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Maty
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It looks like this is the right place to post my poems, so here they are...

Justice! (or, The Road To Ruins...)

* Due to a mistake in terminology the word “wheel” is used herein as synonym to the word “wagon”. I have already finished my work on this poem when I discovered that it is not a proper use for the word and, after long considerations, I decided to leave it as it is. The reason being that the word was too lyrically dominant in the work. Trying to replace it, I concluded, would mean writing a new poem rather then correcting the present one. While using it, although technically a mistake, did not flaw the concept and substance of the poem- which was my goal. I think that with some knowledge of Objectivism and history the poem should be clear. Feel free to ask me if you'll have any questions.

On a twisting road to justice,

riding in a shaking wheel;

Remains of which was once the finest,

greatest carriage ever seen.

Struggling to keep it moving:

An exhausted, crippled horse-

Driven by the one who made it

one leg shorter then it was.

To protect the noble cause,

a blinded shepherd was assigned;

One that’s still looking for his sheep…

Yet do not alarm,

In a sign of danger…

The fearless shepherd is equipped!

He’ll play his little, happy flute.

And peacefully, would fall asleep…

Your shepherd was not always blind,

not too long a time has passed.

Since that present that you’ve got,

from a shaken wheel you’ve met…

Then, your shepherd had his eye,

open, on your driver’s path.

And your horse,

although born crippled,

could stand proudly on four legs.

Those days, your wheel was known to glory;

For it’s proud, productive stage.

Your horse, a breed of royal honor,

which no other horse would match…

Born to end this current sorrow,

Lift you to the highest edge;

A new age! Was where it meant to lead you-

But for this glitch, it’s breeders failed to catch…

That very glitch was yet to sanction

a Trojan horse into your plains.

As from the east a plot was marching,

to put an end to your advance.

A shaking wheel, struggling slowly,

to fall for mercy at your feet…

And to present you with a trophy;

Greeting, from the breeders of the east.

In those lands, breeders seek destruction!

And train their horses for this end…

Their drivers, who adore corruption-

Play along the breeders plan.

They do not mind the final stop,

which is destined for their wheels…

Don’t even mind to tag along,

and meet the end they chose to bring.

Megalomaniac between the borders,

on the giant board of fate.

Not realizing that’s “Game-Over”,

when a horse strikes in “ Check-Mate! ”

They’re driven to be power frantic,

To satisfy their lack of pride;

Like every other parasite-

They’ll hop on a chance for a free ride.

And so, the wheel has anchored safely,

at the greenish harbor of your plains.

Their Trojan horse, soon began nibbling-

Your farmer’s golden locks of grain.

Their trophy rose to cut your skyline,

Overshadowing your grace!

Blindly, carrying the inscriptions:

“…Your sick and poor we will embrace…”

A giant figure met your sun,

as it went sailing down the sea.

Towards the horizontal ground;

Tries to escape the tragedy.

A shepherd, neutered of his sight;

Like a soldier of his shield.

In a crying, bleeding, burning light-

Your sky rebelled against this deed.

Of course, your driver was delighted:

eagerly, to sell his soul.

He must admit how he admired

those eastern ways to gain control.

His outfit tagged “compassionate”,

a touch of “righteous” on his face.

Out on the stage to dance and sing:

“Your sick and poor we will embrace! ”

Your breeders quickly caught the tune,

joining on their instruments.

So that relatively soon,

Your whole carriage was in trance:

Crying, begging their forgiveness,

Pleading guilty, like you should…

Explaining, that you did not mean it!

…to reach so much…to be so good.

To show how well you are intended,

Your horse was ‘limped’ it’s ‘rightest’ foot:

A sacrifice, to your long offended-

comrades- eastern brotherhood.

As for your shepherd, to restrain him,

from objecting to this lie.

And to resemble that big phony,

rising high against your sky…

Your driver took away his eyesight,

Like their “driver’s-guide” suggests:

“…to efficient his work,

and to put him in his place…”

“…How can he really be objective…”

Continues the “driver’s-guide” handbook,

“…if at any time he pleases

he can walk around and look…

Only blind discrimination is the subject of mere chance.

Let him guess his way to pension,

and in case you’ll need defense…

Put him on a leash and lead him

To that one you wish to fence;

The true essence of his work is-

seeing only through your glance! ...”

So, your shepherd went on blindly,

Discriminating right and wrong.

“…it’s easy! ” said the driver kindly:

“…Ini—Mini—Maini—Mo…”

Yet after a while of “Ini—Mini…”

And a little longer “Maini—Mo’s…”

The shepherd found it to be a really-

boring thing, and turned to go.

He went to find a little shop,

and bought himself a little flute.

Then settled on a sunny hill,

With a little tree of apple fruit…

So little by little spent his days;

Little song, by little nap.

And only when the driver needed-

He came tapping on his lap.

Now, twisting on your road to justice,

You’re finding it a bit obscure…

To see your modern, mighty carriage,

drawing back to it’s overture:

It’s joints are cracking, color piling,

walls collapsing one by one.

And from a glorified oasis,

You’re left sitting in a pound.

Cold and hungry you sit shaking-

in your shaky little wheel.

Your shamefully shaken situation

finally shakes you to rebel.

You call your shepherd, to defend you.

Pleading that’s not what you’ve meant:

“…that’s the way to twisted justice,

not the noble plan we’ve had…”

But your shepherd cannot hear you;

He’s laying stretched beneath a tree.

