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Freeing yourself was one thing; claiming ownership of that freed self was another.

quote by Toni Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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In My Mind Am I My Enemy

If I get upset.
Regret those limits met.
In my mind am I...
My,
Enemy?

You,
Can't free me!
No way.
Until,
I know...
What that freedom means,
To me!

You,
Can't free me!
No way.
Until,
I know...
What that freedom means,
To me!

If I live in doubt.
And voice this from my mouth,
From dawn until the night falls...
Am,
I...
Free?

If I get upset.
Regret those limits met.
In my mind am I...
My,
Enemy?

If I live in doubt.
Are my needs freed?
And voice this from my mouth.
Are my needs freed?
If I get upset.
Are my needs freed?
Regret those limits met.
Are my needs freed?

If I live in doubt.
Are my needs freed?
And voice this from my mouth.
Are my needs freed?
If I get upset.
Are my needs freed?

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Freed...

freed from having to eat only
twice a day,
from having to walk for a day
just to learn to read in school
from fetching water five mountains away
from washing my body
in that river where stones are slimy
where accidents are not seldom
from ignorance
and hunger and thirst and
indifference
from a room with triple deck beds
from a rotten dormitory
from teachers with narrow minds
from religious intolerance
from a belief that only we can be saved when this world ends
freed from a belief
that there is an ending to life
that there is only death that makes this life a meaningful stay
freed from the tradition of strong family ties that minds every detail of
how life must be lived
how funerals are conducted
what colors of candles what light is necessary
freed from Spanish rule from English domination
from from brothers of superior minds who think that only they know
where we must go
and stay

freed at last from myself who thinks that there is no more possibility
for growth
freed from an insecure living
freed from all those prisons that still lurk inside my mind
freed at last
from freedom itself

freed from fire and cold
from paradoxes and ironies
freed at last from cliches and constantly invoked metaphors
freed at last from the clutches of words
into the limitless thoughts
into sunless seas
into moonless nights
into inconceivable eternities

freed at last from the nucleus of my atom
into the mysteries of more explosions
mushrooming into space
beyond the bars of my
imagination

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Must Be Freed

The ante-bellum Negro prayed,
For God to intercede,
And God in answer to him said,
'Your children shall be freed.'

The hand was seen upon the wall,
The fates at once decreed
That Negro bondsmen one and all,
Should soon be free, indeed.

'If Abraham Lincoln's president'
The South said, 'we'll secede;'
They apprehended he'd consent,
For Negroes to be freed.

To battle North against the South,
O'er states rights was agreed,
But echo from the cannon's mouth,
Said, 'Negroes must be freed.'

Confed'rates did with marked success,
McClellan's steps impede,
Till Abr'm Lincoln did confess,
That Negroes must be freed.

The Union boys with heaven's strength,
From that time did succeed;
And fought with valor till at length,
The Negro slaves were freed.

The Jim Crow car for Negroes made,
To crush their pride, indeed,
Has on the harps of thinkers played,
Those people must be freed.

The right of suffrage from the men,
Is taken out of greed;
A better day is coming when
They shall from this be freed.

Black men before the lyncher's rope,
In vain for mercy plead,
But justice cries, 'There is a hope,
From such you shall be freed.'

From ignorance and poverty,
From superstition's creed,
From those who crush his liberty,
The Negro must be freed.

[...] Read more

poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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I Choose To Be A Rooster

I can strut it like a rooster,
Recently freed from being locked up inside of a coop.
I can strut it like a rooster,
Recently freed.
I can strut it like a rooster,
To cluck as I please.

I can strut it like a rooster,
Recently freed from being locked up inside of a coop.
I can strut it like a rooster,
Recently freed.
I can strut it like a rooster,
To cluck as I please.

And before the dawn,
I can disturb your sleep.
And as the Sun arises,
You wont hear from me a peep.
Because,
I choose to be a rooster.

I can strut it like a rooster,
Recently freed.
I can strut it like a rooster,
To cluck as I please.

And before the dawn,
I can disturb your sleep.
And as the Sun arises,
You wont hear from me a peep.
Because,
I choose to be a rooster.

