Summer returns, reigning in glory
tempting my beanstalk to climb
and tiny fairies to faithfully fly,
laughing out loud all the while.
With lush trees twirling in full skirts,
and tulips trumpeting their joyful greetings,
sunrays parade in triumphant procession
of season’s enchanting magic.
I planted seeds of magic beans
in the garden and waited,
restless through spring’s fateful days
of warming soil and nurturing rain,
blushing with excitement in thoughts
of summer’s storybook adventures
vividly coming to life, hoping to wake
to the surprise of a beanstalk climbing miles high.
Then, May turned to June, June to a steamy
July, and I one morning dressed in the smiles
of a carefree little girl who could charm the bees
and listen closely to the melodies of songbirds,
knowing somehow this would be the day
to frolic free in the laughter of a forever sky
and bathe in my rippling mirage above
white, drifting clouds…where heavenly
breezes would cool my body and soul.
Summer magic created my climbing vine
while I slept dreamily through a stormy night,
cupping her hands to catch every drop of rain,
and she grew with the beanstalk from a lazy
day’s warm embrace to a magical kiss amongst
the brightest sun and sparkling stars. My fairytale
came to life until July turned to a feverish day
in August, and I, burning from within, woke to the end
of my storybook dream…
Then, as quickly as she came, summer’s magic was gone
with one strong gust of arctic air.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for PD's Magic Beans Contest, 1/5/15
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015
As I clutch the hand of the little girl
who walks in my shadow..
I dare to dream
As I gather my self-will, prepare to hold my
ground against even the slightest hint of danger..
I dare to dream
As I distance myself to look for progress,
the distance soon becomes a measure of my emptiness..
I dare to dream
As I look in the mirror, I see her now with
widespread wings and know that real change
is about to take place...
I dare to dream
Copyright © Christine Wessels | Year Posted 2007
It crept up on me by surprise.
You were like a gift from God.
So sweet and tender you were the perfect
You'd kiss me so softly touch me so gentle.
Every moment was like heaven.
I'd close my eyes only to think of you.
And open them only to realize it was a dream.
A dream is what you were.
A pigment of my imagination.
Every touch, Every kiss was just a halusination.
Everything I thought you were or could be left me hurt and
The man I've been waiting so long for.
The one that would love me like no other.
Not afraid to show any emotions.
I believe how deeply you loved and cared for me.
Only to find out you never existed.
Copyright © Dominick Perry | Year Posted 2006
Mountains stand like sentinels
Reaching for the edge of the sea
Keeping ever watchful eyes over me
I whisper my dreams into blue skies
As I watch the new upcoming dawn
Morning sun wraps me in her warmth
Closing my eyes I drift into the sun
Riding on the wings of an angel
I float and break free going
where dreams are meant to be
On the breath of the wind
With wings of silk the magical air
nurtured my spirit
Soothes my weary soul
In my triumphs, my defeats
In battles won and ones lost
I dream on the rivers of time
As feelings of peace overcomes.
Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2015
What does this resting lady?
She has done nothing but sleep lately.
She talks as she dreams.
She talks of lying on a flower bed
Trapped between two roaring streams,
With a log as a pillow for her head.
She wakes as night turns to day,
And in the morning wind the trees begin to sway.
As all the birds begin to flirt,
Two creatures emerge from the dirt;
One a smooth calm creature
The other rough, alive, and larger.
They approach her as she is caught in fright,
Because she knows not who to trust
They suddenly scream and start to fight,
All because of coveting lust,
To gain or lose the fair maiden.
Will it be the gentle or the heathen?
From their yelling she picks out names;
There is calm Sleep and Awake the untame.
Then they quickly race toward the stream,
To get to her before she ends her dream.
They take a step then leap ,and toss
Their bodies in that river non could cross.
She knows not who to help,
As they both begin to yelp.
"Do I save calm Sleep,
And let Awake brave the deep;
Or do I save Awake,
For sleep to break."
As she debates
To choose her mate,
She grabes for calm Sleep,
And begins to sink in the flowers, deep.
This dream of hers, she never will beat;
For she chooses the same forever to repeat...
Copyright © Isaiah Powell | Year Posted 2014
By John Weaver
Whenever I dream of my little girl she runs and shouts and plays
Like all the other children in all their boisterous ways
I see her skip, I see her trip; I hear her laugh and cry
Then when she’s had her fun, home she’ll run and into my arms she’ll fly
With a great big hug and a teasing tug, she’ll cuddle me close and say
‘Daddy I love you heaps and heaps’ in her cheeky little way.