His head supported by an elbow,

on some distant, sunny hill.

A half chewed apple by his side,

and the flute between his lips.

The only sheep that’s on his mind-

Jumps over a fence to help him sleep…

Yet, your despair had echoed many miles,

to reach your mentors patient ears.

They spot a hopeless, distant cry;

As the shark smells helpless, bleeding fear.

And once again a plot went marching-

to arrive at your despair.

Not to present a greeting trophy-

But greet you, with a pointed spear!

The time has come to take decision,

It’s not too late to change your course.

Put your driver on a leash,

and get yourself a fresh new horse!

One your breeders would infer

From the downfall of your last,

And use your own wits to differ:

If the one they sell would stand the test…

There’s no such thing as twisted justice!

Just twisted men, with twisted plans.

If you chose to put in practice

ideas you have not thoroughly learned:

Justice is the sum you’ll find

Causality marked your “reality test”.

This is why it is advised,

Before you further to advance:

To make sure that what you think

Stands up to what the world demands.

Yet, if you choose to keep on blindly,

Believing something would occur…

And save your ass the un-avoided

Consequence of what you vote:

Then doom on you,

For soon you’ll meet!

That end for which your horse was limped.

For which your driver has deceived,

And breeders failed to get a grip.

The essence of that shit you preach,

Of what your educators teach

To childish minds they sacrilege,

Who grow to feed this heritage…

Your journey’s soon to meet it’s fate,

As an eastern horse would strike “Check-Mate! ”

And their pointed spear will claim your throne;

“Your account is overdrawn! ”

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The Spirit Of Man

This poem is written

In the name of great minds;

Who were, who are and will be…

Who carry as burden

Their greatest of prides:

‘Freedom, to live and achieve! ’

As against all those vampires,

With righteous appeal,

Preaching: “suffering leads to creation…”

It is despite this deception,

That creators sustain;

The flame of creation,

Within the temple of man!

Oh, human spirit,

Don’t dare to be drained.

In this current, intellectual leak…

It is only a phase,

To be patched like a wound…

Man’s history’s hurt; but his future will speak!

Oh, human spirit,

Don’t dare to give up,

Fade away, from the surface of time…

More than ever you’re needed

To color the gray,

Of those blinded, irrational times.

Don’t you give way,

To those power-lust brutes,

Who exclaim, that you are but a myth…

Only your reason and logic could shield

The attacks,

Of their powerful fists.

Don’t you think about dying,

Even when seemingly,

Death is the only path-

Left to be taken…

By the love of my life, you’re mistaken.

The spirit of man forever shall live!

Even the rest of mankind will forsake you…

Mistake you, or fake you-

Try to break you apart;

May I be the only,

But I’ll be the one!

Protectively carrying your seed in my heart…

I’ll be your slave, your servant, your keeper-

Your seeker, I’ll do it with honor and pride.

For in every newborn

Lays a seed to be grown…

And a promise of you,

Has a place in his mind.

Dylan once asked,

Within an innocent prayer,

To account on the number of roads…

Which a man must outreach,

To rightfully reach,

And live up to the weight of his throne.

My answer my friend,

…Just as many a’ roads,

the individual’s life will demand.

When each step determines,

How firmly he steps,

With the knowledge and pride of a man.

Respectfully dedicated to Ms. Ayn Rand.

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With The Point Of My Feather; Against The Point Of Your Gun…

It’s the third world war,

In a box- with a manual;

Reading: “You against yourself…

With our help! ” in large print.

At the foot of my door:

‘Distribution is annual’

“…’Big Boys’ production-

For all your daily life needs…”

“…New war technology,

For you- the consumer,

Our 100% satisfaction guarantied…”

“…No need for Ideology,

no body count figures…”

“…No bloodshed,

to filthy our vacuum-cleaned streets...”

“No need to kill you, ”

I say to myself…

“…for you are much useful to them as a slave…”

“It’s a war…” I repeat,

“But this war can be won!

With the point of my feather; against the point of your gun…”

It’s the third world war,

In the morning ‘Time’ papers;

Bombarding with rage-

“Greed, is ruining the world! ”

“…The pursuit of money…

…The pursuit of happiness…

…The pursuit of knowledge…

…The pursuit of a goal…”

“The pursuit of power!

And the others, unearned.”

I add to their list

to silence their noise…

“By all means, means any.

Except for the earned!

But that’s what you’re after,

Ain’t you, ‘Big Boys’…? ”

“For they should only persuade you…”

I say to myself,

“…Let go of yourself; and you’re ready to serve! ”

“Yes, it’s a war…” I repeat,

“…But this war can be won!

With the point of my feather; against the point of your gun…”

It’s the third world war,

Live, on the radio…

A righteous attack:

“…Blood, It’s in you to give…”

“…Life, it’s in you to live! ”

I exclaim with a mark

as I’m loading a piece

for my counter attack.

Yet, the fool’s voice insisting:

“…only this much has given…

considering everyone has it,

that’s pretty darn low…”

“Use your wits boy! ” I say,

“Cammon’, everyone has them…

Must be pretty darn hard,

When you’re only a pawn…”

“Your conscience; their weapon.”

I say to myself,

“…To make you feel guilty, then cash you with nerve! ”

“Yes, it’s a war…” I reprint,

“But this war can be won!

With the point of my feather; against the point of your gun…”

It’s the Third World War,

On TV, with stereo;

Special features, surround

and special effects…

The saint is a whore,

just like the scenario.

