The Merchant of Copan [In English and Spanish]
The Merchant of Copan [480 AD]
Advance: The ballgame at the Honduras courtyard in Copan, the year was 480 AD, Copan's 3rd ruler, Mat Head, whom succeeded Quetzal Macaw, whom was the founder of the city is now the new ruler. Mat Head, was a female, the spouse of Quetzal Macaw, and here is where the story begins.
There was a main ballgame ready to start, the competition was extremely high, as usual you might say; that being, if the game was not played the world would end, so they believed, and so rain or shine it was to take place.
The opposing team had eleven players, all ornately dressed and painted for the competition. They had leather padding around their waists, over their shoulders, about their arms and legs; able to withstand the blows of the solid rubber ball. The weight of the ball was one kilo. The ball was now thrown into the play, and each player knew they could not let it touch the ground or their hands.
Mat Head was watching the game with intensity, knowing her sister was part of a bet of which, if the opposing team won, she'd be [she being: her sister] the property of a local merchant, a very wealthy merchant, the most wealthy merchant in all of the Copan Valley; she would be his property, to do with as he pleased; but if the merchant lost, he would lose all his properties to the brother-in-law, riches, and be vanished from the city of 27,000-inhabidents, Copan; perhaps to the Yucatan. It was not uncommon for such wagers; it was deadlier than the exhibitions at the Roman Coliseum, in Italy. That being, the losers of this game would forfeit their heads.
But the Merchant of Copan, as I have said, was very rich so much so, he provided flint, lime, and pottery to the elite of the city, the whole city and thereabouts. And the Brother-in-Law of Mat Head was married to her sister, the most beautiful young woman in Copan.
The Merchant of Copan, had watched her at a number of previous games, and could never take his eyes off her beauty, her shape, and lusted after her with eyes like a hawk's. To him, it was worth the chance to bet on the game, all or nothing; he didn't know how much Mat Head's brother-in-law cared or didn't care for his wife, but he knew he was insatiable, and made the bet nonetheless and he accepted it; thus, his instincts were correct; for he could not longer withstand the burning pain he had inside of him watching her walk among the temples of Copan, and wishing she belonged to him, at any price, and a hungry soul will do most anything to impede that hunger.
-The ballgame had started, as I had already said, and the ball was in the air; some of the players were kicking their feet, and thrusting their hips, as they knocked the ball back and forth, in the I-shaped field, 25-meters long, 10-meters wide; all the players not wanting the ball to touch the ground, which would end the game, and eleven-heads would be severed.
All of a sudden the game stopped?a silence took hold of everyone, eyes were being shut by eleven players; oh it was a great thing to die, to be sacrificed for the game, but on the other hand, it would have been better to have to do it at a later date, I'm sure most of the players felt that way.
The spectators took in a deep breath to see who won and lost. History would not favor the brother-in-law today, unfortunate for his wife to be sure. Yes, yes, fortune smiled on the Merchant of Copan; I'm sure my readers are now downtrodden on this matter but it is as it is what I can say.
Thus, the lucky fella grabbed her like a wild monkey grabbing a banana out of the feeder's hands, and rushed her to his domicile. He threw her on the bed like an animal pelt, his eyes sparked with lust and passion, and he melted into her body like heat on ice; if anything, she was hurt beyond all understandings.
'How could he do this?' she moaned as this fat, ugly and rigid man pouncing on her. Yet she told herself, at least he wanted her. He was willing to give all his money for her; whereas, her husband sold her for a game ticket, and a bet. It was beyond her youthful comprehension.
Several years passed, and the fat old merchant got fatter and older, but other than being over lustful over her, he was a good provider, and gave her all she wished for. She became well known as a business woman, and at his 67-birthday, he died on the bed, as I suppose he wished it to be. Consequently, she was now the inheritor of the estates he once own, for there were no children involved.
