Long Up to now Poems
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Within the swirling currents of stars
He materializes, a silhouette against chaos
He is the whisper throughout time of stories untold
Worn out boots pound the cracked pavement
The echoes of centuries ripple beneath him
He carries a heavy urgency within his heart
He carries the truth, secrets, and all the lies
In the alleyways where shadows conspire in silence
Sleepy eyes wide awake in the rising dawn
Boisterous laughter falters, the world stills
That moment suspended, all breaths held in
This traveling Starman opens his mouth to speak
Pausing showing his sad eyes meeting doubt
"Time is such a fragile entity" he states
"Yet it bends for those who dare listen"
He is the only sound heard, the voice of time
He outlines all that has led up to now
For his people, because to them he is a God
And The Savior is here to warn the tides
"Protect what you love and abandon frivolous material"
"Keep thy community strong and your house stronger"
"Do not worship false idols, do not give into temptation"
"And tempted you will be, The Whispering Storm is near"
Subtle gasps quickly hush as everyone huddles closer
Everyone's heart beats faster than time itself
"What lies in the Whispers of Winds is the truth"
"The truth spun drastically for one to believe"
And the legends tell once you believe there is no alternative
Your Soul becomes part of this ever-growing storm
And it becomes evil...It becomes the death...
As all you love will get swallowed with who believes
He ends with starlit tear drops falling from his eyes
For he has seen the power of the storm, he almost believed
He almost gave into temptation if it weren't for those he loved
So he protected them in the end, love prevailed his time
He turns and slowly glides past the masses of His people
Questions being thrown from every direction go unanswered
Because the only answers have to come within ones self
And those answers carry the weight of this world
Into the folds of existence upon untraveled paths
He fades...Fades away to another time, another place
Leaving only the echo of his words within their hearts
Leaving to where he knows he can never return
Because he already knows the outcome...
Written for poetry contest "Starman" on 11/18/2024
Hosted by: Tom Woody Form: Dramatic Verse
PLACED 5TH PLACE IN CONTEST
Oh noo' It has happened again.! I thought we had escaped the continual scene:
forever falling down, and ya know what people actually celebrate it..?
and we'd thought we were safe here) a place where you had sympathetic support,
ITS NO GOOD..! that's what it isn't..' at last here was a chance at last to get time to
create our own poems, after being famous for all this time..' and we never had the chance
of creating our own stuff..' at least when we were killed off out there it was only by the
cretins..! now it has happened here, its a spiritual thing, sob.' boo-hoo, I saw the
shadow though..! it was a pale one..and we felt a vindictive force, and then our whole
new world shattered.' I wonder how would some like it? you have been being pushed about since
1643, whoever did it must be a cold hearted and lonely person..' I remember reading
reading some lines somewhere about just such a writer, hmm..' and now I'm a ghost and its
all down to someone..! Dumpty...that is who I am now..And down in the dumps BUT I AM MAD
MAD MAD and determined..! I can get revenge, I shall snoop in on any soup mail & nasty remarks
and so on; I can do that because I am a ghost now..! we had such a hard life early on at
the abbey farm there was ole aunt Patricia she was strict always minding our p's & q's
for us always saying we didn't do enough, then after Dad left us 'I was hard' but I never wanted
to be lost and nasty like she was, oh she was a stickler for 'rules' pashaaaw...! never
changed her life though did they...? hmmm, what to do next.? I don't know though if I
really should go down that road, it would be a contradiction of all I have tried to live, by
even through that nasty war, right up to now I suppose..' look! if I became like that I would
probably be going around with a horrible hot anger inside me, it would be like a big heavy
stone where my heart should be..! Oh you know what I mean.! and what would I do next.?
after I track them down.. after, I DESTROY THEM UTTERLY))) what then old egg? I
don't know what to do I feel as if I am being 'almost coerced ' here.. and I've heard
about the other place..' its hot they say, with a big black iron round thing..' I don't think
I would like it there, Oh if only Humpty and Dumpty could be here together again..'
CHOREOGRAPHY of LIFE and DEATH
(Four times I have crossed swords with death up to now!)
The cheerful trumpet of
Miraculous life,
Imperatively sounded in
My mother’s life-giving womb,
Heralding with its melodic tune
Another animation:
MINE!
And as my innocent
Infantile heart, provoked by
The challenging divine call,
Started beating tenderly in
The rhythm of the never-dying cosmos
Thus making me
ALIVE!