Whenever I dream of my little girl, she’s healthy, fit and well
With eyes alight and a smile so bright it’s really hard to tell
That my dream is a wish and a longing, a hope for something new
For her life to be one that is normal and able-bodied too.
But then I awake and I have to forsake my dream for what is true
That she cannot walk and she cannot talk like the other children do
That she cannot shout and skip about and cuddle me close and say
The things she desperately wants to, yet in her own special way…
Instead she talks to me with her eyes and reassures me with her smile
That all is well and I can tell that she’s happy all the while
Knowing that one day in some magical way, we’ll play together and scheme
And sing and shout and skip about…in an everlasting dream.
Copyright © John Weaver | Year Posted 2014
Am I alive?
Or is this a dream too?
Sometimes I can't tell between the two.
Is this me?
Or am I not understanding what I see?
What can I do to really believe?
Awake, but exhausted from my second me.
Asleep, but awake trying to breathe.
I feel helpless at times in both of these vivid life's of mine.
These two distant personalities have a connection, but also separation.
If we believe life, then we should believe in dreams.
Copyright © Felisha Coon | Year Posted 2014
Blooming before us, like dandelions sprouting in the spring.
Rising above and beyond, invisible during the day,
Guardians at night.
Dangling up high as if it were puppets.
So close, mountains could give a kiss away.
The Stars dance and wiggle, as if putting on a play.
Clouds form a dark, grey, thunderstorm,
Clapping and roaring vividly, like an applause.
The wind glides along in appraise.
The moon shivers and squirms, it smiles upon the stars.
A shooting star evolves,
Leaving a trail of the dreams that sparkle in the dust.
Feeling pure joy, the
Moon erupts into a wall of tears.
Water breaks the bond of the dreams attached to the star,
It slowly sinks down into the homes, in the rooms,
Into the minds, of the beholder.
It has now lost its dreams.
The sun is rising, and the star at once must become invisible,
It now must start over and watch from above like a hawk.
It now must watch the lives of everyday people,
And become one with the beholder.
It now must take dreams and guard them with its life.
It now must take on its duty as a Dream-Catcher.
Copyright © Angel classified | Year Posted 2014
My fruit from the tree of love/
Branches of sweetness with no bravado our future’s fragrance is bravo/
I have no words without your rubbery skin and smooth lips/
I dished up smiles before your visit with no limits/
Though you grew in the woods/
Allow me to welcome you in my hood/
Life is drying up and dying rough/
Hunters peel any moving dressed up skins it’s no bluff/
Ship from your town to my township and that’s a tip/
Your fleshy vivid body sparkles predictable smiles and love from a distance trip/
Your body I would climb if you let me/
Your brunches I would massage if you let me/
I dream to seed your womb with vigorous multiple fruits till eternity/
I dream to rescue you from discarded cuddles and refrigerators/
Your cold days will be warm in my arms/
My avocado this is my shameless affectionate avow/
My heart holds no snakes, monkeys, scratchy cats, lizards or mythical wizards/
My tongue your shower/
My lips your perfume/
Your tears I will screen clean till they’re embittered no more/
And that’s a promise with a sexy salad/
Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013
Feeling of heart got melting
after dissoluting of pain.
Core of heart got dissoluted
when dullness of dreams of pain.
Happiness of heart is for a while
but sadness is for long time
with a pain of dissoluted heart.
Copyright © avnesh yadav | Year Posted 2014
My gold dream,
So out competing it's.
Sighted by a crowd.
Embraced by few.
Outrank on screen it's.
I love journalism!
Sounds of rockets in netherworld,
Not about to transfix a journalist,
But only sought-after,
I love journalism!
It's a dream in me,
A dream of gold and my cheese!
I want to fit in the press shoes,
Now I got to write, report and broadcast.
Journalism don't gravity me!
All Rights Reserved
© T.m.T scripts
Copyright © Bryan De Poet | Year Posted 2011
The Inner woman was a myth in eyes of the oppressed
Limited to one
To one that gives her life
The layers of her thoughts lay dipped in his hands
Controlling the pieces of what was hers and what was his
She was kept a secret
Making her beauty lay diminished in his arms of trust and deceit,
Her Wings clipped
Her Ambition sorrowed
Her Spirit locked
The Butterfly's land was
Complete, with unchallenged control
The oppressor dominates all,
She came into this world unknown,
She looks to the sky, for the infinite dream,
her guide is heart, the trust of her pride,
Looking for a way
To bring happiness to herself, in all ways possible
She's lost in the eyes of what beauty of isn't
Consumed by the walls that have for shaken , moved and grown her
Little did she know, she was growing power through slumber.