She then made a deal with her ex-husband, knowing he liked to gamble, and wanted money. She made the same bet, well almost, a similar kind of bet anyway with him, as the Merchant of Copan had done before; she bet all her properties on the next game, that her team would win, and should he lose, her ex-husband, he'd have to give up his head, like the losing team had to. Well, he felt he could win her back should he lose the bet or win, and thus, took his chances and made the bet. But again, life did not favor him, he was not meant to be a gambler for sure, and after losing he begged her for his life, to take him back, saying in essence, they both could enjoy the riches she acquired, and their old position in the kingdom.
Oh gosh, she was such a caretaker, and told him she'd go home and think about it and make up her mind tomorrow. Well, he thought that was fine, at least it seemed better than losing his head today, and just the fact she was thinking about it was enough to enlighten him, feeling he would have the final victory, and that was the one that counted, he'd have her back and the treasures, what more could he ask for.
But as I had told you before, fate was not always in his pocket, that night the ruler, Mat Head, asked for the head of her Brother-in-law, being he had lost the bet. He begged for her to wait for her sister tomorrow and she'd strengthen it all out, but she said:
"A bet is a bet?and it must be paid."
Can't remember what else she said but his head was off within a heartbeat.
Upon Mat Head's sister's return the following morning, she asked for her ex-husband, and found out by her sister, the Mat Head, she had beheaded him. She cried a tear, a very big tear, and then smiled at Mat Head.
Dedicated to Jorge, 7/3/05
Versión en Español
El Mercader de Copan [480 Después de Cristo]
Avance: Juego de pelota en el patio de Copan en Honduras, el año era 480 después de Cristo, el 3er gobernador de Copan era Mat Head, quien sucedió a Quetzal Macaw, quien fue el fundador de la ciudad ahora el nuevo gobernador. Mat Head, era una mujer, la esposa de Quetzal Macaw, y aquí es donde la historia comienza. Había un juego de pelota principal listo a comenzar, esta competencia era extremadamente interesante, como siempre podrías decir; esto es, si el juego no era llevado a cabo, el mundo se terminaría, o eso era lo que ellos pensaban, y entonces lloviera o soleara éste debía jugarse. El equipo contrario tenía once jugadores, todos adornadamente vestidos y pintados listos para la competencia. Ellos usaban algo acolchado hecho de cuero alrededor de sus cinturas, sus hombros, sus brazos y piernas; que les permitiría soportar los golpes de la pelota de caucho sólido. La pelota pesaba un kilo. La pelota ahora fue lanzada en el juego, y cada jugador sabía que no podían dejar que ésta tocara tierra o sus manos.
Mat Head miraba el juego con intensidad, sabiendo que su hermana era parte de una apuesta en el cual si el equipo contrario ganaba, ella (su hermana) pasaría a ser propiedad de un comerciante local, un comerciante muy rico, el comerciante más rico en todo el Valle de Copan; ella pertenecería a él para hacer lo que a él le antojara. Pero si el equipo contrario perdía el comerciante perdería todas sus propiedades, que pasarían a manos de su cuñado, sus riquezas, y sería expulsado de la ciudad de 27,000 habitantes, Copan; quizás a Yucatán. Esto no era raro en esta clase de apuestas; esto era más mortal que las exposiciones en el Coliseo romano, en Italia. Esto era, los perdedores de este juego perderían sus cabezas. Pero el Comerciante de Copan, como ya lo había dicho, era muy rico tanto que él proporcionó sílex, cal, y cerámica a la elite de la ciudad, a la ciudad entera y sus alrededores. Y el cuñado de Mat Head estaba casado con su hermana, la joven más hermosa en Copan. El Comerciante de Copan, la había mirado en un número de juegos anteriores, y nunca podía sacar sus ojos de su belleza, su forma, y lujuriaba detrás de ella con ojos como de halcones. Para él, era valiosa la posibilidad de apostar en el juego, todo o nada; él no sabía cuánto el Cuñado de Mat Head se preocupaba o no se preocupaba por su esposa, pero él sabía que él era insaciable, e hizo la apuesta sin embargo y él la aceptó; así, sus instintos eran correctos; por que él no podía soportar más el dolor ardiente que sentía dentro de si mismo al mirarla caminar entre los templos de Copan, y deseando que ella le perteneciera, a cualquier precio, y un alma hambrienta hará algo más para impedir aquella hambre. -- El juego de pelota había comenzado, como ya lo dije, y la pelota estaba en el aire; algunos jugadores estaban pateando, y empujando sus caderas, mientras ellos golpeaban la pelota hacia adelante y hacia atrás, en el campo de forma de "I", de 25 metros de largo, 10 metros de ancho; todos los jugadores queriendo que la pelota no tocara el suelo, el cual terminaría éste, y once cabezas serían cortadas. De repente el juego se detuvo?un silencio se apoderó de cada uno, los once jugadores cerraban sus ojos; ah! era una gran cosa morir, ser sacrificado por el juego, pero por otra parte, habría sido mejor tener que morir más adelante, la mayoría de los jugadores sintieron de esta forma, estoy seguro.
