Long Tumble Poems
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Glass shattered Saturday afternoon tea for S I L E N C E
holding steady raven momentum for its own r i p p i n g
fire from heartbeat slashes its void to tumble wounds of
wisdom weeping slow dirty tears of biting burns inserting
into wordless flesh of waiting before window panes were
smashed with stone docile ornaments, rampant afternoon
unvoiced holding a blank white canvas for dripping
bookshelves tumbled, poems torn to sheds, laundry strewn
with glass splinters as lead, aphonics slithering into dried out
stewpot waiting for maniacal tsunami to cremate emotions
tweezer them from dna soiled in possessive prisons ridiculed
Divinity spoke in all pervasive silence on testing timeline taut
holding breath to His nostrils imbibing a billion frequencies
I chose to brave open His serene lips for unutterable L O V E
lashes He crafted brushed breathy implicits with assent
for missions of courage traversed embracing solitude
observed in stillness whilst across eerie forest moss
carpets I deciphered “They Don’t Care about Us”
hush self wears a daisy cloak from heavenly dew fields
luminosity unzips not as lies hop chaotic across
spiderwebs it can chameleon transmute into gentle
streams to soothe that which hides for right timing
~ first bud of white rose birthing delicacy or benign
waters over pebble backdrop quietude
biscuit baker feeds jealousy, deceit, shame, guilt, indecision
escapism ~ swampy keys of stagnant quagmires will too utter
her heart’s eclipsed light breaking egoic invisibility as
softly I breathe her shadowed taciturn s t e a l t h
quiet petaling garment breaks open blackout mission
regurgitating quantum memories incubated in beckoning cell
fertility for decades perhaps centuries, marching crusades of
soul conquering ancient lands, majestic mountains, raucous
seas, ports, yellow spices, when women with babes gagged
anguished longing for men to taste their honey in serenity
hot crusted bread speaking truths of labouring backs bent
cows chewing cherrywood cuds ~ what could be a more
knowing t r a n q u i l i t y ?
now wafered soundlessness is lamb yet diamond piercing
raw, a lark offers sotto tones as harmony cupped in two
musing wings to ascend where it can quintessentially
quiver, hover in expectant repose for another silent mission
Morning has broken as it has done for many years
Day to day we continue without the fear of fears
Then out of the blue their comes thoughts from long ago
Prophecies of a past, that could halt us humans flow
Tablets scribed in gold, have been uncovered in Peru
For in them they tell of the future, surrounding me and you
We await with fervour in the media, the radio and the t.v.
As I try to get my head around it, and what it means to me
The day that they speak of, it's a little over a year
Do we just laugh if off, or do the sensible in us fear
As I drive through my city, towards this impending day
The street corners start to fill, does panic have it's say
Speakers start to recite, of this doom that welcomes we
I see suicides in escalation, jumpers in front off me
Families leave their homes, for they no not where to go
Panic buying surrounds me, anarchy appears to flow
We now reach December 2012, as we gain on the scribed day
Can it be all that was written, have the ancient had their say
My eyes catch the clock, midnight is awaiting it's strike
It'll be the twenty first of December, are the Mayan scribes right
The minutes pass the hour, everything appears to be normal
Maybe the writes are fables, to them simply formal
To pacify myself, will it be the radio or the t.v.
Sometimes one has to ask oneself, to simply look and see
Visions on the screen appear, many screens my eyes do view
Reports from many countries are brought to me and you
They show events of nature, more fierce than naturally so
Rainfall in arid areas, deserts in metres off snow
The Polar ice caps start cracking, exploding ice in crying break
Mudslides now carry cities, everything caught in their wake
Bangladesh now no longer exists, the Maldives have disappeared
The Mariana Trench now starts to rise, her ridges in rampant rear
A bulletin catches my ears, Yellowstone has started to erupt
Is this what the scribes have warned of, our planet being so abrupt
A rumbling I start to feel, where I stand I feel I move
I'm in tumble across my floor, in fear of their impending prove
My apartment on the only hill, allows through my window to view
A giant fissure slices through my city, for into it, buildings spew
The free ways now broken and torn, many cars in tumbledown
From here I hear the screaming voices, I'm deafened by their drown
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-20.php
I write in remembrance of the late Dennis Liwewe (Zambia's No.1 and Celebrated Football Commentator). Here is a short football commentary:
"Ah, this is Dennis Liwewe. We are here in Mauritius, where the two sides, Zambia National Team and Mauritius National Team will battle it out this afternoon. Capacity crowd 40,000.