And wisdom with god,

Preaching: “knowledge defects”.

The hero had died,

For the sake of his brothers;

Whose life is the thrill

of reality shows.

And beauty will hide,

As their children’s young minds,

captivated by tin;

Idols coated with gold…

“Your thought is their aim…”

I say to myself,

“…what ever you’ve got, to distort what you have! ”

“Yet I won’t retreat,

for this war can be won!

With the point of my feather; against the point of your gun…”

It’s a war in the streets,

Where the silent bombs whisper;

Mind poisoning fumes-

Of nerve numbing gas…

When unnoticed fleets,

Silence unwanted whistles;

Unavoidably torn,

from a life pounding chest.

It’s a war every day,

When, slaughtered by taxes,

Ghosts of dead soldiers

Hunt graveyards; still bleeding.

As their cries of despair,

buried by thick walls of darkness,

vaguely tremble a corridor

of some apartment rent building.

It’s a war in the schools,

when the children are taught,

that it’s right, and it’s just.

And that justice is nonsense…

And all they should learn-

Is to play by the rules.

Of a game for which rules

Is an unstable process…

So they learn how to cheat,

How to mistreat;

Evidence, facts, anything worthy.

How to lie to themselves,

Of course, with your help,

To believe they have earned

What they did not work for…

They’re taught to use words,

Before they’re taught about meaning.

And meaning, they’re taught,

Is whatever you wish…

So science means boredom,

and boredom is nature…

And virtue means evil-

So ignorance bliss…

Yet that’s what you’ve brought,

to the foot of my door.

In a box, with a manual-

Now I should fill;

Not a name, but a number,

As I open the door.

For that ignorant product of yours,

I pay the bill…

And “people”, I cry…

“…Just look what you’ve done!

Behind every word

Hides the point of a gun…

So check your beginnings,

To find where it began;

And please choose your end,

For how it will end…

Upon each man’s decision

The end will depend.”

“But then, I believe,

this war can be won!

When the point of a feather, surpass the point of a gun…”

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For You, Who Are Drifting…

What a flawless flow…

What a perfect drag!

The way, you’re carried with these waves…

Yet you don’t know,

Just where you’re headed;

Those shores, on which you’re doomed to land.

I must admit,

It is quite tempting…

If you’ve not fully realized:

The bumps, the sharks,

The turbulences.

Await you; hidden with the tide…

The pirate ships

That hunt these waters,

It’s quiet surface may deceive…

The sea is not a place for drifters;

You want to live-

You better swim!

And you better know just where you’re headed!

For it’s no treasure island,

That awaits you…

Ain’t no tropical retreat…

Skull Island,

Sailors’ graveyard.

Or slavery, on a pirate’s ship…

Edited by Maty
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Ocean

Shaking your hand-

Left me shaking with stillness…

Thinking of that-

Makes me silently scream:

“…Why does it happen

when I least expect it…? ”

Only after you’re gone-

I take notice you’ve been…

The blue of your eyes

Made me think of the ocean…

So, forgotten by waves,

I waved you goodbye.

By the time I awaken;

…recovered to conscious,

I could only await you-

With hope for the tide…

Seagulls of white

Dive the blueness of sky,

As clouded white ships

Sail their way through my ocean…

Above, the white sheep,

Yield the way to the sun;

Which lazily peeps

With such lightness of motion…

It is you, I believe,

Came to visit my ocean…

With your hair shinning softly and bright.

It’s luminous light,

Shines upon my emotions,

…way, into the night…

You see, I don’t mind,

That I have to be cautious;

Not to get hurt,

Broken, or nauseous.

For you have long gone,

It is only my consciousness-

Tracing your prints

Through the shores of my ocean…

Yet, footprints of time,

And gusting winds of desire,

Distort and dissolve-

Make you harder to trace…

To revive all those places-

You passed as you danced;

Storming my soul

And erasing your pace…

From the maze on the shore

Not much can be gathered;

I cannot even clearly

distinguish your face…

The further time pacing,

The stronger the winds blow…

The further your memory,

The blurrier the haze…

It is you, I believe,

Fade away from my ocean…

Wildly, blowing my winds!

The more you dissolve,

The harder I want those-

Faded traces of you to retrieve…

Vague, odorous splinters…

Distantly memorized taste…

It is all, that now I can differ:

…gently…

…your hand…

…wet touch of your lips…

…clearest blue eyes…

…bright luminous hair…

white seagulls dive deeper,

into the sky.

As white ships-

Further into the ocean…

And a lazy red sun

Trading shifts with the bright;

‘Round and white, king of night’

is the notion…

Those traces of you,

That I managed to bring;

I light them forever,

Through the life of my writing…

As now I reflect,

Beneath the star lighten sky.

On the sand of my ocean

By a small fire’s light…

It is me, I believe,

On the shore of my ocean…

…shaking your memory…

…silently scream…

…when I least expect it…

…you’re gone with the wind…

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‘Willow Me’

Weep not for me, willow…

Sadness’ yet to save a day;

Halt! From falling down to pray,

My deathbed will not beg a pillow.

Weep not for me, willow…

This feather bed on which I lay,

Will neither parish, nor decay;

Rise and dry those tears, I say!

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A Daydream…

I was drawn by your eyes;

To be drowned…

And pulled by your laughter;

To roll…

I was kissed by your lips;

To depart;

Without wings,

I was bounded to fall…

Edited by Maty
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I Swear

They always speak about you,

When you’re gone,

I swear

I will not say a word.