Los espectadores respiraron profundamente para ver quién ganó y quién perdió. La historia no favorecería al cuñado hoy, lamentablemente para su esposa por seguro. Sí, sí, la fortuna sonrió al Comerciante de Copan; estoy seguro que mis lectores están ahora oprimidos sobre esta materia pero esto es como es, que puedo decir. Así, el muchacho afortunado la agarró como un mono salvaje agarrando un plátano de las manos del alimentador, y apresuradamente la llevó a su domicilio. Él la lanzó sobre la cama como una piel de animal, sus ojos brillaban con lujuria y pasión, y él se derritió en su cuerpo como el calor sobre el hielo; si algo, ella fuera herida más allá de todo entendimiento. '¿Cómo podría él hacer esto?' Ella gimió, mientras este hombre gordo, feo y rígido se le echaba encima. Sin embargo ella se dijo que al menos él la quería. Él estaba dispuesto a dar todo su dinero por ella; mientras que su marido la vendió por un boleto de juego, y una apuesta. Esto estaba fuera de su joven entendimiento.
Varios años pasaron, y el viejo comerciante se volvió más gordo y más viejo, pero aparte de ser lascivo sobre ella, él era un buen proveedor, y le dio todo lo que ella deseaba. Ella se hizo conocida como una mujer de negocio, y en su 67 cumpleaños, él murió sobre la cama, como supongo él deseó que esto fuera así. Consiguientemente, ella era ahora la heredera de las propiedades que él una vez tenía, porque no habían hijos implicados.
Entonces ella hizo un trato con su ex-marido, sabiendo que a él le gustaba jugar, y que quería el dinero. Ella hizo la misma apuesta, bien casi la misma, una clase similar de apuesta con él de todos modos, como el Comerciante de Copan había hecho antes; ella apostó todas sus propiedades sobre el siguiente juego, que su equipo ganaría, y si él perdía, su ex-marido, él tendría que ser decapitado, así como el equipo vencido. Bien, él sintió que él podría reconquistarla así perdiera o ganara la apuesta, y así él acepto la apuesta. Pero otra vez, la vida no lo favorecería, él no fue hecho para ser un jugador, por seguro, y después de perder él la rogaba perdonara su vida, que lo aceptara de nuevo, diciendo en esencia, que ambos podrían disfrutar de la riqueza que ella había adquirido, y su vieja posición en el reino.