The referee is from Kenya and match commissioners from Nigeria and Senegal respectively.
At this point in time, the referee blows play on , and Mauritius team take the ball back to their goal keeper. A loose ball pass the centre circle, a bad pass by Zambia we are in deep trouble, Only to be saved by the Goal keeper Efford Chabala. This is no other than Kapambwe Mulenga, defending very well. Ball zooms out for the throw in. We are beaten in the air, Ashios Melu picks up loose ball, he beats a man in a double one two situation, he kicks a tumble, which is well chested by Kalusha Bwalya ( popularly known as Great Kalu). Great Kalu beats two, three Mauritius defenders. Great Kalu within a firing range, hammer. It's a gooooooal 1-0 to Zambia. Back to the studio for our sponsors. Mauritius are coming in a counter attack situation, their dangerous striker is breaking even, Bomber. It goes away. Again and again, Zambia takes control of the situation here, Efford Chabala pumps a long ball passes the centre circle, we are good in the air. Kelvin Mutale dribbles two Mauritius defenders, hammer. It's a goooooal Zambia leading by 2-0 . Second half , Mauritius are very aggressive at the goal, they want to equalize. We are in deep trouble again here, sliding tackle by Kapambwe Mulenga, and the ball zooms for a corner kick for Mauritius. Headed away by Ashios Melu, a little pass to Charles Musonda, passes the centre circle, he turns 360 degrees. He passes the the ball to Kelvin Mutale ( the master dribbler), it's a gooooooal, 3-0 to Zambia. We are in the dying minutes here,
And the referee blows the final whistle. This is Dennis Liwewe signing off. Pick it up ZNBC studios in Lusaka, Zambia.
May his soul rest in eternal peace
Concept by Zambian Sports Lovers
Poetry Chipepo Lwele
Note: Dennis Liwewe made Zambians to love football in the 70's, 80's and 90's when we had 2 band radios and few television sets, we were glued to the radios young and old, less educated and highly learned. He made sure that the message is loud and clear.
From sagging huts up in the hills,
We watched the tourists flash their bills.
They piled our harvest on their plates,
While soup and scraps were all we ate.
The flames lick up from garbage cans,
Burnt brown like every working man,
Who shouts or sings or mutters low
Of the calluses that come and go.
They toss in straw, more flames shoot up
To light the faces, hewn and rough,
that need a creed, some faith to hold;
to make their insides proud and bold.
Right then and there, I stand to speak.
I will not play the lamb so meek.
The time has come to take back ours
from the wealthy dogs with fat cigars.
First cans, then cars, we overturn.
Now the boulevard begins to burn..
The fools shoot back, forget the cost,
The naked rage must not be lost.
We win ourselves some new recruits,
Some young; some old; some simply brutes;
I do not care where they heard the call.
The revolution now will need them all.
Our cause will die if all stays calm,
So I send out Juan with sweaty palms.
He won't come back, farewell, my friend.
Your blood will flow for greater ends.
Worn out, weary, our morale grows thin.
The feeling grows that we can not win.
We need more guns than we can steal,
But we do have one crop we can deal.
The rifles have arrived now. Good!
Excited now, they crack the wood.
My loathing of red, white and blue,
is spreading like the jungle flu.
Their army scatters, their leaders flee.
We've brought the country to it's knees.
With the capitol dead in our sights,
We'll soon assert the people's rights.
The grainy film does not portray
That it was a picture perfect day.
My second stands there, smart and trim.
It might pay to keep an eye on him.
We march them out in single file.
No need to bother with a trial.
Their baggy shirts and peasant lies
Betray them all as filthy spies.
Yes, the people had decreed this so,
I speak for them so I should know.
Your crimes have brought you here to die.
The people speak through me. Goodbye!