Underneath the blossoming flowers and the sweet nectar breeze, laid the beauty of divinity.
The flare of her voice
The span of her wings
The beauty she had within her
Is the greatest joy, that was brought upon this earth.
We lay and wait, to watch the Cocoon unfold,
This Is a war that our Little Butterfly is going in on her own,
She may stumble, she may fall
She will fight the oppressor in all
Her wings dented,
Her Spirit unsure of,
She is it still our Little Butterfly.
Copyright © Taylor Cathey | Year Posted 2015
Since I was a boy I have known of her . I've dreamed of her in my fantasies , I have visioned you in my thoughts.Never knowing why or how or
where she came from, Just she was there .Not ever did I see her face ,but I've known all the while of her beautiful smile. Eyes of an Angel , I can
see all the way to her soul. Hair that flows over her shoulders like a waterfall. . Just a dream in my head , my imagination gone wild , but I have
always known she would be mine one day , A goddess I will cherrish as my Queen and love her with all my heart. Spoil her with gifts and
treasures, what ever she likes .The girl of my dreams I have honestly seen .I have spoken to her and it is exactly as it was suppose to be . She's in
love with me. Oh and she is the prettiest thing, this woman thats always been in my dreams .I was put here to meet her and she to meet me . I have
always been in her dreams ,that's what she's been telling me . A match made in Heaven is what she claims, a love forever , a happiness for life , a
Joy in our hearts that makes our lives worth living. Every since I was a boy I have known her. This woman of my dreams.
Copyright © TIMOTHY CARTER | Year Posted 2013
I saw alchemy love gods in the hierarchy,
Testosterone that regulates sexual desire.
Phenyl ethylamine makes a person catchy,
Its effect is time-bound but not entire.
A love interest is signaled by Dopamine,
Your attention on the person is alright.
Your blood is set racing by Norepinephrine,
And prompts you for action ‘fight or flight’.
The control of moods goes with Serotonin,
And violent behavior is almost set light.
Released at the moment of orgasm Oxytocin,
Influences bonding between the two alright.
Suddenly awoke, many gods and paths that wind
If you don’t mind call me in case more you find.
Dr. Ram Mehta
4th place win
Contest Personifying science
Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2013
Words are pregnant
We as poets give them birth
We share their significance
We express their worth
Our words are positioned
Like a directors stage
They must be free
They cannot be caged
So we write about dreams
We write about hope
We try and see the big picture
The entire scope
In the beginning was the Word
Pencil and paper know more about me
Than family and friends
I have shared my goodness, my sin
My flaws and insecurities
All by the way of the mighty pen
Copyright © Lara Wash | Year Posted 2014
When a baby take birth in this synthetic world
The joyness of parents on peak happiest moment in world
After the passing time a baby get admired and enjoyness in all peak
Everyone in the worls who knows him love him care him on the peak
Time is passing chapters are now going to opened
With the youngness stress is started it may little home worked
Now the time to make baby to a young one in the world
Situation going to be reversed everyone aspected dreaming from him
Now the baby who give happiness to world is now symbol of sadness
Now the to fall in love searcing for that someone who care for him.
Finally foung his own love by someone
Now again the happiness is on peak
Chapter of happiness get closed with the time
Broken trust feeling emotion care and all such type of word
The word alone is best friend for him
Now the hates the everything even ownself
Feeling finished care finished aloneness get to admired
Life is now worst for him and the frustation take him to the heaven
Lifes chapeters continued how much happiness and how more much sadness
It all the thing get finished at the end of the boy in the world
Copyright © avnesh yadav | Year Posted 2014
Oh! What a day, a perfect day
Something is found, as the game is plaid,
Something precious and something good,
A precious toy with heart and soul
Here‘s a day with quite a spirit
A cetin man must buy some (purity)
While a cetin woman is quite exhausted
She tries to speak but make no sense
Oh! What the hell its wealth a while,
They are all relived it went so well.
Oh!!! What is that, a new world warrior
With a crocodile’s heart and the spirit of
A cat, and that’s because he’s a mix of both
A dangerous mixture you’ll ever face, in
His body run’s the blood of cannibals.
