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Niyna Desangre Poem
(Bring me your bold, meek, strong, the weak.
I reside within thee all _no matter the language you speak.)
I had a talk with Jesus and he had a lot to say.
He asked me why, when given the truth many turn away.
He thought he'd left his teachings in our good hands.
We were to spread peace and love throughout the lands.
All are welcome to the truth, rich, poor, and the downtrodden;
those that shine with the sun; and those time has forgotten.
The "Woke", the sleep; those harden, and those who weep.
For I know the words you speak_ and secrets you keep.
All know my name no matter the tongue,
the truth of my name was not limited to one.
The changing of the languages changed the game.
Now I am known not by one_ but many a name.
So pray with the language_ the origin of your start.
Prayers have more meaning when spoken from your heart.
All know my name no matter the tongue.
The truth of my name was not limited to one.
I now call on Jesus with the tongue of my birth;
that's the name for me of the most value and worth.
All know his name no matter the tongue.
the truth of his name was not limited to one.
.......w06062019
Copyright © Niyna Desangre | Year Posted 2019
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Niyna Desangre Poem
There they are__ made each day no shame, no disgrace...
Constant reminders of who controls the human race.
We wake up every morning and get hot on the chase...
gotta get the God with big numbers on his face...
gotta hurry along... got no time to waste...
gotta be first in line_ anyhow in any case.
Jamming down my food, pimping my style in great haste...
no time to pull up my pants or tie my shoelace....
grabbing coke and candy_ gotta keep up the pace...
sodas, coffee, caffeine_ smoking crack-freebase.
Looking up in the air, and down in any space_ ....
over here or there_ it could be any place....
cheating through life_ up my sleeve_ a spare ace....
lies are the present _ truth is gone without a trace.
There they are__ made each day no shame, no disgrace...
constant reminders of who controls the human race.
persisting un regrettable unabatedly to abase...
our plagued souls_ with anything antidepressant laced.
Copyright © Niyna Desangre | Year Posted 2019
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Niyna Desangre Poem
No one screams, no one shouts, no one to cry.
No sobbing wet cheeks or damp eyes to dry
No one to stop living, nor wish to die.
No one can deny both took the chance to try
No one need to ask the other the reason why.
No one dares think of how time took to fly.
No one stops the blank stares into the sky
No more rules and laws of love to comply.
No other words unspoken but "Sweet Goodbye".
w07-07-19
Copyright © Niyna Desangre | Year Posted 2019
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Niyna Desangre Poem
How far down do you need to go_
~to stand face to face and toe to toe_
~with that no-good son of a so and so?
Taking not only yourself but all you know.
Descending from on high to deep below_
How many of your friends are now your foe?
Rejecting all the trials meant to help you grow.
Didn’t you get the message or read the memo?
To suffer a little today and not eternal woe?
Did you forget the law of_ “Reap and Sow”?
You can’t ride with the devil_ you’re too slow_
He’s got the best saddle around this rodeo.
Lines his horse up four to a row_
Apocalyptic stallions galloping to and fro.
Charging full speed ahead with resilient gusto
Scorching hot winds from their lungs to blow_
Upon all those whose souls don’t glow_
From hot veins where passion flow_
~and fight to reject vile secret audio
~silent messages broadcast on radio.
Mind control media from news to talk show.
Wouldn’t go near him as far as I can throw.
Best not stomp around but quietly tiptoe.
Take your heart off your sleeve keep it undertow.
If you failed today try again tomorrow
For your deeds complies_ gifted wrapped in a bow
Your final payment is what you’ll come to owe.
Your bold stance morphs a wispy cameo.
Ill-fated effects of enacted domino.
How far down do you need to go_
~to stand face to face and toe to toe_
~with that no-good son of a so and so?
Taking not only yourself but all you know.
Descending from on high to deep below_
Copyright © Niyna Desangre | Year Posted 2019
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Niyna Desangre Poem
May we be saluted as we stand brave and tall.
For we do not smile into the face of danger, though we brace ready for the brawl.
What is that, that that I see, it's the
Dark Angel glaring down upon me.
Hold still my courage tightly grasped.
Guard it against my building weakness.
Surely my hedge stone of strength falls fast.
For with gaping mouth, my soul's aghast.
O guardian angles where art thou?