Their bodies jump in crimson leaps,
then tumble down in tangled heaps.
Scarlet skulls and splintered chests,
They'll surely air this in the West.
Bulldoze the bones and spread the lime,
For we all are on the side of time.
And tonight, we gather in the square.
Their blood has paid my ruling fare.
I should really be writing my essay (due tomorrow!) but I can't have this poem stand here
under my name without some well due editing. I would remove it but I feel like I have not
given the idea a fair amount of my effort.
Let me tell you the story of the man who wared with time
Let me tell you of the lying man who thought himself free from fate's monotonous rhyme:
This lying man would not a true story tell
To the masses: tales of himself in a regal crown he would sell
And they would ask: How come you here, great king?
And he would weave tales of abandoning his office for a woman's ring
Some would jeer and others cheer
But always he would smile ear to ear
At time in its grandeur he would leer
To priests he would lament of his heinous crimes, to never repeat them he swore
Begging their pity and reveling in the new skin he wore
So why, you may ask, does the liar lie of heinous acts
When he could lie of owning the grandest tracts?
And the snake of snakes would slither its tongue
And shed its skin, a coat in its closet so neatly hung
It would tell you a million tales, not one of them true
And never itself shed in any hue
For the flesh beneath may be soft and fickle
But the skin above is always rough and brittle
The flesh beneath once shed, would still the beating of his heart
The skin above once shed, would instill in his life immortality, the one true art
And always the happiest man alive he would be
Living the lives of any man his mind could see
And so the lying man would not a true story tell
The lying man would lie till the day he fell
That day the king of kings dies
The day the criminal meets his demise
While the lying man that was lives on in every story
As friends and foe would debate the king's glory
All the while the lying man that is sinks deeper into his grave
And that priest would remember a criminal who only mercy did he crave
And that coat of skins would weaken and tumble
The skins within gone brittle and begun to crumble
As the lying man that was, flesh and vulnerability, decays
All those skins he left behind, time will one day erase.
And so lying man, you had smiled in the face of time,
Done no great dead but steal what was theirs and mine
You had fallen thinking you had bested the clock
When only you had deafened yourself to the echo of tick tock
© Samir Georges
2010
Memories tumble through my mind,
rolling aimless, some have been...
missing for a while.
I try to fill in the blanks. Others,
I sweep into already dusty corners.
You know, the ones far easier forgotten.
Tumbleweeds...my memories
have become tumbleweeds.
I take snapshots of the cherished ones,
file them away
giving them a home...
before they blow away in the savage wind.
I yell out to my own echoing voice -
"Did I tell you my mom liked to dance?"
"Yes", I remember.
I hear her music, rock-and-roll,
her long hair bouncing with each step.
She doesn't dance anymore...
I see my step-father, hands dirty, working
always working, but sometimes
stopping to joke or tease.
Moments gone...memories fleeting...
begging them to stay
a little longer or at least
visit my dreams.
"Did I tell you my dad played drums?"
"Yes", I remember.
I hear rat-a-tat-tat in my head,
primal beats, rhythmic beats -
complex man, gentle soul...
I would sing at the top of my lungs while he played.
He never seemed to mind my shrill, little girl voice.
I miss him, I miss his drums. Music is not the same.
Nothing the same.
I close my eyes and another memory
blows through empty spaces.
My brother is racing his bike down the street FAST.
He is about ten, all skinny legs in his shorts.
"Where are you going?" I call after him, too late.
"Don't go, please don't go!"
He is gone and I wonder if he was ever here, there,
anywhere within my reach.
Some do go astray, I remind myself.
Missing memories...missing love -
loneliness finding a home in my heart
when least expected...
"Wait, come back", I yell to him. "I'm still here."
Ruminating, I ask myself if we ever know,
really know, the ones we love.
No, not really. I remember.
Frantic, I reach for the tumbleweeds, grasping.
I reach for my two earthly fathers who are long gone...
I see them, each so different yet loved. Then,
they blow away, missing again.
I chase them futilely. The savage wind still blows,
across grains of desert sand...
I will never know why, never know.
Tumbleweeds...my memories have become
tumbleweeds
blowing in a savage wind.