I can strut it like a rooster,
Recently freed from being locked up inside of a coop.
I can strut it like a rooster,
Recently freed.
I can strut it like a rooster,
To cluck as I please.
Because,
I choose to be a rooster.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Felt Freed

One day I awakened,
And there was an insignificance I sensed,
From yesterday!
That cleared the morning air.

There was something about my life,
That had arrived and I liked.
Appearing in my sight...
With such a happiness I could not ignore.
It was there to make certain,
I had been aware.

And whatever to me was done and/or said,
Before I laid my head down in my bed...
Prepared to flee.
Somehow this was unknown to me.

And when I had awakened it had fled!
No longer to me to be important.
To address as my priorities.
And I felt freed!
I felt freed.
I felt...
Freed!

To live a life much more motivated.
With a quest to face challenges...
I now seek and dare!
As opportunities to prove...
I can move anything off my path,
That isn't of benefit and doesn't belong there!

And I felt freed!
I felt freed.
I felt...
Freed!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Open The Mouth

My partner opens his mouth,
Looking like a reposing man;
Men and women inspire others,
Bringing brilliant bags of decisions.
To derive the mathematics
Of relationships you must own fire
With ice that melts and causes
No more ownership.
This operation denies
The fault of surgeons or surgery.
Similarly, luck of a typical doctor
Justifies yet again too much healthiness.
To open your mouth
Is to talk about the world with words.
My ownership is of myself
And this soul of mine carries on believing.
For to believe is too much faith,
Pure are those in faith, the reality
Of ownership is great,
Purity lives within you.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Andromeda Unfettered

ANDROMEDA.

Chained to the years by the measureless wrong of man,
Here I hang, here I suffer, here I cry,
Since the light sprang forth from the dark, and the day began;
Since the sky was sundered and saved from the sea,
And the mouth of the beast was warm on the breast of the sod,
And the bird's feed glimmered like rings on the blossoming tree,
And the rivers ran silver with scales, and the earth was thronged
With creatures lovely and sane and wild and free;
Till the Image of God arose from the dust and trod
Woman and beast and bird into slavery.
Who has wronged me? Man who all earth has wronged:
Who has mocked me? Man, who made mock of God.

CHORUS OF FIRST WOMEN.

Nay, what do you seek?
If of men we be chained,
Our chains be of gold,
If the fetters we break
What conquest is gained?
Shall a hill-top out-spread a pavilion more safe than our palace hold?

Without toil, we are fed,
We have gold to our hire,
We have kings at out thrall,
And made smooth is our bed
For the fools of desire.
We falter the world with our eyelids, at our laughter men scatter and fall.

What is freedom but danger,
And death, and disaster?
We are safe: Fool, to crave
The unknown, the stranger!
More fettered the back than the burden; man bows; he is slave to a slave!

ANDROMEDA.

Yes, in most bitter waters have they drowned
My spirit, And my soul grows grey on sleep!
What if with wreaths my empty hands are bound?
I am slave for all their roses, and I keep
A tryst with cunning, and a troth with tears.
Time has kissed out my lips, and I am dumb.
I am so long called fool, I am become
That fool-of street or shrine. By body bears
Burden of men and children. I have been
All that man has desired or dreamed of me.
I have trodden a double-weary way-with Sin,

[...] Read more

poem by Muriel Stuart
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Cognition Restarted

With a cognition restarted,
After being away and in between selective
Thoughts and memories...
People are now finding a desire to rally around,
Responsibility!

With cognition restarted,
Accountability has ignited...
With a hope it is not too late to reinstate reality.
Or some possible remnant of it.

And those now claiming,
To have ownership of the tones detected in their voices...
Are professing to take back what belongs to them.
When they are the ones who sold themselves out...
To parade around in falsities.
Isn't that how all of this came to be?

With a cognition restarted,
After being away and in between selective
Thoughts and memories...
People are now finding a desire to rally around,
Responsibility!