The promising sound was
Still ringing in my delicate
Ears
Singing the marvelously hopeful song of life,
When the sound of a second trumpet, similar to the first,
Filled with its melancholic tune my tiny world,
Announcing the coming of calamitous death
Thus
Condemning me to die.
LIFE and DEATH beside me they stood,
Facing each other,
Tenderly, holding my hands
And claiming me as their child.
Life was the first to whisper into my ears,
Promises so many.
She talked to me about joy, happiness, love and
Procreation,
About thousands of other things that
She would like to offer.
Only a favor she asked in return;
To be hers and only hers forever!
-
When death heard all this, didn’t make any sound,
Only sardonically smiled at life first,
And then to me emphatically declared:
“The cup of joy you can never drink before you empty
that of sorrow, and no matter what life says to you, in the end,
you will be my very own.”
-
That’s the way my trip in this ephemeral world began,
With vigorous life, leading and tracing the promising way,
And death kept following her, just a few steps behind
Patiently, was waiting to catch up with her pace,
But,
As years, were passing fast one after the other,
Death was approaching rapidly each, and every day.
So the fight they had begun so many years ago,
Relentless war now becomes, with life still the
Winner.
Yet, the ill-fated date, unexpectedly, came to my great surprise,
When the cold hands of death I felt around my skeleton waist,
Squeezing the life out of me with all their force and main.
Eager to extinguish in me wished, the very last spark of life,
And as the shrilling wind of death was howling throughout
My body, I fell at once breathless, dead and
Still over the ground remained!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
2 February 2013
What does it mean to you
to be loved
right here
where you live and breathe,
eat and occasionally shower?
What value would you give
our investments of mutual regard?
Do you know
you can love
and be loved
for and as who you are right now?
And for that sainted sinner
you inevitably will become,
and for all those you have been
since first I laid eyes on you,
and smelled you,
and listened for your still small
and large voices.
Love cannot be reduced
and confined
to just one tense,
or even two
with those we are committed to
and for;
And best spreads across
all four seasons
of sacred change.
Love is limited
only by mistrusting imagination,
WinLose dissonant assumption,
reductions of sacred organic integrity
to secular strategic mendacity,
deducted images distancing us
confining what I know and feel
for you and us up to now,
Not disregarding
or over-valuing
past and potential future
wealth for what feels safe for us today
to believe and hope,
our reviving health
tomorrow.
When winters hand out plastic bottled lemon juice
and grieving onions
too long endured,
I would like to trade some for limes
and grateful southern summer garlic
if you have those
to share.
Together
we might make lemon-lime local aid
and add community's basic bullion
for regenerate harvest
building stone multiculturing soup,
green vegetarian
and redmeat simmering stews.
When life hands us lemons
and FixIt unpeeling onions
Earth invites rebirthing us
to re-imagine all four seasons
and three tenses together
our re-creolizing cacophany
with restoring beverage
of healthy re-changing choice
for loving peace as resilient ecojustice.
Love of who and what,
when and where,
and why until just us again,
revisiting community polycultural outdoor worship
during summer health climax
And on through fall harvest,
and yet another inevitable winterish lemon
of creolizing discontent,
stuck inside
liturgical long-range extended family garden planning
plotting sun and water worshiping community love redevelopment,
global song and dance sacred restoration,
healthy-wealth of peace
As integrity of love
for WinWin organic choices
changing four-seasons from above
as below,
without
as within.
VII
There never was an army quite like Xerxes’.
Hyrcanians, Medes, Egyptians, Syrians, Scyths –
soon, Greece would grovel at its tender mercies –
a fate more gruesome than the grimmest myths.
It drank whole rivers dry. Took three days with
the crossing of the bridge. Then came a scare:
as Persian lava swamped its xenolith,
the portents were not good. A pregnant mare
gave birth to healthy offspring. But it was a hare.
VIII
A blundering boxer trying to swat a fly,
the Persian force could lunge, but could not kill:
it lost all credit at Thermopylae.
The Greeks, hard pressed, were in the battle still.
To win a war, you break the other’s will,
and this was not occurring. Could the key
be naval warfare? So, for good or ill,
Salamis earned its place in history.
The fleets would clash there. Whose would be the victory?
IX
A tyrant’s strength is his Achilles’ Heel.
His habit of command, of being obeyed,
occludes capacity to see and feel.
To trap them at their moorings seemed a raid
assured to smash the Greeks. Their fleet once flayed,
they could not go on fighting. They must lose.