* one of my favorite early poems (maybe it doesn't seem happy, but
it includes some of my favorite memories)
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
March 2, 2012
Second Place in Chris Aechtner's Let the Masks Fall Contest
Warning - Mature.
Sweet night, a blanket made from scented space - holds this would-be poet in its arms.
Tightly - yet with care. Caring - yet with passion. Smiles her heart. Trembles her dreams. Hides them silverine in moments indescribable. Night caresses her spirit with unspoken thoughts, echoing from places foreign to her understanding.
From time taken by liberties, he waits, stubbled chin resting in broad cupped palm. He longs for her. Needs in the flame of passion's roar to fly that time long laid in stone.
Clouds drift. Days flee. Eons wreak weather to endless confusion. Creatures fall within time. Fossils lie crushed in their past. Ocean drowns land. Land erupts from water. Breathing rents the air. One step. A second. Knees buckle. She waits in her wondering why and what.
Hidden within cloud where the highest mountains touch the sky, the man sits. Alone, he is, wrapped in silence. He groans, wanting. Weeps. Prays to the gods, calls to the elements. Weeps more.
A sound, gentle, soft said, drifts space. Man hears. Wonders. Frowns. Understands. Wanting becomes pain. He groans. He moans. He laughs! Somewhere, she sleeps!
A rippled breath gasps my palm,
floats 'tween fingers flexed,
darts space behind my ear, laughs my neck
caressing thoughts I've not yet dreamed..
what language now,
what meanings, what delight,
pray tell?
you touch me with a hint of
honeyed power -
oh sybarite -
wrap me in heat so high I sizzle in my sleep..
look me.. sheet rushed aside I wait,
I moan, I sigh
to float 'tween fingers formed too much,
intentions still unsure but now.. oh now..
you lean forward
closer..
closer..
inhaling deeply..
sensing my gender
sighing -
sighing yet more
until..
temptation dared
and passion flared
I soar, I fly,
thereby -
thereby
however perceived
evol becomes reality
turned inside out upon its cap of what you will
emotions motion..
tumble in
turn and
turnabout,
spinning words, knitting language into shape..
explorers of such subjects
binding heart to hope and - yes
exotic inamorati all,
lie bed or floor or chair or shore
let loose that secret word
that spell - that lost civility
from A past where and when
when
one word
once found
once felt
once shared
was is forever..
love
CINDERELLA WHAT NOW
I’ve often seen you zoom past Mars,
Blonde hair flowing and blowing
In the breeze of the milky way,
And its trillions of stars.
I so longed for you to be mine,
I imagined us sitting in the curve of the moon
As it slowly began to wane,
And we watched planet earth beneath us,
And the gods of the seas sending tides
Out, splashing foaming and dancing,
Raging, loving that God and the Moon,
Chose mother nature to run this chore,
By being bossy and certainly imposing!
Mystery girl what is your name,
Is it true you are called Cinderella,
You must be the fourth generation,
And according to the invitation
To the ball, your great grandparents were,
Prince Charming and Cinderella
The rich prince and the poor cinder girl
With whom Prince Charming fell in love.
And now you have all the wealth you need,
Choose me, tell your dad what you really want,
And take, a slight tumble,
Learn to become a little humble.
You have captivated my being,
Only of you do I dream.
I know you’re from Venus and hot,
Many suitors you have got,
From Jupiter, Mercury and Uranus,
And Saturn, which one of us
Will it be,
For I want to marry you,
I have no jewels
To offer like the others,
I am not poor, and will cherish you,
And give you a good life,
As my wife.
Only love and devotion,
From my heart with emotion.
Pretty lady all will be disclosed
At the Ball, at which your father
Will name the lucky man.
You are stunning,
But for whom are you gunning?
The night arrives, all the eligible
Young men invited from every planet,
Arrive in high tech space ships,
Engineered to impress,
Like your emerald studded green
Much admired ball gown, gems in excess,
Never in History has such a gown
Been seen before,
I’m on an emotional seesaw,
Your green eyes seem cold,
And your manner distant and bold.
