Long Work on it Poems
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Ghanaians are beating
The drum of shame
For Nigerians
Which they will later dance to
Calling Nigerians in Ghana
All sorts of names, due to some misunderstanding
Now they're promoting hate just because of mistakes.
Ghanaians are on the street
Creating scenarios
Nigerians the villains
Forgetting they triggered it
Forgetting what their Ghanaians
Are doing to Nigerians as well
No country without a foreigner
There are also foreigners here in Nigeria.
See Ghanaians on the streets pretending
They're perfect and absolutely innocent
Because of the acts and misconduct
Of few Nigerians in Ghana
Now they're protesting for disunity
Your mind is the greatest treasure, work on it
If we can't unite and live in
Oneness, peace and unity within ourselves
Who or where else!?... Let love lead us.
Well, one could not call it a church for it was not white, pure, or religious nor could it be
called a Police Department or Sheriff Department with the attached jail for it was not that
bad or evil. This place was unpainted, bare wood, and with four rock chimneys which
sometimes smoked no matter how old or young they were but the smoke only appeared in
the early morn and late afternoon for the occupants were about life or should I say survival.
Making it from pay check to pay check barely getting by with nothing to spare. Inside was
emotional barreness, loneliness, and inferiority at the max for love and hope had died so
long ago. Isolation of the soul with preditory instincts to encapsulate all with the preditory
instincts of a wild animal this being done to one so young rightly separates this place from a
church but yet it is not a prison. Permanently emotionally destroys the child......
(Is this prose poetry or do I need to work on it. Be honest. I need to know where to go with
it.)
I met her in the coffee shop
She hid me from a violent cop
She didn't care if I'd been hooking
She gave that cop a sober look and
Said, "She ran out that back door"
While underneath the check-out stand
I curbed a giggle, touched her hand
And saw that copper nevermore.
For thirteen days and nights we played
We laughed and sighed, no promise made
Not one moment were we apart
I loved her dearly from the start
Now I sit alone with mocha
And a side of almond roca
Our final meal: rice with veggie taco
Then she left forever for Morocco.
This poem I regard as a failure. It's odd it took me several months of periodic tinkering looking for the perfect words and scans that would rescue it from clunkiness. I think the last line is perfect for this poem, but leading up to it are so many little bad choices for which I could not find better. But I'm giving up, and sharing it as-is, as after all that work on it I hate to just throw it away.
My loves we must move on, forward through all the thorns.
Lets work on us, and become strong, and reach for the long dreams we have.
Yes we can, reach for the stars, and live in happiness and bliss forever.
Be clever like a lever, with all your dream in hand, run forward with the speed of a warrior that has a plan.
We can do this by staying on track, being goal orientated, and having a plan.
Loves, don’t get lost, stay focused, and look for your path, it will be light and gold, and stand out in your mind.
Try and try again, if you fall off the plan, you are a wonderful creation, and all your dreams can be made just by you following a clear plan.
Moderation, is a good plan, only do what you can, then go back and work on it again and again, until you know it’s the best you can.
Don’t drink or smoke or anything else that might make you choke.
Choose something other than a vice that will cost you your life.
Loves I will pray for you, sending you warm thoughts and love on your path throughout this life.
May God be with us today and all through our life.
A murderer was terrorizing my city.
Everyone was fearful, even me,
and so I did what I do to relieve anxiety,
I began writing creatively.
I began to write a fictional story
written in the form of poetry
about this murderer terrorizing my city.
In the form of a journal or diary,
I would write as if this murderer was me.
I would scan the newspapers and watch the news on TV
everyday about this murderer terrorizing my city,
and then I'd imagine this fiend's activities
writing every dark detail in rhyme poetry.
I would post this work in progress privately
on Facebook so I could go back and work on it occasionally,
but one evening after heavy drinking at a party,
I accidently posted it publicly.
Does anyone know a good attorney?
I need one who can get Stevie Wonder a drivers license, seriously.
The giant jigsaw puzzle
On the table in the den
Entices me to hustle
Back to work on it again.
I’ve put the box’s cover
On the floor beside the chair
So I can’t look it over
And see the picture there.
