This late morning's high noon scaling, steeply-ascending, ragged herald
Hauls himself upwards into the roaring expanse of the dizzying sky
To chance upon this, might though his very soul should be imperiled,
When lording over which is constrained within a dispassionate, encompassing eye.
From the feathered throat abruptly pours such Mellifluous harmony
As, lifting higher and higher, he negotiates a ledge inside a wisp of
broken cloud;
Those rich, dulcet notes, more decidedly sweeter than any liquid honey,
Irresistibly flowing Earthwards... a continuous symphony of unparalleled sound.
His alone the rushing glory! His alone this almost unattainable niche!
For up here, rarified and raw, the air is breathless and sparse where thins.
Then the song fully enveloping the shrunken patchwork of fields beneath...
Whereon, delivering forth from bursting lungs, that final triumphant salvo
he heroically flings.
My hands will glow,
rising higher, ebbing
and flowing
with the gold-glass sea.
Herald of angels in our midst
as we kiss the feet of Christ.
For the earth is His hassock.
My soles will rejoice
as they crush
sweet-scented petals.
Invisible to the naked
eye. Good news spreads fast.
A whirlwind of death to life.
My arms will reach
the pinnacles of
pearly gates. There’s healing
in each touch, a cure
to empathize with hurts,
not lording over, but
holding on, catching
each tear.
There is profundity
in togetherness,
in what we share.
Strength of mine
delivered to the weak
and the next time
I am the weak.
Why can't the world be like it was when I was young
No one cleaning up dog-due dung
Kids dying right and left of polio and measles
Mumps running rampant like scorpions and beetles
Fathers employing razor belts
on recalcitrant sons and leaving welts
Mothers teaching daughters to clean and cook
poor-mouthing math and science textbooks
White folks lording it over illiterate Knee grows
Butchering Espanol -- and a few unlucky amigos
It was all so much simpler way back then
Cowboys shot Indians on the count of ten
So, why can't the world be like it was when I was young
Well, hey, I guess it is ~ English still ain't America's mother tongue...
Weepy and willowy
purple and greening…
Green and purpling vines,
Landowners between the lines.
Beyond the willowing pines,
Spring’s surplusity sublime.
Weepy and willowy
purple and greening…
Conifers a leap, in front of creek,
reminiscent-flooding was not meek.
Caught in my wide eye that week —
the bubbling serendipitous freak.
Weepy and willowy
purple and greening…
Wraparound fence a lá wisteria blooms.
Honey and carpenter bees, hornets zoom,
‘round about its heady-cocktail’d perfume.
All aboard the buzz of springtide costume.
Weepy and willowy
purple and greening
Spring is a-leaping and lording
raising a poet’s pulse, an unpreventable affording
of contentment—
sickness of singing feathers, courting
unforgettable fetters
of magical colors, supporting
one’s cause for rhyming
hypnotic, its timing…
3/31/2021
I swear no movement was seen, as in a blink of an eye
You look around, and as kiss your bed, its last goodbye
With not one look of remorse and as no guilt to be seen
There is the cat lording it up, asleep like she is a queen
I would not mind if I caught her in the act with warning
But there on my just left hot spot she is there warming
Then there’s that indigent look I get on moving her out
With her sat on the floor, giving me her lady muck pout
That quote what you own, owns you is so flaming’ true
Darn cat; has got me worked out, through and through
Oh! ye noble men of courage, another Hero is born.
Meet the man who demystify the terrors of our oppressors,
Out on thee oh cowards, Up and braze up for the the imminent freedom.
Your Fears are foolish, let them dazzle a thousand guns, they are mortals and
they fear our rage.
Enlist in the voyage for liberation, we cannot all be cowered.
Liberty is the cry of the oppressed, and Freedom is never given, it is taken
Emancipate yourself from the claws of these terrible corrupt impostors,
See the light of development sweeping the continents, advancement and
technological leap everywhere
Our lots has been a cynosure of bandits, overtaken by fraud and moral turpitude
Who will lead this banner to rescue us from the nebulous shame?
Over us they bellow, Lording it, they Rule.
Revolution is the Fear of the Oppressor, until the masses wake up from their
slumber.
End the reign of the bandits, masquerading as Leaders
Our Own Heroes
**********
"We,
Birthed by parents;
Without prior planning
For a proper alignment
of their kids destiny,
yet,
Here we are,
Our own very selves,
Our own heroes!"
We Are,
Our Own Heroes
We've come this far;
gods in human form.
We've visited the very eye of the storm of life;
Waded through the jungle of life's harsh reality...
Bathed in its gore and ruthlessness.
We've seen it all;
Yet still standing,
lording over our eventful conquest in our own little way...savouring the pleasure of a victory earned through combat...a combat of will.
Though, without a grand ceremony to honor our presence among mortals;
Yet, we will lay claim to our divine trumpets,
We will horn our praise till the rest of the celestials join in our unsavoury dance...