As if awarding a vacant space to an urban artist to paint...
Signifies an acknowledgement,
As to who is called upon first...
To disguise a trench one has dug!
After using dollars and cents to pour cement,
To abandon as whims go mothballed.
At the expense of those who have forgotten,
Just how appalled they were.

Now the initiators of greed return!
Hoping to qualify for funding,
By claiming to provide a life experience to the locals.
Recycling a very familiar setting.
And implementing the same routines.
To establish an agency for feeding those less fortunate.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Total Sad Demise

It is dead song now and carries no meaning
We used to rejoice at their reversals when not winning
The British Empire was slowly loosing its hold
Each territory was claiming independence from their fold

We thought foreign yoke was blot on our motherland
They had come as traders and pretended as friends
We forgave them for their territorial greed and trade
But can any one ell us where are we today before memory fads?

As foreign occupants, they cheated, looted and even ruled
Today our own representatives have lied and fooled
Where the poor men in street and what are are they dreaming?
They curse their past sacrifice and wish old tyrants for home coming

Not a single place we find where they have not laid their hands!
Not a single individual we find who has not grabbed a piece of land!
Who knows how much wealth they have deposited in foreign countries?
Poor find no bread for square meals with enough of plight and miseries

Can we take pride in claiming as true democratic people?
Are we able to shape the rules despite being able to?
Our mandate has become guaranteed period to misrule
No restriction and counter checks to force their way or curtail

People may find end to their patience
Still some time is left to come to sense
When nothing is left to eat and cloth the body
They will only be left to the mercy of somebody

Each and every politician is claiming some reward
Let people go to hell but he needs in kind and awards
We wished foreigners good luck when they departed
The locals are forced on us and they will never be parted

Rules and regulations are made mockery of the system
Judiciary and rule of the laws are of laughing stock with them
Freedom speech means accusation in every direct without basis
Like mad bull roaming in street with no means to chase and emphasis

We take oath under the name of religion to cheat
Spread hatred and lies so people take to arms and fight
What else we have done to glorify our past sacrifices?
We feel shame to remember past glory with total demise

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Here to Rescue You

I caught you drifting.
In the midst of dark shadows,
There...
Claiming fear.
With a hope,
More comes along.

I am not surprised,
My eyes have been opened wide.
And with hindsight in view...
Sifting through wishes incomplete.
One stays with me,
To make come true!
I am here,
To rescue you!

Like me you have been your own victim.
Closed within by a bitterness,
Sitting feeling an emptiness...
You wish was not hidden so well.
It isn't!
I realized that when I visited,
My own inhabitions.

Let them go.
The teachings you have come to know.
To keep you fooled,
In desperate yearning.
Those lessons I knew and learned then well,
Too.
I am here to rescue you!

Take my hand I once kept disguised.
With a wish not to be touched or be held.
Celebrating misery.
In a hell I brought upon myself.
And knew too well.

Yes,
I caught you drifting.
In the midst of dark shadows,
There...
Claiming fear.
With a hope,
More comes along.
No...
I am not surprised,
My eyes have been opened wide.
And with hindsight in view...
Sifting through wishes incomplete.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Language Scrum

It was a gathering of the Metaphors
who likened all things
to all other things
never identifying Essences;
leaving nothing as the core..

Similes arrived stating triumphantly that
they were superior to the merely metaphoric
and especially to the Gerunds.

The Nouns were enraged
claiming that they were the origins of things named
and all that could be named.

They all held the Dangling Participle in contempt
whose cohorts hung at the end of the table
speaking in sentences fragmenting.

The Pluperfect laid claim to wedding the Past
and Present
and to having had given birth to Language.

The Action Verbs demurred claiming that all history
depended upon them and their meanings and consequences.

'We are action' they said
'you are all after-thoughts and musings.'

So it was the Poetry Slam
the battle of the Language Parts
cogitating on sentences
and what they mean.

Metaphor opened saying 'poetry is contest-
a battle of words in the arena of created meaning-
designed to feed the brain, open the mind;
give sight to the blind.'

'We are all part of a wagon wheel
and each of us has only a spoken
truth.

'Yes' Simile said 'we are all like angry rose buds
trying to bloom.