The suitor finally named, Prince Zuma
From Jupiter and you will be
Wife number ten.
You must think long and hard
About this wedding,
You will be part of a harem,
I whisper in her ear,
I am leaving this pretentious scene
I’m afraid this match might
have a sad ending,
You, being the subject of this plight.,
Should you need me, contact details
In the hem of your pricey dress.
Think hard, your life has
Become quite a mess,
Money has become your master,
You are not thinking of forever after.
THE DALLAS COWBOYS
Can you not hear the rumblings of that distant herd coming,
The loud thundering of destiny’s champions crossing, the NFL
Field of dreams, beware the rampaging lightening team known
As the Dallas Cowboys, for they are the hail storms victorous
Breed, the eye of the hurricane riders, searching for their
Well-deserved trophy of fortunes honor!
Remove your cowboy’s hats of respect unto them, ladies
Curtsy with reverences motion, for these athletes are
Endurance’s best, and they shall overcome against
Any opposing finest challengers, these rangers of the
Old western traditions, that carry this country’s time
Honored name of the cowboy to the ultimate extreme,
Of skill and strength’s dexterity!
Dallas all plain drifters of purity’s valor, head to head
No bull horns about it, these are the champions of the
Gladiatorial games in the world of sportsmanship!
Yielding unto no oppositions combatants, these warriors
Hold their ground with distinctions sheer magnificence!
Let those world famous cheerleaders scream with every
Field goal achieved, for these beauties know that no
Other team in footballs annals will score, to the level
Of these good old boys, named by fame's hall of records,
The famous Dallas Cowboys, heehaw and God bless hum!
Now listen you city slicking team of sports hall of fameing
Seekers, you’d better go back to your home fields of
Advantages, for hear in this lone star state, we take no
Prisoners, and show no mercy to out lander's!
Here in the ALAMO state of freedoms calling,
We remember our heritage standing tall and
Proud against all odds, blazoned in bullets
Historical legends, our grand team barres
The name of fore-barriers proudly, those
Pioneer’s men known, as the all American
Cowboys!
These six-shooters whom rode the die hard tails,
Across a new world creating a country of freedom,
Where only the tumble-weeds rolled, and desert dust,
Coached a man’s thirst almost to madness!
Now in traditions sport of men, a new team of desperado’s,
Threatens this lone star state, but have no fear my fellow
Texans for our Dallas Cowboys will send them packing,
With a good old boy’s field goals smacking, so I’ll cheer
Them on, waving my hat in the evening air, yelling heehaw,
Go get hum boys!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
FOR LINDA THE DESTROYER
ROCK ON SISTER POET
everybody’s dying
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
in this world we call insane
and nobody knows it,
‘cause it’s part of the game
and there is no resurrection
once we fall down from that cross
and there is no institution
to redeem our final loss
and there is no cotton bandage
that can stop the bleeding wound
and no time for looking backwards
‘cause we are already doomed
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
and we’re smiling all the while
we just never realize it
we just line up single file
and the explosion of that bullet
bursts across the nighttime sky
and the mushroom cloud filters down
and the laughing people cry
and there is no restoration
once our cities tumble down
and there is no consolation
for no prizes can be found
and there is no rhyme or reason
that can color over dead
and no time for looking backwards
to the words that Jesus said
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
and some have sold their souls
and everybody knows it
after sifting through the coals
and there is no hope for another time
the stainless sword just fell
there is no care for your fellow man
as he stumbles into hell
and there is no constitution
that politicians sign
for the sign’s already written
and sealed since the start of time
and everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
though none can answer why
and there are no super patriots
who storm across the sky
and there is no firm foundation
to hold your footing down
and there is no more destitution
past the hunger sound
and there is no vegetation
to keep a man alive
he should have eaten the bread of life
if he wanted to survive
and no time for looking backwards
to the way it could have been
that time has passed and satan’s tongue
has pierced the hearts of men
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
God, take this pain from me
this sight of annihilation
this staining of the sea
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
the anguish is too real
even a blind man who has darkened eyes
no longer can conceal
that window of his inner soul
which holds the picture clear
everybody’s dying, everybody’s dying
my friend…
the time is here
tolbert