You didn’t cry

When I was born,

And I will not;

Now, that you’re gone…

You maybe shed

A tear of joy,

And I might shed one;

Of despair...

Sneaked,

Within a sneaking moment;

A sickening feeling of unfair…

They only speak,

Until you’re gone…

I swear I will not speak,

I swear I will remember.

I swear I’ll always seek

And do that which is right.

I swear I will not speak,

I swear I will remember;

For how can I forget?

That way in which you died...

Edited by Maty
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Too Little To Know…(Too Much To Hide…)

Temptation,

I am your slave…

For knowledge is my weakness.

Redemption,

Who will you save;

The one who knows, or the man of splinters?

The one who does,

Or the one who craves?

Or the one who grieves, over that he’d witness…

And where am I,

Spotted by light,

Amidst the shadows of the night?

Confusion,

Whom will you take,

To juggle into your illusions?

The clown, the martyr, or the fake;

What will you brake,

Into your fusion?

His juggling balls…

His tortured truth…

The lies, directed at himself…

What will I stake,

Spotted by light,

Amidst the shadows of the night?

Obsession,

You’ll be my end!

For you-enslave me to temptation.

Yet, I beg you,

Choose your end;

Don’t leave me hanging by suspension…

Fountain of youth,

Or poisoned fruit;

To which you’re drawn,

Which you demand?

Is it knowledge you pursue-

Or do you just enjoy the pain…

For little of both,

Is what I find.

Amidst the shadows of the night…

Too little to know,

Too much to hide.

At the dawn of day, at the break of light…

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What A Time For Early Morning...

A clock is tickling above as…

You lay peacefully asleep.

Beneath, a hopeless carpet tries to…

Overreach it’s endless leaps.

Bury, in a silent softness…

Echoes of a yet to be;

For if you’ll waken by those foots

You’ll know that soon you are to leave...

Spring has sneaked in through the air

a gust of gently brushing breeze.

Whistling whispers of despair

Flout like feathers in the wind;

Fill the room in dancing cycles,

Slowly swing towards the floor…

Some, rest on your ears to mention:

“…Soon you are to be no more…”

As the night draws back it’s curtain

A sleepy day is born to meet

The lazy rays, of early sunshine,

Greet you through the window screen.

And as they tickling your face,

You smile, to greet this fresh new born…

I’ll try, to capture all this life;

With you, into my farewell song.

Yet, what a time for early morning;

An eye blink long, lifetime away…

Further, we will not be going

For after that, the carpet failed…

Farewell, Father. Farewell.

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Maty, I really like "Ocean" the best, it is so light and soft, like being up with the clouds. The stanza beginning "Those traces of you..." is a beautiful statement of the meaning of life for anyone who creates. I must spend some more time with your poems----reading them aloud. I'll say more later. For now, thank you for posting them, and good writing to you.

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  • 3 weeks later...

Very slow tempo, allow space when reading and words to fade out.

Emptiness;

Every bottle,

Has a bottom…

So it cannot

Get

Any emptier…

And yet this night,

Seems to be bottomless…

I keep sinking,

Deeper,

In it’s space…

Thinking,

Of a place…

Deeper...

This bottle,

Seems to be full of it;

Emptiness...

And yet,

Might it be loneliness?

Playing its old tricks…

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I find that readers tend to get lost in the poem 'Justice'. I therefore decided to list the main metaphorical structure, so that those who are interested might get a better understanding.

Wheels (wagons) = countries (Main one represents the U.S.)

Drivers= Governments/rulers

Shepherd= Justice & defense system

Horses= Philosophies

Breeders= Philosophers

Those are the main metaphors. I believe it should be enough in order to get on the right track and understand the poem. Following this lead, the other metaphors can be easily inferred.

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  • 2 months later...
The Spirit Of Man

This poem is written

In the name of great minds;

Who were, who are and will be…

Who carry as burden

Their greatest of prides:

‘Freedom, to live and achieve! ’

As against all those vampires,

With righteous appeal,

Preaching: “suffering leads to creation…”

It is despite this deception,

That creators sustain;

The flame of creation,

Within the temple of man!

Oh, human spirit,

Don’t dare to be drained.

In this current, intellectual leak…

It is only a phase,

To be patched like a wound…

Man’s history’s hurt; but his future will speak!

Oh, human spirit,

Don’t dare to give up,

Fade away, from the surface of time…

More than ever you’re needed

To color the gray,

Of those blinded, irrational times.

Don’t you give way,

To those power-lust brutes,

Who exclaim, that you are but a myth…

Only your reason and logic could shield

The attacks,

Of their powerful fists.

Don’t you think about dying,

Even when seemingly,

Death is the only path-

Left to be taken…

By the love of my life, you’re mistaken.

The spirit of man forever shall live!

Even the rest of mankind will forsake you…

Mistake you, or fake you-

Try to break you apart;

May I be the only,

But I’ll be the one!

Protectively carrying your seed in my heart…

I’ll be your slave, your servant, your keeper-

Your seeker, I’ll do it with honor and pride.

For in every newborn

Lays a seed to be grown…

And a promise of you,

Has a place in his mind.

Dylan once asked,

Within an innocent prayer,

To account on the number of roads…

Which a man must outreach,

To rightfully reach,

And live up to the weight of his throne.