Verbatim declared that all Poetry
was based on faith and faith alone.
Anything else was Untruth.

Gerund hung back claiming all meaning is hidden by

[...] Read more

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Claiming the Rainbow

It was childhood enchantment in the form of song
Which first awoke in me, the rainbow-lover
Entranced as ‘Dorothy’ sang of
Her wish to someday fly far over
She not understanding, as I now do,
That rainbows only exist from a limited point of view
(Or perhaps she might have chosen instead to hover)

Now so many sects of people
Seem resolute on claiming the rainbow
Exclusively for their separate cause to use
Some with reverent sighs, claming the rainbow as sign
Of solemn promise their God once set against the sky
While the gaiety of the rainbow hues
Are proudly waived as flag by some alternate crews
(Which fundamentalists rarely welcome as good news)
Some declare the rainbow an emblem of diversity
Yet should you query those at the University
Mere prismatic refraction of sunlight creates these views

Is the Rainbow simply a natural phenomenon?
Or somehow innately related to karma?
By what reason does it inspire such melodrama?

Having not the least desire to argue
I will never debate with others, or with you,
Regarding claiming as one's due, the rainbow in the sky
(Nor be persuaded by any proffered reason why)
One can create manmade rainbows in any zone
Though I much prefer to view
Those transient arches occasioning the sky
Each rainbow offers beauty of its own
A fleeting apparition which light alone
By transecting water droplets can supply

The rainbow’s color array is far from random
Displaying the light spectrum in proper tandem
And many an artist’s pallet draws therefrom
There is pleasing perfection in this order
Something nothing else in nature seems to border
Individual elements of lightwaves briefly unbound
That’s all the rainbow really ever needs to be
So in appreciating each and every one I see,
Henceforth the one properly claiming the rainbow – will be me.

poem by Mary Havran
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Palamon And Arcite; Or The Knight's Tale. From Chaucer. In Three Books. Book II.

While Arcite lives in bliss, the story turns
Where hopeless Palamon in prison mourns.
For six long years immured, the captive knight
Had dragged his chains, and scarcely seen the light:
Lost liberty and love at once he bore;
His prison pained him much, his passion more:
Nor dares he hope his fetters to remove,
Nor ever wishes to be free from love.
But when the sixth revolving year was run,
And May within the Twins received the sun,
Were it by Chance, or forceful Destiny,
Which forms in causes first whate'er shall be,
Assisted by a friend one moonless night,
This Palamon from prison took his flight:
A pleasant beverage he prepared before
Of wine and honey mixed, with added store
Of opium; to his keeper this he brought,
Who swallowed unaware the sleepy draught,
And snored secure till morn, his senses bound
In slumber, and in long oblivion drowned.
Short was the night, and careful Palamon
Sought the next covert ere the rising sun.
A thick-spread forest near the city lay,
To this with lengthened strides he took his way,
(For far he could not fly, and feared the day.)

Safe from pursuit, he meant to shun the light,
Till the brown shadows of the friendly night
To Thebes might favour his intended flight.
When to his country come, his next design
Was all the Theban race in arms to join,
And war on Theseus, till he lost his life,
Or won the beauteous Emily to wife.
Thus while his thoughts the lingering day beguile,
To gentle Arcite let us turn our style;
Who little dreamt how nigh he was to care,
Till treacherous fortune caught him in the snare.
The morning-lark, the messenger of day,
Saluted in her song the morning gray;
And soon the sun arose with beams so bright,
That all the horizon laughed to see the joyous sight;
He with his tepid rays the rose renews,
And licks the dropping leaves, and dries the dews;
When Arcite left his bed, resolved to pay
Observance to the month of merry May,
Forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode,
That scarcely prints the turf on which he trod:
At ease he seemed, and prancing o'er the plains,
Turned only to the grove his horse's reins,
The grove I named before, and, lighting there,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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Palamon And Arcite; Or, The Knight's Tale. From Chaucer. In Three Books. Book I.