I talk about a wild beast, with shining eyes
Like twinkling stars, nails as sharp as Uncle Leo pat
Teeth as strong as ant Lacosta,
He’s a big cat in the sense of the word, but I can
Argue that he’s a croc as well,
Copyright © Matshidiso Mosia | Year Posted 2016
Quality TIME-Quality LIFE
I say time is money
I say time is life
I say time is death
I say time is precious
I say time is meaning
I say time is season
I say time is diamond
I say time is gold
How you use time determines the quality of life
I say how you use time measures your value
I say how you use time measures your impact
I say how you use time measures your life quality
I say how you use time measures your family quality
I say how you use time measure your love quality
I say how you use time measure your originality
I say how you use time measure your services quality
I say how you use time measure your product’s quality
I say how you use time measure your ministry quality
How you use time determines the quality of life
I say lack of purpose leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of vision leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of commitment leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of consistence leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of discipline leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of integrity leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of character leads to mismanagement of time
I say lack of Christ leads to lead mismanagement of time
How you use time determines the quality of life
The Timer is time, He controls time, Life is time, He control life
He is the first and the last-beginning and the end
He is eternity meaning time without measure-He is timeless
An Hour to Him is one year – a year to Him is an Hour
If you have the Timer, you will have all the time you need in the world
Copyright © Anthony Ngabwe | Year Posted 2015
The animals know better than us. The rain has never poured so loudly in a key so soft.
To the front, the sailing of city buses and mini vans cruising across in this weather makes the water underneath their tires sound like the street is crying out for 5 more minutes of sleep. Up above, the trees are protecting a nest of baby blue jays before they get washed away by the silence of their mother not being there. But with sky blue young spirits, and small empty stomachs, they keep hope alive in the fact that even children know storms and struggles don’t last forever.
Below the trees, nature has found a name to call it’s own. From the hole dug by the little boy next door, a family of three foxes have named human nature sanctuary, and burrowed their problems into the sediment to rest for a while.
To the side of the hole, a flock of ducks are swimming in the water with eyes open wide enough to where you can see their loyalty to love one another rushes wild.
To the right of the pond, caged up in a man made blanket, and lost in his own mind, is the boy. From what he remembers, last night was like a train accident; A head on collision of two people he could’ve sworn he saw holding hands just the other day. He hears the sound of plates shattering in C-minor, and the chorus of words that his parents screamed in F-sharp, so he imprisoned himself in his own bed sheets, accompanied by the courageous corduroy bear who he swears keeps hearing whisper “everything will be okay.”
It’s raining outside, and the crescendos of screams have been silenced by it’s peaceful security.
The boy, sleeps soundly now. The rain has protected his ears, and guarded his heart from being washed away by all of his nightmares.
He doesn’t care whether he wakes up. The baby blue jay, the resourceful fox and the brave little duck are all he wants to keep dreaming about.
Maybe he’ll run away into the rain? Or maybe into the arms if his mother?, whom he prays he can still recognize. To the left of his bed, he picked up the blank page of his coloring book and a crayon, and became a life long poet in that moment that morning. Taking a deep breath in, and giving a soft breath out, his first sentence was
“The animals know better than us.”
Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2012
When you sleep, it’s almost as if you were
alive, trailing down the pathways of your
subconscious like a sluggish tourist
without a camera. Like trying to capture
every moment between your hands that
hold past and present like dry sand,
without a basket to carry the future in
before the sea washes it away. Dreams
likes to play hide and seek with what lies
ahead, and you can never seem to tag the
back of it’s shirt without waking up first.
Your own worldwide web of thoughts and
aspirations all tangled together for you to
connect what’s right and what’s left.
What’s up and what’s down. What didn’t
happen and what should’ve happened.
You rise up as an archangelic composer
to a symphony that will perform when you
start paying attention to your life’s song a
little more. You construct skyscrapers
larger than the afterlife with the squinting
of your eyes, and connect earth and space
together without a single harmonic note
played, with the pinching of your thumb
and finger. You can fly farther than
sunlight decides to scatter! You can finally
beat up that bully who gave you that black
eye. You can jump halfway across the
world, land on a brick of the Berlin Wall,
and crush forever the division indifference
can bring. You can dive without oxygen.
