Millennia Poems | Examples

THE TWILIGHT OF SPECTATORS

When I lift my eyes, the sky offers no stars,
only missiles parading with arrogance.

Before me, mountains of corpses rise,
my pupils dilated by human savagery.

Humanity has been consuming itself for millennia,
and I bear the guilt of all those cowards
who watch peoples fade away
behind screens, instructing the purveyors of war.

I arrived in this macabre dimension
like so many innocents cut down by bombs.

The Earth groans under the assaults of unbalanced men,
who plunder its entrails,
who sow hatred, death, and chaos
since time immemorial.

The oceans vomit waves of cadavers,
the hurricanes carry the scent of desolation and fear.

Nations crumble beneath the laughter of tyrants,
and children, bare-handed, learn to count
the bodies falling into the mud of oblivion.

I walk amidst these ruins,
listening to the groaning of stones,
a powerless witness to the unchained pride of men.

Crushed hearts weep for their torn roots,
death swallows secrets that no one tells,
and the sky has become nothing but a theater of fire and iron.

In this open-air junkyard,
the sparks of love persist, stubbornly burning,
like a breath even death cannot smother.

ENSLAVED FREEDOM

Liberty, equality, fraternity,
beautiful chimeras carved into the republican marble,
yet behind the motto, the Black Code,
the papal bull,
and the slave-trading betrayal as backbone.

Slavery, colonization,
xenophobia, negrophobia,
these are the legacies they disguise as civilizations.

Human zoos, colonial trading posts, the colonial pact,
the savage plunder wrapped in a tricolor flag.
In banana republics, tyranny is always under contract,
Françafrique and its neo-colonial military bases
feed African dictators at the service of the West.

Africa, the third world, whose misery has been planned for millennia,
this is how they name the cradle of humanity.
Under their blades, raw materials
become a procession of genocides,
and neo-colonial poaching devours heritages.

Assimilation, integration, alienation,
these three chains forged by the schools of the empire of Enlightenment.
But human dignity refuses to be sold,
the integrity and identity of courageous souls will never prostitute themselves.

Humanity and Africanity,
these two flames proclaim aloud
that the womb of oppressed peoples
shall never be reduced to the dust of servitude and submission.

Fulcrum of a Rose?

To be fair, Shakespeare 
got the jump on roses,
used up all the best descriptions.
It's bad enough we're out here 
pretending to be Ada Limón and Billy Collins,
only to wax about the break
of a clichéd organ
in relation to a common flower.

A flower I can't keep alive 
in the backyard
but that somehow persists
in the collective consciousness—
hardy in symbol, finicky in soil—
for more than a millennia.

My first husband used to say
I had a parts-per-million nose,
could sniff out a broccoli lunch
from two weeks ago, 
if I kissed him.
I rarely did, 
which is how I met my second one—
the one who said I smelled like garlic
before a storm, and meant it
as a compliment.

I used to believe there was something
to be learned from that.

But the point is, the guts of a thing—
what makes it beat, or bloom,
or cling to a wooden stick—
is as a god, 
or how corndogs are made: 
it is ineffable.

There's a river meandering through the mind

Vast as a landscape, not a straight but a meandering one
Sometimes placid sometimes storms, but always moving
It is alive; always flowing getting lost in eddies of distraction
Sense of timelessness flowing for millennia,shaping the earth
Thoughts shape you like a quiet meditation on introspection
It doesn’t always follow a straight path and  takes its time.

New Beginnings

All alone in my silent confessions 
  long I have dwelt on secret battles fought,
and poison arrows of those obsessions 
  alas might pierce my last refuge methought.
But having crossed my Rubicon I wait
  in new beginnings, in love’s boons to be
where new battles will rage and punctuate
  the fullness of time in his century.
To that cause I am heart and soul aware
  and exceptional favour bears me more,
that in my time I’ll have a son and heir
  who fills in me what was missing before.
Soon I will hail on a day still to dawn
to me a millennia child is born.


          Written: January 2000

                    For Oscar

The Cut-Out-And-Keep Guide To Trees

the silver birch
it likes to hide
so as you search 
at eventide
you find it there with many friends
playing poker through the night

the common oak 
a wise old man
an aging folk 
since time began
grandfathers of the forest they
speak myth and folklore when they can

the sycamore
with helicopter seeds
sets out its store
among the weeds
then grows to be big and strong
from people’s picnics on which it feeds

the horse chestnut
is the conker tree
the children’s favourite
but too spikey 
until they are ready later on
and why kids were late home for tea

the yew
is old
and grew
so slow
its age is in millennia 
and battles from the archer’s bow

the hawthorn
its blossom white
and at dawn
as if it snowed all night
then all too soon the white has gone
a desperate case of bad stage fright

the conifer
fir, spruce and pine
a regular
likes mead and wine
to keep it warm in winter then
comes into homes at Christmas time

Dot Dot Dot

What do you do
when your head feels like
a million pounds,
your chest is buried
underground,
where worms and slugs
and filth abound,
and rocks compound overhead,
compounding a heaviness
which even the heaviest cannot heave.

Where mere moments make a millennia
of torment -
For sleepless nights
make endless days
and endless days make immortality -

And mine is underground

Far
  Far
    Underground

Where hell itself resounds
in my head,
and my screams shriek in silence,
drown out by fear. 
And breath escapes me.

Where stillness surrounds me,
and turmoil wins
ever winding,
wondering when I might

snap

Please,
I cannot
don't let me
go back...