I sort out all the edges,
Then pieces of some grass,
A part that looks like hedges -
Some sky, some window glass.
I love to see the landscape
Unfold before my eyes –
A garden, then a cottage
I think I recognize.
Is that a little girl
There walking on a path?
That gold might be a curl,
The red could be a sash.
Above, some branches reach
To touch a sun that sinks
In streaks of fiery peach
And yellows, reds, and pinks.
I wonder why the action
Of fitting in each piece
Gives me such satisfaction and
From problems gives surcease!
Puzzle pieces everywhere.
I could have left him alone.
Except I like to work on the puzzle together.
We would sit on the rug in the living room.
Turning the floor into a picture.
A picture which is being built, but not with brick or cement.
Fitting just right.
The end of the puzzle is in sight.
Is a puzzle like a game?
Which we must tame?
Everyone cheered for the last piece, the last piece.
But my hand trembles more than ever.
Puzzle pieces in a square.
Everything is part of a part.
A hand or an eye.
There’s a person coming into focus.
In my own living room he becomes clear.
500 pieces later.
I feel bad.
Puzzle pieces in a box.
Set in a drawer with my socks.
Puzzle pieces scattered.
It took two days to finish, not that it mattered.
I should have put it in a frame.
Making it again would never be the same.
Without you to work on it together.
I guess I’ll just learn to knit a sweater.
Because that puzzle will never be made again.
I know that within.
Puzzle pieces everywhere.
I see you everywhere.
I want to write a poem about believing in God's words
Whether His word from the Bible or
something He said to you
If you don't believe Him, know this
you are in for a battle
and He is the One who wins
We are humans
We all have doubts, unbeliefs, lack of faith
And when He said something
if we don't see it, we begin to question Him
- question about the validity of His word
But you know, He will let you go along doubting Him
But in His own way, He plans His battle
to prove it to you
God He is a funny man
He will make sure that you will eat your words
He knows exactly what you are thinking
what your weaknesses are
And He will go at it
And all that time you have no idea
that He is working on you
Haha like a deer you try to run away
Don't want to face it
Don't want to work on it
because you have your mind set
You are so rebellious
You did not want to mind
You have your mind made up
and that is that
But you know His will is higher than yours
He is stronger than you
tougher than you
You think you are going to win?
No surrey
Lol you are in for an awakening surprise
He will take you on a wild ride
and let you see who is stronger
tougher
and willfuller
So a word to the wise
If you doubt, prepare to shout
because that will be what you will do at the end
- shouting hallelujah to Him
Okay I think I stop right here
Have fun haha
Before any known thing was evident
God existed for all time never began
He rested on the seventh day made it holy
the Lord had created Adam the first man
But God created a garden in Eden
in a moment He planted it in the east
Adam came there to work on it
this God's plan for Adam at very least
At first, there was nothing at all there
until God displayed His creative hand
then there were trees of every kind
oak and fir and ash all to stand
Then water appeared to water all there
it divided into four rivers no less
which flowed into its tributaries indeed
God watered Eden sharing its real dress
Rivers aplenty began with Pishon
flowing around Havilah full of gold
next came Gihon covered all of Cush
then was Tigris and Euphrates this is told
Now disaster struck this godly garden
God had made woman from Adam and grown
these two did what God said no to and sinned
so Jesus later took this sin to sure atone
I threw it in the garbage not long ago
It had not changed in many years
A collection of dreams and thoughts
Displayed on a board in calm tranquility
Not really a reflection of my troubled life
I had decorated it with butterflies and flowers
With happy pictures of those I loved
Their smiles did not bring me happiness
But a reminder of what is engraved in stone
Of what I have lost in this journey
A collage once held dear to my heart
Poetry, art, family, adventure, quotes, ideas
All beautifully assembled in groups
It included inspiring clippings and pictures
Things I wanted to accomplish in life
Nothing had changed in years and years
I often said to myself, I really should work on it
I never did and each time I walked by
It only shattered my very soul
One day I torn apart each lost memory and idea
________________________
September 28, 2013
Poetry/Free Verse/A Collage Of Tears
Copyright Protected, ID 09-508-795-28
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France