Ah ¡mi Dios!, ella era tan cuidadosa, que le dijo que iría a su casa y que pensaría en esto y lo decidiría al día siguiente. Bien, él pensó que esto estaba bien, al menos eso le pareció mejor que perder su cabeza hoy, y solamente el hecho de que ella lo pensaría era bastante para iluminarlo, sintiendo que él tendría la victoria final, y que era él quien contaba, él la tendría de vuelta y los tesoros, que más podría él pedir. Pero como ya lo había dicho antes, el destino no siempre estaba en su bolsillo, esa noche el gobernador, Mat Head, pidió la cabeza de su cuñado, como que él había perdido la apuesta. Él pidió que ella esperara por su hermana hasta el día siguiente y que ella lo arreglaría todo, pero ella dijo: "Una apuesta es una apuesta?y ésta deber ser pagada". No puedo recordar que más dijo ella, pero su cabeza fue cortada en un segundo. Cuando la hermana de Mat Head volvió a la mañana siguiente, preguntó por su ex-marido, y descubrió por su hermana, Mat Head, que ella lo había decapitado. Ella gritó un rasgón, una lágrima muy grande, y luego sonrió a Mat Head.
Dennis Siluk, you can see his most recent book "Spell of the Andes," at most of your internet sites, like http://www.abe.com; it will be featured in the Huancayo, Peru Correo, newspaper, July 9, a review of the book, and on the internet for those interested; http://www.Correo.com - It will presented at the Ricardo Palma House, in Lima in October, by Luis Guillermo Guedes, Director. Dennis lives both in Lima, and Minnesota part of each year and is working on another book called, "Curse of the Abyss Worm."
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A conversation between Indian poet Manash Firaq Bhattacharjee and Palestinian poet Najwan Darwish.
Five Cambridge poets will see their work imprinted on the sidewalk this fall Boston.com
On Tuesday, Cambridge continued its tradition of giving poetry a stamp of permanence. That is, the city announced the winners of its Sidewalk Poetry Contest, ...
Portland's CafÃ© Review marks 30 years of curating poetry from around the world Press Herald
The CafÃ© Review began humbly, as 16 mimeographed sheets of paper stapled together. The poets who gathered regularly at Woodfords CafÃ© in Portland ...
Poet Hanif Abdurraqib Discusses His Writing Process NPR
For National Poetry Month, poet, essayist, and cultural critic Hanif Abdurraqib shares a poem and his writing process. ARI SHAPIRO, HOST: Sometimes the ...
MFA Instructor Kwame Dawes Wins Prestigious Windham-Campbell Prize for Poetry Pacific University
MFA Faculty Member Kwame Dawes was honored for his poetry by the judges of the prestigious Windham-Campbell Prizes. The award was announced in ...
Fourth graders dig into pop music and poetry at CU Boulder CU Boulder Today
As they learn how writers revise their work and use literary devices, the students gear up for a school assembly led by an Australian rap star.
The Poetry Of An X-Ray Science Friday
Rafael Campo, a doctor and a poet, turns his experiences in the operating room into poetry.
Linda Gregg, Poet of Taut, Vivid Verse, Is Dead at 76 The New York Times
Linda Gregg, who explored beauty, loss, struggle and desire in award-winning poetry that was spare but intense and deeply evocative, died on March 20 in ...
Poetry aplenty at national competition Winnipeg Free Press
Poetry will be in the air this week when Winnipeg hosts the semifinals and finals of Poetry in Voice... - Books - Winnipeg Free Press.
These students found rhythm, art and joy through poetry Miami Herald
Listening to poems in English and Spanish from Shel Siliverstein, Francisco Xavier AlarcÃ³n and E.E. Cummings, students at the Brucie Ball Education Center ...
Three Poets Who Find Meaning, and Material, in Lived Experience The New York Times
David Orr's âDangerous Household Items,â John Koethe's âWalking Backwardsâ and Sarah Gambito's âLoves Youâ celebrate daily moments in very different ...
Acclaimed poets to headline Nottingham Poetry Festival West Bridgford Wire
Nottingham Poetry Festival is back for the fourth time and is bigger â and better â than ever, with the 2019 line-up featuring a dazzling array of talent.
