Long Turn to Poems
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Written: January 12, 2025, For contest Sponsored by: Brian Strand
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Colored earth
lies in fragmented bits
gold and silver
just out of reach
acid obsessions,
our souls leach.
Transience of fame
ephemerality of
human existence
provoke a
poignant admission~
of forgetfulness. . .
Endless craving
leads to fits
we desire what
lies beyond the glass
crystalline dreams
soon turn to brass.
This underscores
transient nature
of personal memory
& impact beyond lifetime
intensifying emotional weight
it declares universal truth
of inevitable fading
& human goals significance.
Out of reach
is cold glitz
gems sparkle
with deceiving light
while riches
bear to flight
Dreadful dinotherium—
a world of awe,
indented as a saw
it could hardly fail
or poorly flail
when we slid
and tumbled
Fossils emerge;
we were born to walk —
stay close; never stray~
Mining delusions
uncovers depths
into gloom,
our hopes fall
chains of rescue
remain beyond recall
Lost in searching
our wits
blind us to love
by our side,
treasures
magnified
Life in the “Ghettohood” is finger licking good,
All souls in their folly keeps my coffers full and jolly
Anger hate and bigotry’s the best kind of energy.
Loud ruthless gangsters, young naughty pranksters;
Keeping up with the Kardashians, those vexed unholy citizens
A pleasure to see, their shiny gold turn to greed.
As Your strong wills yields to the thrill of the kill.
Awwwhhh Great Glory to me. My name will be history.
Oh the pride, the pride, the arrogantly foolish;
See your selfish lust fall victim to the lazy.
Be thy noble minds martyred violently crazy
Mmmm tasty, tasty, tasty ¬_ cakes and pies;
Delicious is the filling of steamy deceit and lies.
I savor the flavor of the strong, weak and old.
Don’t listen to the fables of those stories told!
I will suck the marrow from the bones of your babies;
Then tiptoe through the tulips, the roses and daisies.
For every time you lift a little finger of foe;
The energy of negativity helps me to grow.
Go on forget about me, I’m not so bad of a guy,
You’re all on the menu, the bold and the shy.
I’m just a mere villainous vampire.
Feasting till you completely expire.
Aye! The eating is marvelously good in every Ghettohood!
~~~w11152019
We shall meet again—
Not in this fleeting world of form,
But beyond the bends of time,
Where all roads turn to dust,
And silence hums the final rhyme.
You wandered left, I drifted right,
Chasing echoes through the night.
Yet every path, no matter how wide,
Leads gently to the other side.
If your dusk arrives before mine,
Will you wait beneath the pine?
But should I reach that hush too soon,
Then let the waiting be your tune.
And then, you'll see—
My gaze was never for your face alone,
But for the soul that danced with mine,
The quiet ache, the sacred tone.
We shall meet, of that I’m sure,
Where pride is ash and hearts are pure.
No masks, no names, no borrowed grace—
Just soul to soul in boundless space.
They’ll weep, the ones I leave behind,
Some with sorrow, some resigned.
Yet I shall smile, through death’s disguise,
With hope still burning in my eyes.
For love like ours does not decay—
It simply slips into the grey.
And waits, and waits, until again—
Two kindred souls dissolve the pain.
So, wait for me or let me wait.
Beyond the veil, beyond the gate.
No matter where, no matter when—
Perhaps, we shall meet again.
There should be a place to shelter us when sleep is a bird that no longer comes,
or when we are tired of getting drunk on our own thoughts, and the grass no longer lifts dreams,
I don't mean powders or cocaine, but a realm beyond the death that watches us
or the loves that have been lost like echoes in a cave forgotten by time.
There should be a sanctuary to hide us when sleep refuses to embrace us,
beyond the screens that flicker lifelessly or the cinema halls projecting shadows,
beyond the newspapers carrying the world's news or the novels promising imaginary worlds,
the absence of this refuge gives birth to lost souls in asylums and those who choose eternal silence.
I believe that in the absence of this place, people turn to corners that barely caress their desires,
and this ritual polishes them like the wind sculpting rocks, until they can continue,
even without hope, like empty calendars swallowing their days without counting them,
the faces we see daily are not devoid of hope, but merely of wings.
Be gentle with them, for they too, like you, seek a place to rest their souls,
perhaps, one day, that place will appear like a strip of light in the densest night,
where silence will become a balm, not an abyss that swallows us whole with stars,
and until then, let us be gentle with those who, like us, seek to learn to dream again.