My answer my friend,

…Just as many a’ roads,

the individual’s life will demand.

When each step determines,

How firmly he steps,

With the knowledge and pride of a man.

Respectfully dedicated to Ms. Ayn Rand.

I really like this poem. "Freedom to live, and achieve," a state, a condition, in order so the greatest in you can create, applicable to everyone, and most vivid (perhaps) in the experience of a Galileo or a Michaelangelo. "Vampires" (!) Ha! the punctures whole in our bodies; we can go on and win, despite the "leaks". These bite are easily patchable--lovely!. Vindicate our forefathers' essence, though not the bites that they shared with the creator in us as well, bring back the color to sickness--lovely. Use your reason in the face of brute force ... even those in the worst of states--perhaps. We are; I am the spirtual son of great men even if alone. To those tired and weakened by the road of our kind, I have the answer: though many, it is within you to discover and make the road(s) easier, by your wisdom and pride. So, Don't give up despite the vampires. You must decide how many roads, while their bites in your path, are enough to earn, enough to earn your pride.

Thanks for sharing it.

Jose Gainza.

With The Point Of My Feather; Against The Point Of Your Gun…

It’s the third world war,

In a box- with a manual;

Reading: “You against yourself…

With our help! ” in large print.

At the foot of my door:

‘Distribution is annual’

“…’Big Boys’ production-

For all your daily life needs…”

“…New war technology,

For you- the consumer,

Our 100% satisfaction guarantied…”

“…No need for Ideology,

no body count figures…”

“…No bloodshed,

to filthy our vacuum-cleaned streets...”

“No need to kill you, ”

I say to myself…

“…for you are much useful to them as a slave…”

“It’s a war…” I repeat,

“But this war can be won!

With the point of my feather; against the point of your gun…”

It’s the third world war,

In the morning ‘Time’ papers;

Bombarding with rage-

“Greed, is ruining the world! ”

“…The pursuit of money…

…The pursuit of happiness…

…The pursuit of knowledge…

…The pursuit of a goal…”

“The pursuit of power!

And the others, unearned.”

I add to their list

to silence their noise…

“By all means, means any.

Except for the earned!

But that’s what you’re after,

Ain’t you, ‘Big Boys’…? ”

“For they should only persuade you…”

I say to myself,

“…Let go of yourself; and you’re ready to serve! ”

“Yes, it’s a war…” I repeat,

“…But this war can be won!

With the point of my feather; against the point of your gun…”

It’s the third world war,

Live, on the radio…

A righteous attack:

“…Blood, It’s in you to give…”

“…Life, it’s in you to live! ”

I exclaim with a mark

as I’m loading a piece

for my counter attack.

Yet, the fool’s voice insisting:

“…only this much has given…

considering everyone has it,

that’s pretty darn low…”

“Use your wits boy! ” I say,

“Cammon’, everyone has them…

Must be pretty darn hard,

When you’re only a pawn…”

“Your conscience; their weapon.”

I say to myself,

“…To make you feel guilty, then cash you with nerve! ”

“Yes, it’s a war…” I reprint,

“But this war can be won!

With the point of my feather; against the point of your gun…”

It’s the Third World War,

On TV, with stereo;

Special features, surround

and special effects…

The saint is a whore,

just like the scenario.

And wisdom with god,

Preaching: “knowledge defects”.

The hero had died,

For the sake of his brothers;

Whose life is the thrill

of reality shows.

And beauty will hide,

As their children’s young minds,

captivated by tin;

Idols coated with gold…

“Your thought is their aim…”

I say to myself,

“…what ever you’ve got, to distort what you have! ”

“Yet I won’t retreat,

for this war can be won!

With the point of my feather; against the point of your gun…”

It’s a war in the streets,

Where the silent bombs whisper;

Mind poisoning fumes-

Of nerve numbing gas…

When unnoticed fleets,

Silence unwanted whistles;

Unavoidably torn,

from a life pounding chest.

It’s a war every day,

When, slaughtered by taxes,

Ghosts of dead soldiers

Hunt graveyards; still bleeding.

As their cries of despair,

buried by thick walls of darkness,

vaguely tremble a corridor

of some apartment rent building.

It’s a war in the schools,

when the children are taught,

that it’s right, and it’s just.

And that justice is nonsense…

And all they should learn-

Is to play by the rules.

Of a game for which rules

Is an unstable process…

So they learn how to cheat,

How to mistreat;

Evidence, facts, anything worthy.

How to lie to themselves,

Of course, with your help,

To believe they have earned

What they did not work for…

They’re taught to use words,

Before they’re taught about meaning.

And meaning, they’re taught,

Is whatever you wish…

So science means boredom,

and boredom is nature…

And virtue means evil-

So ignorance bliss…

Yet that’s what you’ve brought,

to the foot of my door.

In a box, with a manual-

Now I should fill;

Not a name, but a number,

As I open the door.

For that ignorant product of yours,

I pay the bill…

And “people”, I cry…

“…Just look what you’ve done!

Behind every word

Hides the point of a gun…

So check your beginnings,

To find where it began;

And please choose your end,

For how it will end…

Upon each man’s decision

The end will depend.”

“But then, I believe,

this war can be won!

When the point of a feather, surpass the point of a gun…”

This one is worth greater study, on my part, before I comment about its meaning and its effect on me. It is interesting that in Toronto, around when you had published this piece, several gang-related shooting occured, at least, more that were reported. This poem speaks to that, as it speaks to any gangster (including Al Capone and Jean Chretien [et.al]). I want to say more about the poem on a later date.

