History

realize

my mother is beautiful and my dad is a genius
my mother has many talents and dad loves addictively
mommy indulges joy and dad felt pain
this combination makes the world mine to gain
my grandma knows the Lord in a personal way
while grandpa knows the value of if you loved me, you stay
my auntie knows how it could cut both ways towards the beauty and the ugly of soul that's frayed
my cousins and I watch time fly living our dreams and dodging the lies the world can tell that caused all the cries
that taught all the others how to survive.

wisdom is the upgrade
accept it and run
the world would go no where
with lies that play real and disguised as fun
it's all a deception
so make yours count
opportunity knocks then it's out!
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Intruders

Rose tinted sponge under skin
like marzipan. Slice and she shall weep
wine. Inside a vineyard, of vines, 
clumps and berries. In the juice there are 
tears and the story of time. 

My peoples sang as did the Earth.
Till Gods trampled with a treble clef.
Our song, vex and history. The story 
and my tears, all I have left. 

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tags:

Seven Deaths*

Folder: 
Dusk's Rule

She begins her journey, walking out into the false lights,

Having adorned herself to an image of one beauty,

Ignoring advice, warnings, of the deranged, deceitful,

Only moments take a world to shatter, to fall, crumble,

Vile violence that erupts, volcanic, molten, and caustic,

Ash settles and all stand to judge events, eyes with their truths,

No longer stoned, but still blamed--more defenders emerge.

 

So memories fade and justice forgotten by dinner,

As it were only necessary to eat, than to starve,

Comfort of dining strains not like emptiness to the mind,

And so breath becomes harsh, labored, ignored but still feeding,

Should the old masters know the method of rule was to board,

Lest their reign of offspring come to an end they should provide,

'Til we are drugged by our own gluttony, mind numbed to sleep.

 

Hail the kings of the shadows who gather gold in dim light,

They squeeze more than their fathers for every ounce within all,

Now forego wisdom of sly, quiet, rule for godliness,

Deception of beliefs creates those who believe their worth,

How a poor man may believe one day he'll rule with them too,

Ultimate trickery unto the mind who believes such,

That only they produce,  deserving all silver & gold.

 

But still fed, bed in home, staring to dark light, 'til we're old,

Brains no longer brazenly curious, thought disappeared,

Bottled into media fed facts, fast meals the next thought,

Born to believe, no desire to question the stated truths,

Because the question begs why for, while sustained by full draught,

Become the rebel when not I suffers, the self right rules,

Before the eyes 'tis easier to turn head, than legs stand.

 

However, there are those who recognize and make demand,

Which calls forth the animosity of powers to be,

Striking peaceful protesters in pure misplaced mad power,

Only those who bow should not be struck, care not you or me,

So begins the slow awakening, threatened from above,

Should you wake from the slumber, risk being silenced, sliced, slain,

Strive, survive, to strike back against the slithering serpents.

 

Let peace find all, empowering light and love, leave out hate,

Lest it begin and bred again from desire from the dark,

Sight of the future, of those who had before, all items,

Don't fill the heart with poisoned wants promised from the fallen,

Corruption of the core, the cause caved and again sullen,

Green gems and glistening gold tugs at the shadows within,

Pulls purity out, so starts cycle of withering.

 

Fight against all sins that should make pride die, reborn hubris,

Disaster and desire are the same, anger and love,

Destructive and creative, we revere our reflections,

Hope glistens while despair darkens, balance our traits and talents,

Evolve, eradicate the unbalanced existences,

From monstrosity to magnificence humans emerge,

For that, pride may exist, but only an ounce, lead with love. 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

*May be altered to include more rhymes later. 

 

It may be a while until I can muster my might to come back and alter this, to polish it as it were. :P 

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The Tribe

Consider the tribe of shrewd and savage warriors who settled along the shore of a great lake. Though they were a violent people, they were also capable and intelligent, and sought development before they sought conquest. Farms were built that took advantage of the fresh water nearby. Forests were cut down and used for construction on mills, granaries and shrines to honor their brooding and temperamental Gods.