The dance of the Immortals.
With it, we will build an atmosphere of gaiety and galore... an atmosphere of a distinct piety.
Then, we shall boldly say, facing the mortal world:
We Are Our Own Heroes!
Peter Ekhator Godwin Iyendoe (pegi)
ghops
Copyright © Speare Earth Poetry | Year Posted 2019
3/25/19
"One More Thing"
This morning
Clouds forming
Soon to be storming
Most ignoring
The warning
Continually warring
Waters forking
Rapids roaring
Avians soaring
As events continue coursing
Heard enough recordings
That were reporting
About global warming
Whether it's sunny or pouring
Cold or scorching
Dogs and cats arrive for boarding
In a building with tile flooring
Bottles uncorking
This life isn't boring
It's rewarding
This world, we're still exploring
Organisms morphing
Meanwhile plants absorbing
The sunlight, that's supporting
All life, according
To people and other sourcing's
Barely affording
Folks snoring
Out of the loop, close and far from any cording
Drugs and people used for transporting
Still gorging
Battling addictions regarding snorting
Far too many hoarding
And overstoring
Thinking they're scoring
Any bull, I'm thwarting
The honest and hard working, I'm supporting
You better stop lording
Before the public starts swarming
About to leave this world, after one more thing
Our realm, our secret world
Gnarled and weather worn,
Mystical, and mighty
Convoluted in its form.
As we played, its oaken trunk
Became our royal tower,
I played King, lording it,
Revelling in my power.
Entry for
MAY 2019 no 6,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,
UP TO A MAX OF 8(EIGHT )Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand.
18/5/2019.Placed 5th.
. for public domain
Where we hung our overcoats I don't remember,
or at what time winter snow fell late December,
I barely recall the living room
with the television or radio on,
snuggled in a chair, wanting weather of September.
The living room, our family's sanctuary,
where we prayed for a quickly passing January,
we held our tongues from bitter comments,
mostly, but one slipped out on occasion,
which made for an unpleasant colder February.
Spring and Summer came with outdoor body odor,
showers and sweat all through the harvest of October.
Comments on sore bones and blisters,
exchanged among my mother and sisters,
kept the conversation lively through November.
Our parents have long passed on, as we have passed on,
alone, or enduring lives we have created,
lording over our own living rooms,
to keep them from becoming tombs
of the silence that awaits us at the end.
Sunrise does he who formed the eye not see past the dawn
rising from the place of it's setting weakness of will
turning the potters clay upside down
hiding their deep council from the Lord
Where they whom do works in the dark
in these secret societies look for praise
and they had a king over them
who is the angel of the bottomless pit
Whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon
but in Greek he is called Apollyon
all the earth was in admiration after the beast
when he announced himself as God lording over us
where the blind will follow this dragon to hell
as they the lost sacrifice their children to him
For many who tried on a pedestal to live
Acting as if this was they were meant to be
Lording it over those who were to help
Life has a way to remind us its karma
Ensure your pedestal is based on respect
Never expect respect if it is not earned
Could you also in shame bow
Like smothered cocoyam leaves
In all your elegance of prided shame?
You hid behind amber's of burning coal
Lording your weakness on cowards of sky
You crown yourself with sparkling rays
A kings regalia over your slumped orphaned shoulders
With a tortoise craftiness you awoke
As others fell fast asleep to occupy
The seat of kings as a king over kings
But your elegance was veiled in blackness
Your wickedness covered with darkness
As you resign in shame of your cunning at last
Sorry comrade, the rich also cry.
From a wind-swept window looking out
upon raindrops falling on soggy ground,
alone she stands remembering a life
filled with happy memories.
How did it come to this, she asks herself,
why a love that should have lasted years
could abruptly end in the wink of an eye
like a bad dream.
Harsh words hurled and no one giving in,
pride lording over what remains of a home
that for long they tried so hard building,
sorry the hardest word to say.
Fool, fool, she curses like new-found mantra
to somehow ease the vise tightly gripping
her presently numbed, shell-shocked brain
and deaden the pain.
Now with solitude as her only company
while silence screams with the noise
announcing the finality of her misery,
she laughs yet again.
As the hard rain continues to pour down
so are the tears of regrets and bitterness,
too late wondering what would have been
had she not driven him away.
What are the measures of success?
What makes one stand on high?
Is it money in excess
With the power that money can buy?
Is it the social standing
Of being known by one and all?
Is it your power of commanding?
Or lording it over one and all?
Is it getting a promotion?
Or having the means to promote?
Or oratorically create a commotion?
Or having time to spirituality to devote?
Is it freedom to indulge in frank-speak
And ne'er be cowed down by others?
Is it the time when you stop to seek
And become a keeper of thy brother?
None of the above is a reality
It’s all a great big sham!
Peace unto oneself speaks of quality,
A realization of I am what I am!
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