Jose Gainza.

For You, Who Are Drifting…

What a flawless flow…

What a perfect drag!

The way, you’re carried with these waves…

Yet you don’t know,

Just where you’re headed;

Those shores, on which you’re doomed to land.

I must admit,

It is quite tempting…

If you’ve not fully realized:

The bumps, the sharks,

The turbulences.

Await you; hidden with the tide…

The pirate ships

That hunt these waters,

It’s quiet surface may deceive…

The sea is not a place for drifters;

You want to live-

You better swim!

And you better know just where you’re headed!

For it’s no treasure island,

That awaits you…

Ain’t no tropical retreat…

Skull Island,

Sailors’ graveyard.

Or slavery, on a pirate’s ship…

I, personally, would prefer this as part of a larger peace with a happy ending ... and response from the drifter.

Jose Gainza.

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  • 11 months later...

It’s been a while since I've posted here (about a year with no internet) and following are some poems dating across this year (some earlier). I feel that the style has matured and, even though not yet fully satisfying, some are getting closer to the way I envision my poetry. The order is not chronological.

'Hope Would Sprout Within Your Garden' (Jan. 2006)

Let me borrow from your voice

That color, which you wear;

And wrap in tender shades

This promise, that I nourish...

Let my heart rejoice,

And let my mind repair...

For as your blessing fades;

My precious child will flourish.

And I shall ever cherish

Your beauty...

------------------------------------------------------------

'Enigma' (Aug. 2006)

Enigma;

What hides behind your shade?

What underlies your whisper?

An instant’s brightest blade

With blinding silence sliced me,

Then left me as I bled.

And while passion crucifies me

To gasp over the bed

Of a gaping question mark

I hope a sudden spark to light

The mystery within.

------------------------------------------------------------

'And So Your Promise Fades...' (Jan 2006)

Painful, is the fall from grace;

Dreadful, is the cause.

Yet neo-Pharos dare not face

Their culminating burdens...

While hateful lashes stroke your face

With lines of dirty prose

They kicked their saddles into place

To ride on your abundance...

Yet freedom, you would not embrace them

Into your fruitful gardens;

When human thought provoked its base,

You revoked your promise...

While over seas, across the years,

Philosophers stood grinning;

Watching worlds of poems

Drown beneath their brutal jeers...

The lighted-land of poets,

Ceased from seeking out the meanings;

They turned to count on feelings,

While they’ve had none left but fears...

Yet freedom, now those very waves

Are claiming at your mountains...

For how long do you think your walls

Could stand against their thrust?

Until boots march on your fathers' graves

To drain your youthful fountains...

As from your streets would rise the calls:

"Our Leader We Must Trust!"

Oh, dear land of promise,

"…Ashes to Ashes... Dust to Dust..."

Is that the only requiem, you’d care to give your past?

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Introspection I: Acknowledgement (Dec. 2005)

I always dress you in disguise,

I always shower you with lies,

And always think I could devise,

Another way to mispresent you...

I never look straight in your eyes,

For deep inside, a secret lays;

A tortured soul in vein denies

That I, cannot resent you.

I always turn my head in shame,

As if your mark would stain my name

And just your spark will fuse a flame;

In darkness, I won't know you...

And thus, embarked in blindfold, lame,

In sinful drunkenness; hidden blame,

Consumes an incognito-game

Those hours that I owe you...

Loneliness, empress of night,

My trembling hands give-up the fight,

I drag myself out, to the light,

And beg the ink to hold its lashes.

Loneliness! Oh, what a sight,

My humble flag, half raised and white;

Is bright, and might—And so, it's right!

That I should lose this fight…

For truth had won,

And it alone,

Should not have been denied.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

'Avowed I'm To Your Thrill'

I want you, yet,

I know you not...

Only glimpses did I caught:

A thoughtful glance, a silent nod,

In a graceful elegance you float.

Among a crowd,

I know you not...

And yet, I want you in this lot.

As seldom traces, blush on faces,

Where your paces brushed;

And yet, their echoes hushed...

As hurried laces rushed those places

Where your presence flushed...

I want you, yet,

I know you not...

Still, in all my dreams I sought;

To know your face, to hang your coat--

Embrace you;

Oh, embarrassed thought…

I want you, yet,

I know you not--

Avowed I'm to your thrill!

For though, I may not know you still;

Someday, my love, I know I will.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

'Oppertunity' (Nov. 2005)

You came out of nowhere, holding a key;

To all that tomorrow might offer...

A lantren of light; of joy and delight;

Of hope, and a scent of the sea...

Yet I retreat to my ocean,

That ragged-up, old notion,

No,

This time I shall not hover!

For if I fail to turn;

To act on my turn,

Back to nowhere—

You will return...

-----------------------------------------------------------------

'Just a Few Paces Apart'

A few paces away

From comming your way...

Just few paces away

From going my way...

And just paces away

That barrier stood;

Where parted "I can..."

From "I could..."

----------------------------------------------------------------

'With Poets' Voices Leaves the World' (January 2006)

May no sorrow lift a pen,

To testify of growing fears...

May no lines attempt to ban,

A silent sigh, witholding tears...

In poets' voices lives the world--

The weight of which upon them bears;

In poets' voices grieves the world--

If they're still crying, no one hears...

With poets' voices leaves the world...

