friend—
whose lives began where theirs would end.
We hold their laughter in the breeze,
in dusk,
in prayer.
With seatbelt fastened memory tight—
yet still they rise in candlelight.
III. The Spirit’s Return:
But grief is not the end of love—
for wings are gifted from above.
We see them dance in monsoon rain,
we feel them walk through loss and pain.
And when the night is deep and wide,
they speak—
within.
Not gone, but flown to higher skies,
in three winds now —
they rise.
Dedication: This poem is lovingly dedicated
to all the souls aboard Flight 171 —
those who soared with dreams,
departed with grace,
and now rest among the stars.
May their memories be eternal,
their spirits be lifted,
and their legacy live on
in the hearts of those who remember.
© Dr. Joseph S. Spence Sr. All Rights Reserved (Epulaeryu Master), June 15, 2025.
strong does the wind blow.
against it, she walks towards me;
two guitars I hold.
Four parakeets
Living in a little cage
Singing for freedom
Why do you seek us?
Earthlings, you are so far away.
You will find, that we...
thirsty little flame,
not orange, crimson or red;
highlights sister's scales.
Sandals speak below,
Though sand knows no prejudice;
Sun begins to shine.
Each page is Hellboy,
Read with warmth in my sunroom;
Tiled floor gently glows!
a room filled with mirrors,
collected by a blind man;
hoping to once see.
Tarot's number nine,
wisdom boarded isolation.
here to set it free.
hello dear nature
and to the spiders inside
outside I will be
Grimlocke the Oracle,
Born to teach us prophecies.
What has he to say?
I'm a happy cat,
you are my fine gingerbread,
let's go out for milk!
'found my old guitar,
played just a major seventh;
strings were out of tune
dreaming and daring.
And with this shovel, digging;
for dinosaur bones.
ouch, squeezing my eyes,
a nail has entered my foot.
taking a look; rust!
baby elephant,
life will be so hard for you;
baby elephant.
room to room I walk.
each turn doggies follow;
love is mutual.
sitting on my stool,
gazing beyond my guitar;
reaching for my drink.
drunken pirate heads north.
epic adventure begins;
treasured gazebos.
lost; knowing where I am,
very slowly I shake my head;
lost; knowing where I am.
polymorphic six
everywhere where you shall look six
cryptography six
one two three four five
days away from the Amazon
curious Return
tasty yellow rice
simmering in shiny tin
lunch will be awesome
romantic squirrel,
painted his acorns crimson;
appreciated!
gluttonous owl,
eating extra meals each day;
tree branches annoyed
black daylight cricket
happens to have lost his way
friends will wait to play
escaped parakeet
from one strange place to another
panicked guardsman prowls
The trilogy dance...
Boxing on midnight canvas;
Who will reign supreme?
Five lighted candles,
What will your fortune behold?!?
A tarot draw; hot!
Unbelievable
Just indefatigable
Vocabulary
forest is alive
moon lights up pathways and trails
horns are all I see
I really have outdone myself this time!
My ‘God Machine’ is finally in place!
I’ll never have to fret about a rhyme,
Or stop for a red light that changed from green
As if it sought to put me in my place
A random hiccup clearly quite obscene.
I really am quite clever I must say
My ‘subtle knife’ (1) allowing me to splice
My ‘God Machine’ into time’s tawdry day
The true God left completely unaware
That He is now controlled by my device
And just another victim of malware.
It seems there’s quite a lot that ‘God’ screwed up
That I intend to change now I’m in charge
I think that its bad form to cover-up!
So what’s the deal with dying anyway?
Let no one die will be my countercharge
And life is just a breeze on my freeway!
All pain mere nuisance, manna heaven sent
And sin gives you enormous facial zits
While love and kindness clear up all your rent.
Though talents differ, jealousies dissolve
As differences bring none real benefits
And non-destructive social moves evolve.
All birth defects, parental wealth passé
Genetic weakness gone with dodo bird
No accident of birth gives worth per se
Sins of the parent cannot taint the child
That God might favor one is just absurd
The color of one’s skin no more reviled.
But now I find my plans have gone awry
My God Machine decided I’m a flaw
It seems that I’m outdated samurai
Humanity endangering MY plan
Just plankton in the future’s yawning maw
Machine judged only advocate for man! (2)
Brian Johnston
November 5, 2014
Poet's Notes:
(1) subtle knife - A reference to a magical knife that can open windows in time in one of the 3 books in the Phillip Pullman trilogy 'His Dark Materials' including The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass.