The words will tell of secrets in my hands
Don’t heed the warning present as it stands
For even when the darkness covers sky
My friend, believe, to you I would not lie
They seek to turn us toward revenge and hate
Please hear me now and pray I’m not too late
As through the ages by your side I stand
I care not for your money, titles, land
I love you for a brother and a friend
Let not their words propel us to an end
For even in the darkness I will pray
That power over you they’d not hold sway
That hate you bear should not now turn to me
I plead for you to listen and to see
I don’t bear malice towards you or your kin
As long as I have known you we did win
But now I fear I may have come too late
For now inside your eyes I see your hate
You lapped up eagerly all of their lies
And tossed me out and off into the skies
Our lives were of this moment…
the wave made sure of that
Winter nineteen sixty-nine
Waimea’s fury spat
Thirty feet and building
the giants all had come
Their lips four stories high above
too late to cut and run
The paddle out a nightmare
the ride a waiting terror
The drop in looming zero-sum
the wall the devils mirror
We made it down and set our fins
to climb the face again
Our ears were deaf, eyes frozen wide
once more to climb the mountain
On top we leaned and split the crest
last turn to surf the violence
The beach in sight, through foams delight
—death wading through the silence
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)
‘Memories Of Waimea’
The heart contains four chambers…each one plays a part
but her mom didn’t call them chambers to her they were spaces in the heart.
She had her own philosophy, her own view…her own way
“I am not a doctor…or a scientist…more of a romantic she would say”.
She believed we were born with spaces in our hearts, spaces that never end
These spaces are easily filled she would say with the love of family and friends..
When her daughter asked what about our love for animals, a sunset, or the morning dew
“Oh yes!”, “her mom would answer there’s a space for them there too”.
“Your heart is always looking for love.” she’d smile…”to create or to restore it
and have no fear once it’s discovered…your heart has a place to store it.”
When she was dying she told her daughter
“It’s just a new adventure I’m about to start.”
“But mom”, her daughter asked, “what will happen to your space within my heart”.
“Not to worry”, her mom replied, “for in your thoughts I will always be
and that space will now be filled with memories of me.”
At her funeral people spoke fondly of her mother
story after story they related…
about her laughter…about the love she shared
and about the life she had created.
They spoke of her kindness, of her smile
how they’d never seen her mad…
To a person they all spoke of what a big heart she had.
“I can tell you why Mom’s heart was so big”
her daughter said when it came her turn to speak
Then she paused to smile, took a breath
as a tear ran down her cheek.
“It was filled with the love of her family and friends.”
she said as she looked out at all the faces…
“You see here heart not only had four chambers
It had an endless supply of spaces.”
March 5 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Deuteronomy 20-22
Key Verse– Deuteronomy 20:4 For the LORD your God is he that goeth with you, to fight for you against your enemies, to save you.
PRAISE BE TO GOD WHO GOES WITH US
Praise be to God for going with us:
Fighting for us against enemies by His protection
Fencing us around His empowering peace
Fixing us toward His enduring precepts
Fulfilling in us His eternal plan
Freeing us from evil pursuits
Deuteronomy 21:8 Praise be to the Lord for
Being merciful to us, His people He has:
Redeemed and forgiven from sins
Ransomed while framed for spirituality
Rescued as well as found from Satan’s slavery
Restored then fueled for service
Renewed to fly in faith along stewardship
Deuteronomy 22:5 Praise be to the Saviour Who is
teaching us to abide in His will against abomination as we:
Trust Him and His gracious ways
Turn to Him for godly worth
Take His great Word
Testify about His guarding will
Toil for Him midst good works.
March 5, 2024
It's not easy to live with every day problems,
Especially when someone expects you to solve them,
The minute that trouble has raised up it's head,
And balance the budget and make home made bread;
And making and keeping appointments and errands,
While setting a shining example as parents.
Sometimes I just wish I could go back to bed,
And dream a sweet dream and wake up instead,
To find I can take a day off to relax,
Perhaps read a book and not feel so taxed;
'Cause the house work will be there tomorrow for sure,
And I don't have to worry, my job is secure.
Who'd want all the worry I have all the time?
It's no bed of roses, no sweet dream sublime;
For I am a homemaker, nanny and nurse;
The one they all turn to for better or worse.
This is my castle and I am it's queen,
And I wouldn't trade it for anything.
(It's the most thankless job in the world --- or is it.)
Students Shaky Sing-A-Long
***A bolted school bus amidst bobbing heads rolls downhill...
Fictitious dank bathroom basin bailing;
a mother's kiss and general list spelled.
That rickety school bus horn toots, trailing;
wide-eyed, groomed hair, texts deftly being held.
Screeched wheels, a slid-back hatch exposed wider;
scrambled soles win middle-bus-seating.
Too raw being back-of-the-bus rider;
skilled to be by kids up front eating.
The why's of school bus seatbeltless renown,
At curves, we skim, hands intently about;
all bumps we drift upwards plus swiftly down--
and stops, reeling forwards midst racked arms out.
Youth strums some ukelele from the back.
High schoolers commenced a sung melody,
immature head's turn, to a lull they lack;
savoring quite calm, grown in harmony.
We have reached midst raised spirits set to spark,
as choruses end, volumes collected;
concurring lives equipped to disembark,
ere consigned bell chimes--such is--expected.
A conducive school day has now begun...
while active minds, smartly stretched that wellspring.
School's demanding bus, stops, scored some rerun;
slid-door, as swimming brain cell's minds to sing.
~~ a ukelele freed from its case prepares to board...
2020 June 29
*1st Place*
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW(2) any theme any form
~~Brian Strand