And if they're dieing; it was sold...

Into the brutal hands of jeers.

------------------------------------------------------------------

'Day by Day' (April 2006)

Day by day

Words have their way,

To come--

Inspired;

Or expired...

Day by day

Life has its say,

And day by day--

Cannot deny it.

So, day by day

I'm here to pay,

Lord 'Time'

The means

To glorify it.

And hope inspired

Be those hymns I live

(Then leave behind)...

------------------------------------------------------------------

'I Thank You for Your Beauty' (Jan. 2006)

Beautiful you are,

And I thank you for your beauty.

Though soon, you must depart,

Back to that place, where beauty roams...

If I had known the art;

Of making beauty linger,

I would not have been the singer

Of those "By By Beauty" songs...

And yet, the much I long,

To stroll between your parts;

My heart would never hurt by darts,

Ponder it would, eager...

For, with every time I see you,

Anew I know you are—

Beautiful,

And for that sight I thank you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The Quest (Sept. 2006)

I never thought I'd find your eyes

While brown still animates my beard.

I never dared to hope, you see,

The ties of ropes I've always feared.

A gallant soul knows where she lies;

The one who spells her truest hymns.

Yet truce had taught her nameless trails:

Life's hungry gallows, favors dreams...

My kingdom's gates, by silence barred,

I never wished to fling.

Here solitude had blessed me trice:

Sole peasant, lord, and king.

I humbly worked this sacred land

And proudly ruled my earth;

Where no untamed, or playful string,

Dared tamper with my wrath.

So harmony prevailed my kingdom,

Time strolled peaceful in his pace.

The dreamer woke and, veiled by freedom,

Wisely took a scholar's face.

With thrust of rustling script and page,

A growing universe expanded--

A space untouched by alien rage

Where ageless sage his pledge amended.

And yet, as once a kingdom fell--

Eluded by a Trojan pun;

Ill fate cast bait to try my dell

By ray of an exiled desert’s sun

Unbarred by silent walls she sneaked

While all my kingdom fast asleep;

Flickered, then perished in a blink—

Leaving a monument to rest.

Greet dozy eyes, where none had been,

Now lies an unforeseen mirage,

The image of a goddess:

Skin--

as light as early snow;

Brow, serene as moonlit night.

Yet even lips, so ripe and keen,

To strip a priest of all denials

Would dim to haze as one would meet

The gaze of naked, fearless eyes.

Silence sealed the stricken square

As all fell captive to the spell.

Then clink of heels--and swords came bare;

To bar the vision in a cell.

"My lord?" the Lord turned to the king

Who failed to order his decree.

And yet, the king reached not his sword,

But faintly whispered: "Let it be..."

Three nights and days the image set

To solely crown the royal square.

A jealous sun would flare and set;

A lonely moon brood pale and bare.

Three nights and days, the king would sit,

And stare into those piercing eyes.

And time anew would miss a beat,

As from their depth a question cries.

Could somewhere, in an endless desert,

Could--where heat burns an open sore;

In some oasis, spared from hazard,

Safely lie the vision's core?!

His weary mind yield no recession;

A pondering quest for answers called.

And in the heat of newfound passion;

Of a sudden--he felt cold…

For, in those eyes, had stirred a premise,

A youthful dream which failed to drop.

From days when hope held treasured promise,

Not life's hungry gallows’ rope.

Could really be there such true eyes?

As fresh as air; as cool as ice?

Or be it but damned desert sun’s--

Teasing and elusive puns?!

Three nights and days the king had pondered;

As thoughts weighed heavy on his neck,

For marching out with frail a vision

Might prove shuffling splinters back…

Three nights and days, the king had pondered;

And on the morning of the fourth--

He rose erect to greet the sunrise

And swiftly mounted up his horse.

Down on the square, where kingdom gathered

Neither eye the king’s would drop

The peasant’s spoke of looming hazard,

The lord’s--of long-forgotten hope.

As trusted hands the lord extended,

From his farewell a sigh was caught;

“My friend,” the king’s faint smile demanded,

“Through many battlefields we’ve fought…”

He bowed, and turned where sun awaits,

His features bearing none of plight

And with impervious voice commanded:

“Unbar the gates!”

--and entered light.

And with that sight, a triumph wave

Had braved the lord’s heart over fright--

For not a grave king, nor a knave trod,

But a daring, youthful knight.

Yet on brink of worlds he paused

And for the last addressed the Lord:

“Even, should this prove in vain--

Don’t haste have hope slain by your sword…

From now--we’ll leave the gates ajar,

For, be it but damned desert’s pun;

Beauty still may live somewhere

Beneath an exiled desert’s sun.

The thud of hooves pierced silent vest

As king embarked on maiden quest.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Fact or Fable' (Sept. 2006)

Meet me on that subtle strip

Where ocean waters brush on shore--

Before their last of traces seeps;

Yet past their drifting to and fro.

That bridge, where luring sirens’ songs

Prolong on wings of whistling winds,

And mermaids surface, body long;

Then rise to walk on mortal feet.

There dreams, reality awaits;

Where times elapse by portal gates,

And poets hymns ensue their fates--

For better be it,

Or for worse…

Don’t curse this heartening inspiration,

To die in sudden suffocation;

Linger, yet another spell,

To tell if fact from fable fell.

Then, on brink of day and night--

Dive back into dreamy waters;

Or proceed onto the light.