But Persia’s pride, colossal numbers, made
disaster certain. Tangled, cramped, confused,
the sharks became the bait. For Xerxes, dreadful news.
X
“My bridge. Is it still standing?” Xerxes asked.
Oh, in that question, what a universe!
The pampered prince who - up to now - had basked
in sunshine felt a clutch of fear, and worse:
the tide of fortune, swinging to reverse,
began to drain him of all certainty.
The bridge was now his lifeline, and his curse,
his last hope and his vulnerability.
Persepolis lay far away, fenced off by sea.
XI
So, despots kneel before their own adventures,
become the playthings of their crazy schemes,
contract with Fate, creating wild debentures,
condemn themselves by sure-to-crumble dreams.
Unhappy with mere wealth, they seek extremes
which bring no comfort: sick ambitions bloat
and fester. Most familiar of themes,
Great Xerxes’ boasts grew more and more remote,
until the day his restless minions cut his throat.
The Jumpers Story/ poem
The Jumpers came - we don't know if they will stay.
What are the jumpers, you might say? We all know
that people that jump from high places are called
jumpers. Also anybody that jumps would be called
jumpers too.
To all of you that don't know ( Jumpers ) are a type
of Tennis shoes.. they were designed by a young
woman from Argentina and were exibit in an Art
Festival. They were designed, especially for immigrants,
that cross, or jump over into the United States.
These shoes were designed with a map, a night light, a
compass and the Mexican Emblem. They also have a secret
pocket for pills in case they got sick, like a bad head ache.
They also have another pocket to save change, for a phone
call.
In the back of the shoes they have the picture of a priest.
He is considered a Saint. His name is Toribio Romo. These
shoes were made in China. They cost $ 17.00 a pair. Here in
the U.S. they would go for $ 250.00, but only 1,000 were made.
The designer of these Tennis shoes gave them to the people
that were about to cross over to the United States, so they
wouldn't get lost. All this happened in Tijuana Mexico.
There is a Legend, so people say. Back in the early 1970's, people
started reporting that, whenever they got sick, lost, or pass out
from hunger - a prist would appear out of no where and help them
out. The people said that the priest fed, or nursed them if they
were sick.
After they ate, or got better, he would direct them to where they
were going. He would even tell them how to get a job, when they got
to their destination, than he would just dissapeared. All this up to now
has been happening on and off.
It has been known that people would pay up to $ 500.00 for these shoes.
They were designed with a good intention, to save lives. Maybe they
would save the life of a person once, but too many times - I don't
think so....
Note: This is a true story. I got to see these shoes.
They showed all the details. These shoes are called
( Brincos ) and that in English means ( Jumpers )
MOVE ON
Pick at it and open the wound
Poor on the salt with a big spoon
Can’t just let things go and be
Stirring the heart more angrily
The history we had is long since gone
I made mistakes and tried righting the wrongs
But this is the end of the line
Healing will occur over some time
Thankful for the time that we shared
Relationship was good I promise I swear
But I departed and left the fold
Out in the world to journey was bold
Wearing a uniform in line to conform
Growing up fast with others reformed
They yelled at me and gave me guns
When liberty came we shared some fun
Drove big trucks deployed on ships overseas
Round the globe twice in many countries
Very much training and more to train
Grew up quick and maturity was gained
Back to civilian life and started a new
Now what? Where do I go? What to do?
I know lets protect and serve that’s the ticket
Got rejected for colorblindness so I dismissed it
Earning a living at a health food store
Dating a girl, how can I provide for?
She was on track and smart and clever
I would marry her now and forever
She would graduate and become a teacher
But first we would vow in front of the preacher
Working as a manager at $14 per hour
Or a degree in allied health I would not cower
Accepted some help along the way
That which I am grateful for to this day
I’ve had my fair share of miscalculations
Made hasty decisions with no hesitation
Financial errors where to work and live
Undue stress on loved ones please forgive
Life is a teacher and I’ve learned up to now
Like a farmer keep your hand to the plow
Blows and punches will sure come your way
Take the highs with the lows its not all doomsday
I can tell you that family is at the center
Having my wife at my side with kids to mentor
Happiness is an illusion finding meaning is the key
If you have a “Why?”, enduring the “How?” is easy
By beardedjarhead
Birds of the same feather hailing from different places were summoned by a warlock. They speak different languages and were transformed into something else for their dishonesty. For them to understand each other, the warlock granted them one last wish -- one language to express their thoughts. They can't do anything to please the warlock, hoping they can return to their previous appearance and identity. Right now, they are talking to each other...