Of your essence, I do not see!
Upon you, I trust all that make me
The vivacious heroine I currently-be.
Yet, now I am fallen on bend-of-knee
With mounting weariness, my nerves grow thin.
Windows wide opened reveals stark fear within.
Take charge "my" icy stare frozen sickles brightly glare.
Of this moment of graved aware
Affixed to root a solid mass vital seconds now to pass.
Still no twitch or flick of "foot", all thoughts to flee, all thoughts last.
With outstretched hands grant me my honor.
Of restoring please do not ignore.
Return to me my pride and glory.
On this notion, I do implore.
Do not snatch the life within me.
Release my breathing so it flows free.
Of my name, you do not see.
On the list given unto thee.
Go thy way yonder time to come.
Here now living I’m not done.
~~~Preludes in the poem "Tones"
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/tones_1198731
Copyright © Niyna Desangre | Year Posted 2019
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Niyna Desangre Poem
***We try to find happiness outside the confines of our dreams... for what becomes of life if we do not dream of it ~
or after having dreamt it... experience the reality of the hope of it?***
Only fairy tales warrant true blissfulness... so it has been deemed.
Or that sums up the gest of it, my eyes have wit the scope of it; at least that's what it seems.
We go in search of the things we see...in our make believe world of fantasy.
So our lives can be as they should be__full of wondrous desires and ecstasy.
Is there ~ happiness ever after ~ we dream?
Happiness as bright as a sun beam, as fun as watching fish swim downstream;
-as sweet as a child eating ice-cream, as exciting as sports that are extreme;
-as crazy as wild things that make your scream.
Does our happiness ever lives on...after we dream?
Happiness as silly as being star struck, as wonderful as having the best of luck;
-as gleeful as getting a brand new truck, as giggly as a secret you'll never give up;
-as loving as sipping from the same cup.
Is there ~ happiness ever after ~ we dream?
Happiness as hearty as eating a big meal, as jittery as five year old who can't sit still;
-as rich as inheriting a wealthy will, as joyful as rolling down hill;
-as fabulous as having your face on the dollar bill.
Does our happiness ever lives on...after we dream?
Happiness as racy as running as fast as you can, as noisy as listening to a live band;
-as colorful as lying on a beach to tan, as free as living on a private island;
-as proudful as the day your child could stand.
Is there ~ happiness ever after ~ we dream?
Happiness as blissful as eating breakfast in bed, as lucky as they having to work in your stead;
-as meaningful as all the books you've read, as noble as the crown on a kings head;
-as unforgettable as the day you were wed.
Does our happiness ever lives on...after we dream?
I trust we know.. onward this can go. So give a cheer...I'm ending here.
For you're quite keen; and cleverishly... get what I mean!!
Copyright © Niyna Desangre | Year Posted 2019
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Niyna Desangre Poem
Such wondrous things that come to you from travels far and wide.
Trinkets and knick knacks you keep somewhat near at hand, and never too far from your side.
Throughout life's journeys You'll check on them for fear they'll be left behind.
Being of meaningful purpose; that's remembered whenever they cross your mind.
Naively not that you're rashly in love; although of them
your feelings are warm and kind.
Solely fond memories of notable times; ergo they're ne'er out of place nor ever hard to find
'Tis odd you must hold onto them whether your abode's a fancy home or merely a shared cot.
You realize as long as they're safely tucked away, in the place of "Forget Me Nots";
You're strangely better off with them__even if they're all that you have or got.
~~~ w 11172018
Copyright © Niyna Desangre | Year Posted 2019
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Niyna Desangre Poem
We were taught that land is what’s beneath our feet.
We are taught we were created from the dust of the ground.
We were never taught that we are Land in Motion, and we bare its’ Title.
We stand on Land _ We sale Land _ We own Land _ We fight over Land _ We move Land _ We build on Land _ We die on Land _ We are buried in Land
What are we, any place … at any time?
We are Land. Wherever we go _ we take our Land
If one flees to another part of the earth _ It is only a new spot to wit, he stands
If we have children, we extend our Land; we extend our Titles
If one gives up his Lands and his titles _ he is no longer Lord of the Land _ Thus his lands will no longer bear his Name nor Title.
It is here where my story begins.