(2) My poetic version of the lesson of the book and movie 2001 (written by Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke) where HAL, a computer so smart that it becomes sentient, decides that that only way to really protect a manned mission of a spaceship to the planet Jupiter is to kill all the humans on board the spaceship. The crew's humanity HAL decides is just too big a risk to the mission that HAL is charged (by its human programmers) to protect.
Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God?
Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers,
nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards,
nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. Who is left?
We are all subjects of mankind—
so let’s be kind and let us be by love defined—I Am Anaya
All Around The World
So why is it they can’t just see that: Differences shouldn’t be hated
Popes change dogma continually, Leviticus Bible verse should be updated
The revelation comes too late, and yes, it is belated
Unrighteous we are, why torment gay men and women, everyone’s unclean
and so you have it, anything else is contrary to sound doctrine,
In a sense, if you look about at the lout, ordinary men are just as obscene
Heterosexuals have shown us just how perverted they too can be
Easy to be lured into a night of dishonorable passions, a themed orgy
Unashamed, receive you will a due penalty, and remember the trilogy
Too many homosexuals living all around the world today
We know the facts, it is hard to come out, and no one chooses to be gay,
Some find out at age ten, he made no choice, never has it worked that way
To have a hatred so strong isn’t natural, it seems its rather what you seek
What makes any sense at all is that being different doesn’t make you week
What labels a freak, but God made us misguided, different, and meek
A mother knows her son is gay
She watched that he had grown up in his flamboyant way
Not a random whim conjured up one day
A heterosexual’s testimony is clear:
A teacher’s council and kind patience bolstered Rob’s resolve
To overcome youthful woes and nightmarish troubles solve
His humanity may have saved Rob’s life. His memory he holds dear
But whenever the name Mister James arose
Other kids just called him q****
Whatever kind of group it is you’re in
Just because they are different from you, but both same to sin
No one here will win or lose, all will end. And if so be it, once more begin.
Anna Belle 1619 (Part One)
She set out to Jamestown in 1619
She's a Nordic ship on the sea
She's purple in shades in streams
She bathes in the Caribbean breeze
She needs no bard's flattery
No barroom cajolery
Only God with His love sets her free
Along the Levant coast, Aqaba, and Red Sea
My Shulamite who longs for me
She whispers softly, a euphony
Her chestnut flowing glory
Cascades oh womanly
And shaded for only me to see
A music-box dancer
Flawless she prances
Her beauty captured in Renaissance fancy
Reciting "I do"
My bride in June
My beloved in truth
As we walk together towards God
Anna Belle MMVI (Part Two)
Streetlights lead the way from home
Into the distance I drift and and I doze
Off to sleep where I meet Anna
On the coastal retreat out on the veranda
I hand her a poem and it reads:
Anna Belle
You have a lover's light
It is a beacon to this traveler's eye
You are grace and life
A sunburst shining Christ
Luminosity on this day which God has made
I m-i-s-s-i-s-s-I miss your kiss
When you're away
She sighs, what a look in her eyes
I desire to know as she ponders each line
In her heart unfurling more woes
A cascading of tears and hopes
Holding hands, we share our dreams
Of a journey together, the valleys the peaks
Our eyes meet, we momentarily hesitate
Then univocally say "You are my soul mate"
Goodbye Anna Belle (Part Three)
Preacher by day, poet by night
This hero's weakness is iron pyrite
A ship among ships
I sail on by moon eclipsed
No stars or astrolabe
To navigate me me towards my babe
The captain of the Eternity
Has set course and ushered me out to sea
With memories of her and dreams of home
I seek the shore in the sad poem
As I roam and comb Rome
I see faces from pages I've written in tome
Familiar, I see her everywhere
In the euphemistic flower and cascading hair
I ponder the thought of all thoughts
Why did Jesus endure the path and the cross
Out of love, a love that leads step by step
Through a mystery of enigmatic depths
I say my goodbye in this melancholy ode
I mourn, but not as one with no hope
THE SUN, EARTH & MOON
(Alternative title: Sygyzy)
The sun is the past—
crucible of the
epigenetic light.
The earth’s the present—
inexorably
our arrogant might.
The moon’s the future—
a desolate orb
frozen in its plight.