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--------------------------------------------------------------------

'Oppertunity' (Nov. 2005)

You came out of nowhere, holding a key;

To all that tomorrow might offer...

A lantren of light; of joy and delight;

Of hope, and a scent of the sea...

Yet I retreat to my ocean,

That ragged-up, old notion,

No,

This time I shall not hover!

For if I fail to turn;

To act on my turn,

Back to nowhere—

You will return...

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Wow! This poem has got to be my personal favorite of yours! You just seemingly came out of nowhere yourself, at least to me. :) I never saw this thread on the forum before. So, are you going to have access to the internet now? I sure hope so! Keep ones like this coming, and this literary cub, will keep roaming to your paper plains!

I am as attached to this poem, as I am to the person that it reminds me of. Thank you for sharing your poems with us, Maty!

Edited by intellectualammo
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Emptiness;

Every bottle,

Has a bottom…

So it cannot

Get

Any emptier…

And yet this night,

Seems to be bottomless…

I keep sinking,

Deeper,

In it’s space…

Thinking,

Of a place…

Deeper...

This bottle,

Seems to be full of it;

Emptiness...

And yet,

Might it be loneliness?

Playing its old tricks…

--------------------------------------------------

A Daydream…

I was drawn by your eyes;

To be drowned…

And pulled by your laughter;

To roll…

I was kissed by your lips;

To depart;

Without wings,

I was bounded to fall…

YES! These are my other two favorites out of the poems you had posted quite some time ago. Oh, btw, I did a little searching around and found you have poetry on poemhunter.com. All of those poems and then some are already posted on this forum, though, if I'm not mistaken.

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Thank you for your kind words, Intellectuallammo. (Although I wonder what a lammo means :))

I am as attached to this poem, as I am to the person that it reminds me of.
Its interesting to see how a reader can relate closer to a poem through the association of the author's experience (described in the poem) to one of his own--I guess that when a poem strums a personal string, we can feel the vibration, rather then merely comprehend the subject, and thus experience it with greater intimacy; which, in turn, stirs deeper emotions--hence a stronger emotional response.

I guess that this is the reason why the same poem (or artwork) can arouse different people to different degrees; one would feel stronger when the vibrations resonate with a personal note.

Oh, btw, I did a little searching around and found you have poetry on poemhunter.com. All of those poems and then some are already posted on this forum, though, if I'm not mistaken.

Yes, that is correct. Those poems were my first attempts to write (poetry) in English, and I was seeking constructive responses. However, most of those I happened to correspond with seemed more content with patting each other on the back than with analyzing poems, while some seemed to be trying to prove something to someone just by being rude--even though the first was harmless; and the second even less harmful than the first, that was not what I came for--so I saw no reason to linger.

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As per a very apt correction and suggestion made by Brian Faulkner at the time I first posted it, this is the finished poem (last line).

For some unfortunate reason one cannot edit his own posts in the forum, so I could not alter it... (and a few others)

A Daydream…

I was drawn by your eyes;

To be drowned…

And pulled by your laughter;

To roll…

I was kissed by your lips;

To depart;

Without wings,

I was bound to a fall…

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Thank you for your kind words, Intellectuallammo. (Although I wonder what a lammo means :) )

Its interesting to see how a reader can relate closer to a poem through the association of the author's experience (described in the poem) to one of his own--I guess that when a poem strums a personal string, we can feel the vibration, rather then merely comprehend the subject, and thus experience it with greater intimacy; which, in turn, stirs deeper emotions--hence a stronger emotional response.

I guess that this is the reason why the same poem (or artwork) can arouse different people to different degrees; one would feel stronger when the vibrations resonate with a personal note.

You spelled my username wrong. It's intellectualammo. A name given to me by former landlady/roommate/friend, because all my boxes of books had "intellectual ammunition" written on them, so that I would know what was in them.

I also agree with what you have said. It's spot on with me!

As far as spelling goes, I think there were two other misspellings, oppertunity=opportunity and dieing=dying. I make many errors myself as you can see with 3/4 of what I post I have to edit!

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Yes, that is correct. Those poems were my first attempts to write (poetry) in English, and I was seeking constructive responses. However, most of those I happened to correspond with seemed more content with patting each other on the back than with analyzing poems, while some seemed to be trying to prove something to someone just by being rude--even though the first was harmless; and the second even less harmful than the first, that was not what I came for--so I saw no reason to linger.

Do you find reason to, now? :)

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For some unfortunate reason one cannot edit his own posts in the forum, so I could not alter it... (and a few others)

Actually you can alert a forum moderator and they can go back and change a line, or a few misspellings for you. I have repeatedly done this myself. Here is a link to some mod's.

Edited by intellectualammo
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QUOTE(Maty @ Nov 24 2006, 04:01 PM) *

Yes, that is correct. Those poems were my first attempts to write (poetry) in English, and I was seeking constructive responses. However, most of those I happened to correspond with seemed more content with patting each other on the back than with analyzing poems, while some seemed to be trying to prove something to someone just by being rude--even though the first was harmless; and the second even less harmful than the first, that was not what I came for--so I saw no reason to linger.

Do you find reason to, now? smile.gif

I think that I might have misled you in that quote; I was referring to poemhunter.com. Actually, on this forum I've had some very productive correspondences.

Actually you can alert a forum moderator and they can go back and change a line, or a few misspellings for you. I have repeatedly done this myself. Here is a link to some mod's.

Thanks for the link, I'm sure it's going to be useful.

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