"Seventy-eight years ago, I recall, I learned that I was born to be a reader. I moved from place to place for being homeless. I have no name, but people called me "Tarot." Many people everywhere in the world loved me when they discovered me. And yet, many people hated me and still hate me up to now whenever I give them bad vibes or wrong predictions. I only serve people, but never speak a word.
Deck of cards: "I am 25 years old though I know I was born fifty-two years ago. I never get old and still look young. I am dressed in four different colors and shades. I was adopted too. I was loved for so many reasons. I serve all people and can read countless things based from what my reader tells them. I don't interpret things whenever and whatever the dealer serves on the table. People hated me too because I was used in gambling. People who have lived and died, plus the new generations hate me more whenever they lose much. Only in Solitaire and other games for entertainment that people love me, if and only I give them winnings and good predictions that come true. A fortune teller loves me and hates me at the same, all his/her life."
Crystal Ball: "Stop complaining! Even myself, I was adopted many times and hated. 'Wished I'm never cursed!..."
Ouija Board: "I second the motion!... Anybody else?"
"Come to me and take my hand
Flat or rounded, I will take your stand!"
(Prosebite)
Lord, I want to write a poem about my thoughts
Random thoughts
Isn’t that funny?
I think about how people still don’t know
That they don’t have to ask you for things
You already know
I think about how my mood can change with just a word from You
I think about love and whether I have been in love
Ha, that is a mystery
I think about how you have changed me
And why you still haven’t given me an answer as to whether I should go
You know what I am asking you!
I wonder what you have in store for me
I think about what else you would do for me
You seem to have done everything already
I wonder what caused one to go overboard
And go to the other side and be angry at society
I wonder if there is anything one can do to help
To prevent at least
Maybe somewhere someone has done something to them
I don’t know
I marvel at how each of us is so different in how we view our world
And how you are at the center of it
Instigate it all
Yes Lord I said instigate
You are the master of it
You cause it all and I know it
You are, Lord - the center of it
It all comes back to you
What are you up to now?
I wish you would let me in
I would help you
Haha as if you need any help
Lord you are just unbelievable
And I just don’t know what to say about you
As there is no word to say
Of how magnificent You are Lord
You do something everyday
And I never know what you do one day to the next
You keep me guessing
You change everything from day to day
No days are the same
Each day is different
Hallelujah God
I thought about my friend, Jack
How he thought about how he has slowed down
And think about that certain day
Lord I want to run until I can run no more
And just drop
Okay Lord?
Well enough of that
I think about my friends
Ahh that is a different story
I think I will think about them some other time
I’ll get something to eat now
She sat near a pool of brownish waters.
Perplexed by her own reflection.
The wind tender on her hair,
Tossing it eastward.
Drying her imbrued face,
From days of sobbing,
Leaving dull lines that stretched
From her pale eyes,down her haggard lion.
She never wore a smile
As brilliant as the sun.
They only burn,her.
Reawaking her tears
From their subtle base
Beneath her eyes.
She considered them,a tragic representation of her
life.
She decked her face with cowardice.
Never regretted,nor did she skedaddle from it,
The lies she once told herself.
They were now,dreams she woke up to,now and
then.
Expressionless,she sat,
On cold dead grass.
They sent chills to her bones.
Her mind hovering through the empty space,
That is her her own schema.
And the world that lies beneath her bruised nose,
Covered in blood and fear,
The stench of terror,
Quite familiar to her.
They were like marks on her back.
They stayed with you for a life time.
Misery was something she owned.
They burnt in her dark brown eyes.
You could see their talons lashing restlessly,
Drawing those who cared for a scare.
The tears that flooded her garment
Jog the memory of her own consciousness,
That she still did feel something.
Something painfully passionate.
Something,realer than her fragile image.
Those tears were reminders
Reminding her,that she,can still think.
Think of events that stole
All the life she knew,
Will ever know.
She stood at the edge of destitute,
As hard as it was,
It brought her solace.
Her hopes raise at the east,
Settling west with the sun.
She seeks no remedy,
But an audience.
An audience at least.
****DEDICATING THIS ONE TO
POETDESTROYER.SHE IS THE REASON WHY IM
HERE.ITS BEING A WHILE THOUGH...MISS IT ON
HERE***