In days of old there lived, of mighty fame,
A valiant Prince, and Theseus was his name;
A chief, who more in feats of arms excelled,
The rising nor the setting sun beheld.
Of Athens he was lord; much land he won,
And added foreign countries to his crown.
In Scythia with the warrior Queen he strove,
Whom first by force he conquered, then by love;
He brought in triumph back the beauteous dame,
With whom her sister, fair Emilia, came.
With honour to his home let Theseus ride,
With Love to friend, and Fortune for his guide,
And his victorious army at his side.
I pass their warlike pomp, their proud array,
Their shouts, their songs, their welcome on the way;
But, were it not too long, I would recite
The feats of Amazons, the fatal fight
Betwixt the hardy Queen and hero Knight;
The town besieged, and how much blood it cost
The female army, and the Athenian host;
The spousals of Hippolyta the Queen;
What tilts and turneys at the feast were seen;
The storm at their return, the ladies' fear:
But these and other things I must forbear.

The field is spacious I design to sow
With oxen far unfit to draw the plough:
The remnant of my tale is of a length
To tire your patience, and to waste my strength;
And trivial accidents shall be forborn,
That others may have time to take their turn,
As was at first enjoined us by mine host,
That he, whose tale is best and pleases most,
Should win his supper at our common cost.
And therefore where I left, I will pursue
This ancient story, whether false or true,
In hope it may be mended with a new.
The Prince I mentioned, full of high renown,
In this array drew near the Athenian town;
When, in his pomp and utmost of his pride
Marching, he chanced to cast his eye aside,
And saw a quire of mourning dames, who lay
By two and two across the common way:
At his approach they raised a rueful cry,
And beat their breasts, and held their hands on high,
Creeping and crying, till they seized at last
His courser's bridle and his feet embraced.
“Tell me,” said Theseus, “what and whence you are,
“And why this funeral pageant you prepare?
Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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Orlando Furioso Canto 4

ARGUMENT
The old Atlantes suffers fatal wreck,
Foiled by the ring, and young Rogero freed,
Who soars in air till he appears a speck,
Mounted upon the wizard's winged steed.
Obediant to the royal Charles's beck,
He who had followed Love's imperious lead,
Rinaldo, disembarks on British land,
And saves Genevra, doomed to stake and brand.

I
Though an ill mind appear in simulation,
And, for the most, such quality offends;
'Tis plain that this in many a situation
Is found to further beneficial ends,
And save from blame, and danger, and vexation;
Since we converse not always with our friends,
In this, less clear than clouded, mortal life,
Beset with snares, and full of envious strife.

II
If after painful proof we scarcely find
A real friend, through various chances sought,
To whom we may communicate our mind,
Keeping no watch upon our wandering thought;
What should the young Rogero's lady kind
Do with Brunello, not sincere, but fraught
With treasons manifold, and false and tainted,
As by the good enchantress truly painted?

III
She feigns as well with that deceitful scout;
(Fitting with him the father of all lies)
Watches his thievish hands in fear and doubt;
And follows every motion with her eyes.
When lo! a mighty noise is heard without!
"O mighty mother! king of heaven!" she cries,
"What thing is this I hear?" and quickly springs
Towards the place from whence the larum rings,

IV
And sees the host and all his family,
Where, one to door, and one to window slips,
With eyes upturned and gazing at the sky,
As if to witness comet or eclipse.
And there the lady views, with wondering eye,
What she had scarce believed from other's lips,
A feathered courser, sailing through the rack,
Who bore an armed knight upon his back.

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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When Death Calls