All The World's A Stage

Is our striving worthy?  Are we but actors on the stage of life and oblivious to it?  Here, the background isn't factual, yet the pain is!  For millennia, we have explored the existential man, who, aware of himself and his ultimate demise, must swim against the curse of consciousness and quickly find the meaning of it all!  For life, with its innate desire to live, invades some fine earthling and hijacks his part in the play.  Then, forgetting he is the man behind the mask he has worn for generations, realizes he is but a pawn in a greater game!  So, my dear friend, throw down all your delusions of grandeur, for there is but a poor wayfarin' stranger...in love with himself!

The Golden Mean

The Golden Mean

A simple mathematical ratio: 1.1.618
All nature in its simplicity follows this mean
Shapes pleasing to the eye
All in natural proportion 
Flowers on a plant
Leaves on a tree
Nautilus spiral shells on a beach
Human ears on a head
Eyes on a face

Studied by mankind for millennia
Mathematicians and artists
Architects and builders
Musicians and scientists
Have all copied the Golden Mean

Randomness or evolution?
Or, perhaps creation.

Repentance

Indulging in wealth and abundance,
The people make feasts with a dance.
Slaves in the fleeting world forget their story,
Let us not throw stones at millennia of history!

Why do we erase the past in our memories,
When traces of it lie in historical records?
The lives lived by our ancestors past,
May to be returned in the future must!

Don’t boast of being rich beyond measure,
Nor despair thinking you’re poor leisure.
What matters is the sustenance given by God,
So don’t waste it on the left or right a lot!

Golden Mean

The Golden Mean

A simple mathematical ratio: 1.1.618
All nature in its simplicity follows this mean
Shapes pleasing to the eye
All in natural proportion 
Flowers on a plant
Leaves on a tree
Nautilus spiral shells on a beach
Human ears on a head
Human eyes on a face

Studied by mankind for millennia
Mathematicians and artists
Architects and builders
Musicians and scientists
Have all copied the Golden Mean

Randomness or evolution?
Or, perhaps creation.

a beautiful dream, slowly dying

The earth wept for no reason 
under a soft articulate noise 
of auctioned lives, 
a beautiful dream, slowly dying.

Rottenness seeks in the soul
righteous prey,
grown from pure moments
in which the whiteness of thought
nurtures the hope of cleanliness
away from the smell own rot,
inherited from primary birth. 
I feel the path in the whites of my eyes 
through the chain of peoplecrucified 
only for the future millennia. 
We collect the rusty nails with tears 
let's stick them on the sky. 
Through the ancestral valleys 
the blood of the crusaders flows, 
furrowing the carapace of faith 
to destruction. 
One earth, 
one history, 
hangs like a ripe fruit 
in the grown tree 
from the heart of the universe 
ready to taste the putrefaction. 
On another branch
a flower opens 
in the prehistory of another fruit.

The earth wept for no reason 
under a soft articulate noise 
of auctioned lives, 
a beautiful dream, slowly dying

Playing with Fire

Most ancient rite and ritual of our race –
Passing millennia cannot numb its spell.
Billions before, yet each instance sends
Shockwaves echoing through heaven and through hell.

Rings alone cannot bind; words alone cannot freeze
The fates of hearts together for all time,
Nor contain the primordial force
That adds new forms to the eternal rhyme.

It seems controlled – but be not fooled – 
No custom can cage the garden’s call
That creates beyond the players’ power
New destinies that shall fly or fall.

Tradition guides you through the day,
But silence swoops in that same night,
When you are left to learn to play
A game for two by firelight.

Rules forgotten. Control forsaken.
You have let the spark awaken.
And none can tell you where you’ll go-
Lit by fire’s flick’ring glow …


2024-12-18 finished (started Dec 16)

Visions of Eternity

The visions in sunlight,
of a mechanical future.
How spirit loves to fly,
taking risks called fun.
Seeing life from above,
on wings we all have.
Birds must wonder why,
we would walk around.
Part of a greater whole,
of the true motivation.
To determine the sense, 
of a life ending in death.
Natives danced the sun,
and dared the salty seas.
We are the curious ones,
expected to be explorers.
To investigate the limits,
of both time and space.
The inner realms as well,
the war of good and evil.
Raging for all millennia,
to determine the future.
Of where we shall meet,
our Visions of Eternity!

AI: An AndIdote to Regret

Youth is not on my side anymore
Dreams yet to load from my analog days
Caught up in the bitrate of life
A legacy model looming 
up an exponential curve

Heuristic hallucinations take flight	
Missiles of meaning miss their mark.
Upscaled re-runs of the same  
Intercepted by inaptitude 
Shot down by time

But tools are emerging
Bridging the gap
Between ideas and ability
Sparking a reboot revolution
No longer a sandbox simulation

Overthrowing the government inside
Who said "impossible"
Who said "too late"
Who said "there's no soul"
A stream of X-pectations 

Cutting edge stones 
used millennia ago
Replaced by cutting edge algorithms
The antidote to my regret 
In my reconfigured evolution 

Dreams start to render in full HD
Prompting launches that land
Retrospective adeptness 
Connection restored 
No longer binary Oh, yes

An antidote to regret
A cure for the abyss 
I use AI to engineer my life
The way I had always dreamed
One prompt at a time

Or was i  just Beta tested
To birth the singularity?
A holographic hoodlum 
In a pixilated glitch...
Coined by Nakamoto a bit.

• Short Millennia Poems
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• Best Millennia Poems
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• Long Millennia Poems
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