Drive without a liscence. You can open up
the doors to a mansion as a gift for your
mom and see her smile again. But when
you’re waking up, you can tell. It doesn’t
matter where you are, you finally see that
every life has an ending when living on
this planet. You realize that science, math,
history and poetry become blood brothers
when your vision gets hazy, and the
beauty in front of you starts to melt. Your
passing is something they all can relate
to. But why not make your dreams
transfer into the account where reality
rests? Even in dreams you have the choice
to serve others or serve yourself. So when
you wake up each morning, why not ask
yourself where you’ll wake up next when
reality’s dream is spent.
Copyright © Spenser Jones | Year Posted 2013
Today I saw a bird in flight and began to wonder why
God made us to walk on earth and made the bird to fly
Then I began to think way back when I was just a kid
I often dreamed of flying then some time I think I did
I still can see me flying high while looking down below
oh' the dream it was so neat I wish it had been so
God had a plan for man and what he wanted him to be
it wasn't flying through the air or swimming in the sea
But now as I think back on this I see God's perfect plan
he never meant for beast or foul to take the place of man
Yes he made the birds to fly and made the beast to roam
but man he made to rule them all and walk the road alone
Then God saw that it was wrong not to give the man a mate
so he took a rib from Adam's side and women he did make
God put them in a garden there and took great care of them
now I think you know the rest what separated them from him
But God still had a plan for man and sent him Jesus Christ
and now we have to pray to him to forgive us of our past
now I still dream of flying high and know some day I can
when Jesus Christ will take us home forever to be with him
Copyright © Oma Bennett | Year Posted 2006
“This is the best of all possible worlds I hear, and you’re the master of your life”,
But when you count the closed shut doors, and look around you for a window,
Turn a rubik’s cube around and play with empty running rivers.
Mere stupidities and bottles with clichés will smear, right across the empty floor,
Tremble stupid kid! For cold, is just your empty sensation of fear.
This life is a wondrous gift, you’ll say; a challenge for the mighty heroes.
The good Pangloss in blood and flesh could not resist his own ideas.
You run and jump on sharp and blunt spears, to catch a glimpse of certitude.
But gravity, a law of nature, will keep you still in mortar shoes.
“Men have somehow corrupted Nature”, and I corrupt myself with dreams
But what is hope but a glorious strength, embedded in genetic attributes,
Like aids attacking healthy cells, will disappear. And let it go Candide!
You die a hundred times a year and fear, fear, fear another death, another life,
The grand pillars of values and potent righteousness,
You dare to believe in their existence.
It’s like the God you trust, but cannot see and cannot feel.
But do not be shaken, have no fear for this is just your own free will,
Oh Cunegonde of mine, you’re near, and every time I look you disappear!
Sometimes you search the absolutes of universe and wonder where,
Does God exist and what He’s doing when Cunegonde is flagged and raped?
Stumble on the rocky path on orators and chaste priests,
With tongue so sweet and gloried preachings,
But what they do in solitude with sharpen knifes in backs of infants?
Close your eyes oh sweet Candide, and dream away with no restraint,
And watch how all your hemispheres will tremble soaked in darks and lights.
If not your head can imagine life without a shadow or a tear,
You are corrupt Candide oh dear, but this is the best of all possible lives.
You kill even the ones you love the most, nothing is holy anymore.
Just the promise of Pangloss and the dream of Cunegonde.
Merge your coding to save a dear, stop on red, and do not litter!
For your punishment ‘s not in Hell, it is indeed the life you bare.
Pace yourself! In the New World, like a Columbus you’ll try to steer,
Your arms and legs but not your head, for it is damned for it is barren.
There is no sun, or air out here. You strive for breath in empty chores,
At least you have your Cunegonde I hear, but she is just another whore.
Who cursed her love for seven years, but plow your garden cher Candide!
For this is the best of all possible worlds.
Copyright © Anca Burdea | Year Posted 2012
Why do they do it?
Put up with chilling
winds and blinding
I try to warn them
but they don't listen.
Is it their ego that
blinds their fate?
Men always strive
to be at the top of
their game. This isn't
a game it's real.
They come by the
I do everything
I can to stop them,
but then again I'm
just here minding
my own business.
I've seen them
all loose their breath!
hands and feet!
Why do they want
to face death?
I have seen them
die. They still come.
I feel their special
steel shoes digging
into me! What I hate
most is their egotistical
mindset of conquering!
They are fools to
challenge me. I
Let me introduce
myself to you. Maybe
You have heard of me.
Mount Everest that is.
Please to meet you.