~~~ w 11262019
Copyright © Niyna Desangre | Year Posted 2019
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Niyna Desangre Poem
My anger boils deep down inside.
Yet I smile with sparkling eyes.
Hot blood flowing vie chamber to chamber…
Thumping heart beats vexed closer to danger…
Drinking in downpouring tears and cries.
Yet I smile with sparkling eyes.
Pissing out vengeance, bourbon and wine.
Bowels rumble loudly from the hate I dine.
Hands wipe away sweat of brood and brine.
Cap rim shadows inhuman thoughts of mind.
Gut pit energy peaking and on the rise.
Yet I still smile with sparkling eyes.
Guard my steps' quick smooth strides.
Make not my eyes deem you unwise.
Copyright © Niyna Desangre | Year Posted 2019
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Niyna Desangre Poem
I heard a story being told by a traveling man. He told of a story that was passed down from father to son for generations This story journeyed from country to country and was translated from 4 different languages.
As the story goes… there was an old lady who would go around the village asking for the scraps from the meat and vegetables that was left over from the family’s daily meals. Everyone was delighted to give her their scraps for it would mean them not having to walk the 3 miles to discard them into the quarry at the edge of town. For years this went on. Some of the traveling men often offered to give her a lift to the quarry being that she was well up in age and they were concern about her being attacked by wild beast or animals. However, she would decline, each-and-every time. They would think to themselves… how could she be this proud as to not accept a ride from us, but she is willing to accept our garbage?
Even though they had their thoughts about the old woman no one bothered to look deeper into this mystery because she was of no relation to them, and no one had the time.
As well as no one notice that throughout all these years the village homeless beggars were practically gone from sight. Suddenly a buzz began to be heard about the situation. Someone started to see the change in the village and started rumors about the old woman and the beggars. I see them going into her hut nearly all day everyday one person would sneer. What are they all doing in there? How long are we going to allow these strange things to keep going on in our village, they continue to gripe. We should be glad they could be seen but not heard begging for food, another chimed. Haven’t you noticed that they were no longer sick and frail? I am happy I no longer must step over their stinky bodies crowding the pathways. Others agreed to that last statement with sounds of relief.
It is just fine for you to say but how can this be? If no one is feeding them or giving them money; how are they eating and healing themselves? The old woman only has a small root garden and a few aged chickens. How is she making this possible without some kind of goings on one said suspiciously. I don’t like it and I will not be giving her anymore of my garbage she loudly squawked.
It was true, the beggars did not seem dirty and unkempt as they once did. It was obvious they took pride in their appearance and began to apply for day jobs and work as handymen around the village.
Before long other people started to keep and eye out about the old lady and the beggars and they too began to feel strange about it. People began to stop giving the old lady their bones and vegetable scraps. Others would assure that the bones were picked well and the scraps scarce to nothing before giving it to her, while others began to forget about leaving them out altogether and would throw them away before she arrived to collect them.
The beggars seeing the change in the village became worried about the old lady. By this time most of the beggars had regular jobs. A few traveled to other villages for work, others moved on and were never seen again. Some say, they returned to their homes more healthy, wise, and able to face their families.
When it became evident that the old lady was now alone to fend for the beggars without the aide of the scraps, those that had jobs did what they could to maintain. Those that moved away sent what little money they could to save face, but it was clear that the bones and vegetable scraps were truly missed. This took a toll on the old lady, and she fell gravely ill. The beggars still came by to wash and mend their clothes, cooked the bone broth and vegetable scrap stew, added the roots grown from the garden, and brewed the herbal tea which was the old lady’s specialty. They ate boiled eggs laid by the few chickens, each sharing an egg every other day. It was never enough to have an egg each day for everyone. Every so often a bag of meaty bones and hearty scraps would be left at the back of the hut. They never knew who’d left them, but they were grateful. They stayed with the old lady until she passed away from a broken heart and despair she felt from the rejection of the village. As a last act of humanity, the old lady left her humble hut to the beggars of the village. Well, as it turns out her hut still stands due to it being on heritage land and beggars still frequent the hut. There is always someone there to welcome them despite the dislike to the village. It’s still a bag of meaty bones and hearty scraps being left at the back of the hut by an unknown family who still lives in the village.
Copyright © Niyna Desangre | Year Posted 2023
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