Modern science says: The sun is the past, the earth is the present, the moon is the future. From an incandescent mass we have originated, and into a frozen mass we shall turn. Merciless is the law of nature, and rapidly and irresistibly we are drawn to our doom. ~Nikola Tesla
© Suzette Richards 30 July 2017
A PRICELESS GIFT
Everyone should consider his body as a priceless gift from one whom he loves above all, a marvellous work of art, of indescribable beauty, and mystery beyond human conception, and so delicate that a word, a breath, a look, nay, a thought may injure it. ~Nikola Tesla
I hold myself rigid within the framework of creeds
imposed upon me by the secular world at large.
I resist the urge to become totally feral.
A light shines through the cracked urn of my consciousness,
and challenges my intellect and the many preconceived ideas.
Reason and common sense hover; are peripheral.
I recognise that the frail husk that we dwell in
is the reason for our temptation and fleeting pleasure—
Our very earthly existence is ephemeral.
© Suzette Richards 1 July 2021
MAKING MY LIFE EASY …
From Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone,
to the electromechanical vibrator —
all invented before the vacuum cleaner.
Life as a woman has its perks,
but the drudgery of housekeeping
could leave many feeling meaner
than a nest of rattlesnakes.
But pay me some attention with an invention;
I will surely become a real keener.
I do not think you can name many great inventions that have been made by married men. ~Nikola Tesla
© Suzette Richards 10 July 2021
Written to coincide with his birthday, midnight 9–10 July.
The first 3 lines: These are all inventions by married men.
PS Tesla never married.
Also see my article: The Tesla 3–6–9: Poetic form since 2017
[Song Lyric]
Brothers and sisters have we plenty—
The sun, the moon, and stars on high.
Hours in the day we've four and twenty—
Mountains and trees and lots of sky.
People may call us 'salt of the earth'
And say that our weight in gold we're worth.
Then why are we feeling such a dearth?
We haven't got enough— got enough.
There's simply not enough— not enough.
The trouble isn't that we're never satisfied or insecure.
We haven't got enough— got enough.
There's simply not enough— not enough.
A double negative doesn't make a positive when you're poor.
Winters and summers have we many.
Autumn and spring are ours, it's true.
But food and clothes we've scarcely any,
So time can be a bitter brew.
We try to be thankful and humane—
Our good nature always to retain.
Still once in a while we do complain.
We haven't got enough— got enough.
There's simply not enough— not enough.
The trouble isn't that we're never satisfied or insecure.
We haven't got enough— got enough.
There's simply not enough— not enough.
A double negative doesn't make a positive when you're poor.
Happiness can't be bought with money.
Laughter and love, we know, are free.
Nevertheless it isn't funny
To live and die in poverty.
We're fortunate that we have our health—
Yet sometimes a wish we wish in stealth—
That we could have just a bit of wealth.
We haven't got enough— got enough.
There's simply not enough— not enough.
The trouble isn't that we're never satisfied or insecure.
We haven't got enough— got enough.
There's simply not enough— not enough.
A double negative doesn't make a positive when you're poor.
~ Harley White
Song Lyric, from – “East of the Sun and West of the Moon”
From: One Two Three a Trilogy – Two – “East of the Sun and West of the Moon” – a rendering in musical theater by Harley White – based on the version in Norske Folkeeventyr, collected and recorded by P.C. Absjörnsen and Jorgen Moe,19th Century
Excerpts from Trilogy – click on “Trilogy excerpts”…
[ harleywhite.awardspace.com ]
Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Bread
( First of Three Poem Trilogy )
I
I've no problem with bardolatry fans
their barmecide and oft humorous rants.
Give me golden words not found in empty cans,
not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants.
Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit,
creators of canorous verse that soars.
Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit
not with callithumpians that so sorely bores.
Nor do I fancy to become a bichon frise,
beholding to those with comminatory ways.
Finding some will cut you off at the knees
as a criticaster dariole for fugacious pay.
Floccinaucinihilipilification,
judged by Flews that chatter in morbid tune.
Give me saudade and a sandy beach vacation
with very little scrippage in the month of June.
Aye, no snollygoster soucouyant will do,
for my heart and soul begs sun-grazing songs.
Not a superbious umbriferous critic or two,
with the poet's soul this body truly belongs.
Seeking no uroboros legacy my ink doth stain
as a soulcatcher with a selkie as a muse.
Alone, in this rawky terrain my life will remain
for solitude and honor my poet's heart doth choose.