 

Soon they encountered neighboring settlements. There were persnickety city-states with endless demands, hordes of hungry, wayfaring brutes and the occasional representative from other, even mightier nations. Despite their ancestral bloodlust, the tribe resigned themselves to a temporarily-peaceful coexistence, and began dallying in small bouts of diplomacy and trade. After expanding, their resources dwindled, and they were unable to indulge in military campaigns due to constant raids - both on their own cities and those of their neighbors. So the tribesmen entrenched themselves in works of artistry and culture while building a small military force in order to protect themselves, as well as the lucrative settlements which had taught them the benefits of trade and commerce.

 

Once active, the meager grouping of soldiers quickly proved themselves in multiple battles. Their numbers were few, but each individual warrior was given intensive and brutal training, and their understanding of the local terrain gave them a keen edge over any interloper. Their work was cut out for them however, as dozens of temporary camps were discovered within their claimed lands - many still housing the bloodthirsty nomads which had built them. Because of this, the now-masterful fighting bands were forced to maintain constant patrols between their own territories and those of their tentative allies. Were they to neglect this responsibility, innocent citizens would likely become victimized, and their trade routes would remain stifled.

 

Elder members of the tribe grew restless. The roots of their beloved nation - once nourished by fearful tribute and the plunders of conquest - were now planted firmly in an area teeming with heterogeneous beliefs and cultures. They were a warlike people whose blood ran hot, so the elders claimed, and to exist passively while cavorting with other, more idealistic communities ran counter to everything they had ever known. In spite of these protests, the tribe continued to flourish; soon acquiring a reputation among lesser governing bodies as something of a protector from raiders, whose numbers they had thinned considerably. Their military forces remained minute and efficient, never having to overstep boundaries or bolster their numbers with new recruits. When passing near friendly settlements, they were often recognized, invited in, and treated lavishly by the grateful townspeople.

 

It was an unprecedented age of stability and progress. Having been forced to divert their latent tenacity to things beyond the scope of their fighting prowess; the newly-enlightened tribe was able to press on, making great strides in fields as diverse as music, architecture, and archaeology. They were touted as heroes and paragons of civilized virtue, and those who praised them began to emulate their society and its customs - even going so far as to adopt the tribe’s fledgling religion as their own. Iconic sculptures and captivating works of art were created by admirers both near and far, detailing the tribe’s emergence, the policies they had drafted and the era they had ushered in.

 

Though doomed to work against their formerly-barbarous lifestyle, the tribe had at last begun to truly relish in their civil and intellectual prosperity. Resource centers remained under siege, forcing the tribe’s elite fighting force to retaliate continuously. These interventions brought relief not only to their own people, but to other populations who, unbeknownst to the tribe’s leadership, had been in dire need of aid for some time. Their praises were sung as the tribe’s collective minds expanded. Among their growing population were scholars: born of the new age, and the first to be noted and celebrated in the history of their people. They were voracious for greater knowledge and insight, which only proved to strengthen cultural relations as they traveled the world, seeking great tomes, scriptures and historical treatises. Scientists, musicians, writers and explorers were lauded as figures of high aspiration - an ideal that differed greatly from the tribe’s former edict: valuing strength and ruthlessness above all else.

 

A new generation, born and raised under the zeitgeist of civility now imbuing itself in the tribe, eventually wrested control from their ailing predecessors. Those tribesmen who still clung to the antiquated principles of olden times were ostracized and barred from voicing their opinions on any and all matters of importance. Borders were opened to all but a few, and settlements were encouraged to diversify and expand. When threats of great conflict loomed overhead, the tribe could rely on the combined military strength of their allies for support, while retaining their own limited yet expert forces. These veteran soldiers would often act as advisers during wartime, regardless of the tribe’s involvement in the ordeal itself.

 

The world continued developing around them, using the now-legendary tribe’s example as an archetype for what makes a nation truly stand the test of time. They and their innumerable allies continued to provide mutual aid and support for each other through subsequent ages; staving off drought, threats of war and genocide and reversing the stagnation of lesser societies with little ability to help themselves. They continue to prosper whilst sharing their bounty with all who walk a path of peaceful concordance, and remain unopposed as the primary superpower in a world so often divided by petty strife.