Petaluma poet sur-prized by Pulitzer KGO-TV
PETALUMA, Calif. (KGO) -- A Bay Area poet named a Pulitzer Prize recipient this week was recognized for a book of poems that many would consider "dark.
TUSCALOOSA 200 MOMENT IN HISTORY: First Poet Laureate Tuscaloosa News
First Poet LaureateSamuel Minturn Peck (1854-1938), the first poet laureate of Alabama, was born in Tuscaloosa. In 1886, Peck's first volume of poetry, "Cap ...
Listen: Seamus Heaney celebrated - The Poetry Programme RTE.ie
In this week's Poetry Programme on RTÃ Radio 1, Olivia O'Leary was joined by Kerry-based poet Paddy Bushe, and the programme remembered Seamus ...
The Poet Family Who Were Icons of Spanish Nationalism The New York Times
The Age of Disenchantments,â by Aaron Shulman, chronicles the turbulent lives of Leopoldo Panero, the unofficial poet laureate of Francoism, and his wife and ...
Petaluma poet Forrest Gander, awarded Pulitzer for reflections on loss, embraces brighter new chapter - Santa Rosa Press Democrat
Petaluma poet Forrest Gander, awarded Pulitzer for reflections on loss, embraces brighter new chapter Santa Rosa Press Democrat
Forrest Gander was pleasantly surprised. Standing in the backyard of his Petaluma home, high on a hillside on the west side of town, the 63-year-old poet, ...
Poet Laureate KaNikki Jakarta brings 'real life fiction' to Alexandria Alexandria Times
By Cody Mello-Klein | firstname.lastname@example.org KaNikki Jakarta was born with the words of Nikki Giovanni and Maya Angelou in her head. While.
Chrome extension replaces Googleâs canned replies with poetry The Verge
Google traditionally plagues the internet with its own April Fools' gags on April 1st, but developer Chris Zubak-Skees has beaten the internet giant at its own ...
Listen up: Four poets have something to say about race, gender and violence The Washington Post
In his searing âThe Traditionâ (Copper Canyon), Jericho Brown illustrates how racism and violence have shaped both the past and the present, our national ...
Writing poetry comes naturally to Sunil Jogi The New Indian Express
Author Padma Shri Dr Sunil Jogi is also a lyricist and social worker, rolled into one.
Students experience poetry, prof-rock at final Wellspring event of 2018-19 year - Central Michigan Life
Students experience poetry, prof-rock at final Wellspring event of 2018-19 year Central Michigan Life
Poetry, fiction and rock 'n' roll were all featured at the final Wellspring Literary Series event of the 2018-19 academic year.
U.S. Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith explains value of poetry in consumerist society at Penn - The Daily Pennsylvanian
U.S. Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith explains value of poetry in consumerist society at Penn The Daily Pennsylvanian
United States Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith spoke about reconciling poetry with modern political and technological culture at the Philomathean Society's Annual ...
Why are more youth in the West turning to poetry? Aljazeera.com
Millennials see poetry as a means to better deal with the increasingly altering, fast-paced world.
Stone Beds [A Poem and an Advance]
Stone Beds [Pompeii's surge]Advance: after the great eruption of Pompeii's nearby volcano, Vesuvius, some two-thousand years ago in the heyday of the Roman Empire, what was left of the city were mostly ashes of stone from an unleashing furnace; it is hard to imagine what the people went through (none, not one person survived). I can only guess from the looks of the city today, and in its early excavations, its people were baked alive or asleep, like pottery.
Writing Innovative Poetry
Writing innovative poetry, the kind of poetry that reputable literary journals publish, entails knowing exactly what each word of a poem does to the reader. A good poem should be evocative, skillful, and cohesive, but before attempting to hone these attributes, a potential poet should be knowledgeable of the various forms and attributes of contemporary poetry.
Four Poems: Grendels Nature...the Racetrack...Counting days...[Now in English and Spanish]
English Version1) Grendel's DivorceYou must know that I do not hateAnd that I hate you, Because everything dead has twoSides; A sound is one arm of the quiet, Ice has its warm half.I hate you in order to start hating you To begin life again And never to stop hating you: That is why I do not hate you yet.