I've no problem with bardolatry fans
their barmecide and oft humorous rants.
Give me golden words not found in empty cans,
not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants.
Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit,
creators of canorous verse that soars.
Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit,
not with callithumpians that so sorely bores.
Robert J. Lindley, 3-21-2018
Rhyme
Note:
Make of this what you will,
I give thus and surely shall send no bill
Yet in my poet's heart my soul oft grieves
for the Autumn colors not the decaying leaves
For the heart that yearns to write and truly give
and the mortal soul that writes to live
With inked symbols and a mind tired of toil
wading through worlds filled with pride and hidden turmoil
I write with purpose to give to others, not to take
tho' oft my poet's heart over burning coals some gladly rake.
WORLD WAR 11 THROUGH THE EYES OF MY MOM
POEM NO. 1 OF TRILOGY
World war 11 was nearing its end,
The Nazis losing ground
In Russia, been driven out of Moscow,
Everywhere snow bound,
Dying like flies because of the bitter cold,
No Food, no shelter, just attack after attack by
The Russians, the bold!
Meanwhile, the whole of Europe
Glued to their radio,
Listening to how the allies
Were pushing the enemy back,
The morale of the people was
Beginning to crack,
It was time, enough was enough,
War was no fun,
The Greek folk were done!
My mum and her friend next door
Would visit each other,
Warned so often by my grandfather
And her friend’s brother,
Beware, the march of the Nazi boot,
Their knock on your door,
No reason required , they would just shoot
Or else men dragged out to be shot,
Because a Nazi soldier was found dead
Revenge to the Nazi’s was sweet,
They had taken the Greeks peoples means
Their bread
For over four years,
The Greeks had shed many tears.
Leaving wives, daughters, sisters bereft to pine,
The Nazi’s war crimes were not ‘klein’!
No light
At night,
To show through their curtains,
So blankets hung up in fear
Of their lives
The Nazis fearless
Cared not who survives!
The sound of gunshots was an everyday thing,
For every Greek shot, the church bells would ring!
The Greek underground
Was profound,
Working with the French, they made victory sound.
The allies were advancing
And the Germans retreating,
Small pockets of them stayed behind,
They had to surrender, or die,
As the British troops marched through the streets
Liberating Greece, A child beats
On his drum,
His mom thankful the good guys have come!
So many cheers
The Greek peoples tears,
Had rained down for years.
Athens the capital of Greece was now free,
In the name of The Father,The son, and The Holy Spirit,
All made the sign of the cross, the Holy Three
The date October nineteen forty four
The fear of the Nazi boot at their door,
No more!
Stanley Russell Harris (ME)
The new Mad Author
When my books begin to sell.
From, ‘feedaread,’ where they dwell!
And I’m as rich as blinking well…
You know, rolling in that thing called money.
With figures in front of those zeros,
so the balance is not funny.
Do you know the first thing I must buy?
It’s a house by the sea for the wife and I!
Then, after helping the family and things like that.
Do you know what I would do?
Well read on and I will tell you.
I would look at charities.
That closed their doors, to those in need.
That helped the sick in mind or lame.
Those by themselves who have problems, within their life, it to maintain.
Help those homeless as well.
If only my bank account would swell.
Alas, until that I cannot do.
And that is all down to you!
As you have none of my books, you know.
Not one is in your bookcase so.
I will now tell you what to do.
Visit, ‘feedaread,’ that’s spelt right too.
Look for Stanley Russell Harris. That's me.
Then for. ‘Poems. Some happy, some sad, some to make you glad.’
Ten books of poetry there do be!
The adventures of, ‘Smarty a search and rescue dog.’
Many books his adventures do hog.
Then there is, ‘Smarty the Future 2061.’
His secrets here I cannot tell of one.
As that might ruin your enjoyable fun!
Anyway that's a trilogy
So you might have to buy books all three!
‘Short animal and bird tails (tales, Dragon tales.) Is what I said.’
Of course the first book I did write.
Was, ‘A patient from Papworth, yes that’s right.’
How the NHS saved my life no less.
Got me out of a hell of a mess.
So now you know the books I did write.
Spread the words to your friends tonight.
Okay, it can be in the day.
So please get your fingers clicking right away.
And let’s see who’s next, we’ll help one day.
And on this subject, that’s all for now I will say.
I’ll save the rest for another day, lol .
Stanley
(The new mad Author)
PS. I know it is too long. Nicole Harris. I know!!
lol