 

Now, we must consider the tribe who had no choice but to cultivate themselves when their former way of life was stolen by fate. Their capital sits at the northernmost shore of a great lake, while the rest of the lake’s breadth has been encircled by affiliated cities and outposts. They relay supplies and information to one another, utilizing a vast, interconnected web of trade and commerce: this being the end result of a peaceful coexistence that was once imposed, and now embraced. And while their story must conclude, their history will continue writing itself — for the benefit of all the world, and for the individual, to study.

 

(Written by Robert D. Ventre II -- don't steal my shit)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I am without shame when I say that this was 100% inspired by a game of Civilization V I am currenly invested in. I'm actually in love with the overall concept (of a warlike nation forced to become diplomatic and progressive due to circumstances beyond their control) and am extremely proud of how quickly I belted out this little story (thanks, corporate lunch hour!). I may go so far as to take the premise, delve into much greater detail and turn it into a proper, historically-fictional story. Let me know if you would enjoy that.

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Abel de Larue - French Sorcerer

Folder: 
Demonology

Under influence of a Demon,

French Sorcerer, black dog.

Being known as The Smasher,

Not unlike the Desh...


 

Placed in a Franciscan monastery,

By his mother in her commandery.

He became enraged, abusing him,

By beating him, he plotted revenge.


 

He said a black spaniel appeared to him,

Promising to help him, going to his aid

Surrendering himself as in a raid.

 

Arrested on charges of Sorcery,

Spell casting, hatred and grief.


The Demon never rescued him,

For such forces of the law he can't win.

 

He was found guilty and hanged,

But his spirit was encouraged.


Now he hates even more,

Horror, destruction and gore.


 

[He was executed on July 20, 1582].

Author's Notes/Comments: 

In remembrance...

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Abracadabra

Folder: 
Poetry

Charms and Spells,

Misfortune tells.

Make something disappear,

No regret, no tear...


 

Magical inverted triangle,

Inscription do bear.

One letter dropped,

Forming a triangle.

Abracadabra it is!


 

Warding off the plague,

Corruption of a phrase.

Quintus Serenus Sammonicus;

Inventing the erase.


 

"Abhadda kedhabhra",

Disappear at once!

"Abreq ad habra",

Hurl your thunderbolt

Even unto death.


 

Abraxas; The Gnostic God;

Evil Eye! O, Charm of mine!

Corruption of a Demon,

Of long-forgotten history.


 

Hobgoblin word,

Puritan Minister Increase Mather.

Crowley believed else,

Possessing great power

In Abrahadabra itself!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about the magical word "Abracadabra".

The Plague's Maid

She split the world in twenty ways,

The day she stirred a deadly plague,

To rid the world of our sins.

 

Her mission plan was Out To Kill,

She claimed the lives of scum until

her illness broke from its chains.

 

Then her disease killed hoards for miles,

And she rejoiced Death for a while,

But then her mission backfired.

 

Her beauty died with countless young,

Her savage bloodlust reeked among

both the Hopeful and Damned.

 

Now the townsfolk live again,

Too scared to let that woman in,

So she waits until dark. 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Based on the Scandinavian legend "Pesta" 

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Black History Month

It's Black History Month,

so pay attention, fool!

 

Yea, yea, yea that's right!

 

I said it's Black History Month,

so shut your mouth,

and listen up now!

 

Pay tribute

to those amazy people.

 

Those amazing black people

who helped to shape our country,

yea, yea, that's what I said.

 

They risked their lift

to change the way this

country behaves!

 

Yea, yea, uh huh that's right!

 

So think about them,

that's all I'm asking!

Thank them for

the crap they went through!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Work in progress! Please let me know of any black person who you think deserves to be put into this!

Please let me know what you think!

What If?

What If?


It is the only question, 
Without seldom, 
A mind at stir has no exemption. 


What if I had? 
Would I still be sad, and mad? 
Or was it a chance at being glad? 

I wouldn't have cared if it lasted a tad. 


But I guess ive made my bed, 
And that's all there is to be said. 
For we walk our own path, 
But the roads we build will never last. 


Building forward and looking back, 
It's as though our compasses are outa wack. 
If only I could rewind, 
Relive the memories that are mine. 
To stand in their just one more time, 
Would be eternally sublime. 
été 

J. Wallace

2013


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