Lifes Too Short
Time goes by to quickly to hold your feelings inside Especially when their so strong even if they don't abide..
Farewell to Lester Graybill
I never met a man, who could shake my hand, and make my heart feel like a hearth afire.I never met a man, who could smile so easy, real honest.
Two Poems: Boyhood, and Old Age [with a note on style]
BoyhoodOh me! Thy glorious days have flown! I mealy noticed, now they're gone, How quickly passed the flowers! Time does not stop youth's bells; It was like I was in a spell, And my face now shows the hours!Ah yes! My youthful past days, Still lively in my golden age, When all was quick and new Now wrapped in pictures and books, And friends and family were all I knew And love was shown by friendly looks!#741 6/26/05Old AgeThey stop by to see me now To find what's old and new, They peer into my-everything, And criticize my views; They tell me what I should like, And that I should be grieved-These are my fragile friends That takes the strongest liberties?I mean to take the buzzer off; And put the phone outside the door; In vain I speak to tell them why -I shan't live here anymore!#742 6/26/05A note on Style: some people ask, "What style of poetry to you like the best?" I can never answer that question; it is open-ended to me. If I feel like breaking free from tradition as in the poem of: "Old Age," so be it; and if I feel traditional verse, a stricter formal pattern should be used, as in "Boyhood," and can contribute richly to the poem, so it is.
Ballade of an Inca King
Ah! Leave the gold, wealth and landSays the Inca King?; In Spain, they leave the bustling streets, For sail to Peruvian shores;The murmur of the gold is sweet,It glows and glistens like the sun A mountain of gold, or the grave Awaits the human, Inca-god?!Spaniards sing their songs of victoryWhere breaks the green Peruvian sea; Who now, worships the Inca King (?) Guarded behind prisons doors-?They chatter about his golden ringsThey watch the winds cross the shores? They count the days that idle by, For gold they worship and will die.Envoy.
For My Mother
I cannot bear to think of when you will be gone.I do not understand how I will get along.
The Ballad of: Brawling Mad-dog Sergeant Rook [Now in: SPANISH and English]
English VersionA bunch of us guys in the hutIn ?Nam Were playing cards, singing songs; In a solo-room, back of the hut Lay mad-dog, Sergeant Rook;And watching from a distance Was his sidekick, Corporal Cook.When out of the night, he wantedTo fight This bully of six-foot-two Dog-drunk, smelling like a skunkI wanted to fight him too.
THe Monster Mash, A Graveyard SMASH (short story I wrote when I was 11)
The Monster Mash The Graveyard SmashHave you heard of the Monster Mash? I suppose you know the story of how it came to be, right? Well, I'm here to tell the TRUE story to you.It sarted out late one night, when all monsters where out of human sight.
Azra, Azra, Wake up Azra. Wake up Azra, It is time to go.
The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins
Sorry would be a start.Though you cant take back your mistakes, and you cant unravel time, you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self serving crime, to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed, when its purely posturing and posing, all about vanity and greed, to secure a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years, is the extent of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears, when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you, leave relatives behind who see, that nothing you said was true, there is no thought now for those, whose number you dont count, they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount, no thought of resignation, no apology to those left behind, just onward with the ego, fast forward from those times, as if nothing ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok, as if now is what to focus on, and then was another day, lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen, not an affront to the living, not impeachable and obscene, you may want to move on now, and ignore your past infamy, but you should be tried for treason, and jailed for blasphemy.
The Art of Receiving Poetic Critique
You can show your poem to your mom, your spouse, your co-workers, or your friends, but you might not get the responses that you can suck up into your little writing fingers to use in an effort to refine your craft. What does it really mean when someone who cares about you, but not for poetry says, "Wow, this is great.
Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered, Through eighty per cent of my allotted span, Occasionally awoken, when dissent is spoken, And I invent another cunning five year plan, Lately it was pensions, that were being mentioned, So I borrowed from the French and Robespierre, Scrap all that went before, saved by tooth and claw, And let my all equal Citizens appear, Currently it is time, for me to be in my prime, For there is another election looming, I have to appear sincere, for part of this coming year, And assure everyone that everything is booming, Never mind strict quotas, Ive imported multitudes of voters, And told them which party let them stay, Though Ive rigged the postal vote, and defamed everyone of note, You never know what might happen on the day.So to be on the safe side, I swallow all my pride, And allow my people to hear my hallowed voice, And roll out the charade, put on the facade, And even make believe they have a choice, Next time around the crown, will be trampled underground, House of Lords and Lord Chancellor history, With the other Chancellor gone, I alone will soldier on, Yes, then there will only ever be me, Ill hold elections for you, as all dictators do, And fill positions with those that grease my palm, As for civil unrest, there is always house arrest, Or secret imprisonment for those that mean me harm.
Tale of the Brick Maker, of San Jeronimo, Peru [In English and Spanish]
Tale of the Brick Maker, Of San Jerónimo, Peru [A Cup of Sorrow]-1In the Andean mountains, within theMantaro Valley region of Peru, Isolated, secluded, tranquil, is the littlevillage of San Jerónimo. Near the village, here lay the fertile valleywith bent-grass, and huge Mountains stretching northbound,And heading towards the ocean's coast.
Three Poems (While in Transition/English and Spanish)
Here are three more poems by the author, Dennis Siluk, while traveling througout Central and South America.Three Poems While in Transition (In Spanish and English)Poem OneEnglish VersionOrange Timid MoonO´er the Copan skyan arch of shadows weave their webswith low-lights, as the moon rises.
Black Blood, in Jeremiahs Vines - A Poem and an Article
Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines [A Dream Poem]And I heard the crackling of wood, and I noticed the Lord God had made men of wood, and fire came from his mouth.Then the wind poured its grief upon us-over our sins; and I heard the words for the seventh time, "Go to the mountains!"Foolish people of this land pray and understand-for He cometh! Thereof, toss yourself to thy knees, for the roar of rebellious men will bleed: black blood, through the vines of Jeremiah.
Infected Ideologies [a Poetic Portrait]
the disease of extremism is infectious-; whoever cannot think of their child growing up without it is part of the phenomenon! (the choice of the day). fanaticism,-- with a powerful ideology are seeds for suicide! murder: giving reasons to rage!.
JOINEDHeart beat of man pounding - yet unheard joined becomes the beat of a nation.Words of man written - yet unread joined becomes a proclamation.
Whats A Prisoner to Do?
What's a prisoner to do when justice fails and the innocent is escorted off to jail?What's a prisoner to do once stigmatized, caged and abandoned and ostracized?What's a prisoner to do there's no one to trust; the system fails and the outcome unjust?What's a prisoner to do when family decide the punishment is warranted and justified?What's a prisoner to do while confined in a cell; the perpetrator's free and faring quite well?What's a prisoner to do once his reputation is dead and his life has been ruined because of what someone said?What's a prisoner to do when he's not believed, though he's telling the truth, he's thought to deceive?What's a prisoner to do as he sits all alone, no one seems to care; former friends all gone?What's a prisoner to do sitting lost and idle and most of one's thoughts become suicidal?What's a prisoner to do when freedom's taken away and the will to live diminishes each day?What's a prisoner to do when hedged in by strife; with no escape possible; no chance for a new life?What's a prisoner to do when he can no longer see the beauty of the sky or the waves of the sea?What's a prisoner to do when the sun he can't feel, nor the breeze of spring because his fate is sealed?What's a prisoner to do when doomed to despair but still praying to escape the electric chair?Tell me, what's a prisoner to do?Rev. Saundra L.
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