He saw the world, dim with the glow of the vertical sun
His skin crept cold knowing that this was the hours of dying
Misguided mortals, youll burn with me
Spirit of man, cannot be freed.
When death calls - this is the hours of dying
When death calls - the spirit of man cannot be freed
When death calls - theres no tomorrow
When death calls - just an evil shadow
Tell me not fear of the flames means that heaven is closer
For I believe satan lives, in the souls of the dying
Misguided mortals, youll burn with me
Spirit of man, cannot be freed.
When death calls - heaven is closer
When death calls - feel the heat of the flames from the souls of the dying
When death calls - here it comes, here it comes, here it comes
When death calls - youre gonna burn
Dont look in those sunken eyes
Dont look and youll stay alive
Dont laugh at the face of death or your toungue will blister
Cant die until satan says you die
And satan takes your soul
In the face of death or your toungue will blister
Dont look in those sunken eyes
Dont look and youll stay alive
Dont laugh at the face of death or your toungue will blister
Cant die until satan says you die
The devil takes your soul
With all his wrath he calls the reaper
When death calls - this is the hours of dying
When death calls - the spirit of man cannot be freed
When death calls - theres no tomorrow
When death calls - just an evil shadow
When death calls - feel the heat of the flames from the souls of the dying
When death calls - youre gonna burn, burn, burn
When death calls - heaven is closer
When death calls - I can feel it, gonna take you down

song performed by Black Sabbath
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Legal Matter

I told you why I changed my mind
I told you why I changed my mind
I got bored by playing with time
I got bored by playing with time
I know you thought you had me nailed
I know you thought you had me nailed
But Ive freed my head from your garden rails
But Ive freed my head from your garden rails
Now its a legal matter, baby
Now its a legal matter, baby
You got me on the run
You got me on the run
Its a legal matter, baby
Its a legal matter, baby
A legal matter from now on
A legal matter from now on
My minds lost in a household fog
My minds lost in a household fog
Wedding gowns and catalogs
Wedding gowns and catalogs
Kitchen furnishings and houses
Kitchen furnishings and houses
Maternity clothes and babys trousers
Maternity clothes and babys trousers
Now its a legal matter, baby
Now its a legal matter, baby
Marryins no fun
Marryins no fun
Its a legal matter, baby
Its a legal matter, baby
A legal matter from now on
A legal matter from now on
I told you why I changed my mind
I told you why I changed my mind
I got bored by playing with time
I got bored by playing with time
I know you thought you had me nailed
I know you thought you had me nailed
Well, Ive freed my head from your garden rails
Well, Ive freed my head from your garden rails
Now its a legal matter, baby
Now its a legal matter, baby
You got me on the run
You got me on the run
Its a legal matter, baby
Its a legal matter, baby
A legal matter from now on
A legal matter from now on
You aint the first and you aint the last
You aint the first and you aint the last

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Le Vampire (The Vampire)

Toi qui, comme un coup de couteau,
Dans mon coeur plaintif es entrée;
Toi qui, forte comme un troupeau
De démons, vins, folle et parée,

De mon esprit humilié
Faire ton lit et ton domaine;
— Infâme à qui je suis lié
Comme le forçat à la chaîne,

Comme au jeu le joueur têtu,
Comme à la bouteille l'ivrogne,
Comme aux vermines la charogne
— Maudite, maudite sois-tu!

J'ai prié le glaive rapide
De conquérir ma liberté,
Et j'ai dit au poison perfide
De secourir ma lâcheté.

Hélas! le poison et le glaive
M'ont pris en dédain et m'ont dit:
«Tu n'es pas digne qu'on t'enlève
À ton esclavage maudit,

Imbécile! — de son empire
Si nos efforts te délivraient,
Tes baisers ressusciteraient
Le cadavre de ton vampire!»

The Vampire

You who, like the stab of a knife,
Entered my plaintive heart;
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, ardent and adorned,

To make your bed and your domain
Of my humiliated mind
— Infamous bitch to whom I'm bound
Like the convict to his chain,

Like the stubborn gambler to the game,
Like the drunkard to his wine,
Like the maggots to the corpse,
— Accurst, accurst be you!

I begged the swift poniard
To gain for me my liberty,
I asked perfidious poison

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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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It was more freeing, mainly because he's so free anyway. He just is in his performance. So to mimic someone doing a free performance, well, that's pretty freeing within itself.

quote by Michael Welch
Added by Lucian Velea
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It's actually very freeing to be given permission as an artist to let that ride and to really let it ride, to actually experience it and bring it out of you. It's been uncomfortable and it's freeing at the same time.

quote by Josh Holloway
Added by Lucian Velea
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