Michael Tor 10/5/2015
Copyright © michael tor | Year Posted 2015
My Oldest Brother
There is a story in the Bible about a young man name David who slew a giant name Goliath. My oldest brother was also name David, and he too slew several giants of a different kind. Please allow me to name just a few of the giants that my brother slew.
The name of the first giant was MR. POVERTY, and David slew that giant by being a hard worker. This David who was my oldest brother slew a lot of giants, and I think those who knew him would agree. David slew Mr. POVERTY by taking advantage of every good opportunity that came his way.
The name of the second giant was MR. MAKE US RICH, and he killed that giant by not spending his entire life making other people rich. In stead, he believed in himself and started his own business.
The name of the third giant was MR. RENT RECEIPTS, and he slew this giant by purchasing his own home and other properties. In so doing, he stopped receiving rental receipts and started giving them out to others.
The name of the fourth giant was MR. SELFISHNESS, and he destroyed this giant by helping other family members like myself to better themselves.
The name of the fifth giant was MR. I CAN'T, and he slew this giant by helping me and many others to realize our own success. The jump-start that he gave to others and me enabled us to go as far as our dreams would take us.
The sixth and last giant was name MR. BE LIKE US. My brother David killed this giant, and just like the David in the Bible, he cut his head completely off. This giant wanted everybody to be like him, and David did not try to be like everybody else. He just wanted to be himself and do things his way. I never knew if David had a favorite song, but if I had to guess, it would probably be Frank Sinatra’s song, "I DID IT MY WAY".
10/26/2013 (Contest, Older siblings)
Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2015
When i saw the people with incedible work tears are come
When i saw a person who lost his senses & try to recover mistakes tears are come
At the end of tear of sorrows & happiness going to diappear in life
Lonliness ignorance & rupturr of feeling cause death of life
Something is gone to be very heavy without tears that is heart
When person not fullfill need & deed than disappearance of a drop of tear comes from heart.
Copyright © avnesh yadav | Year Posted 2014
Copyright © Valentine Mbagu | Year Posted 2013
‘Tis winter season—
a bracing weather, foggy in its warmth.
The trees are drying, as bones,
gripping water from the winter soil.
It’s resting on an earth snow:
dancing in chilliness, dazedly.
it’s waiting for a poignant breath
that will give him soul.
To feel, once more, from being numb.
To warm his heart;
but the serenity and the turmoil have ended.
The dream is forgotten by the prized.
The dream is freezing the lover.
Copyright © Ray Angelo Ong | Year Posted 2008
I am looking for dream interpreters.
My name is Goodluck
Don’t swear yet please, don’t “****”
I am no president or “less”
Neither am I clueless
Parents christened me Goodluck
So if there be name sake as me
Well, that is bad luck
Like I said,
I am looking for dream interpreters.
I had a dream last night
I saw ancestors.
Breathing fire like dynamite
Asked me if I am insensitive
Or just clueless
Out of respect for ancestors, I asked them
‘Insensitive to or in what?’
“Insensitive to or in what???”
Was their angered response
“Even in this, you are still clueless”?
Their lead speaker asked
“Okay, fine! Mr. clueless” he continued
Under your watchful eyes
The plane you are saddled with,
Cries out for a pilot
For the auto-pilot can’t land it
And you are a clueless pilot
The ship you are saddled with
Cries out for a captain
For you have broken the compass
And an inevitable sink might come to pass”.
“Mr. clueless” he continued again
The streets of Jos,
Blood has become a river.
Have you seen the butchered women…
Have you seen the opened bowels…
Religious insurgencies on the instant
United Nations office and police headquarters
All crashed landed with a bang…bomb
Churches are smashed, even mosques
The blood rivers of Jos has flowed beyond us
Now, it’s a national flood above us
Yet your greed is on the oil well
You have weakness for debt accumulation
Your greatest height of insensitivity
What happened to profits of yester years?
Same old promise of good roads,
Good education, a better tomorrow
Yet, forty billion, a former house of reps
Single handedly stole it.
Are you leeches never ever tired of loots?
Or fear of insurgence of the deprived youths?
The people raped by empty promises of bandits
If you are in all these things clueless
Then our dreams for the country is hopeless
All leaders before you
Have creatively out done you
Hate has come to the surface
And you have lost your grace”.
Then from the dream, I woke up!
I need dream interpreters.
THIS POEM IS FOR THE NIGERIA PRESIDENT WHO CAN’T FEEL THE NEED OF THE NIGERIA PEOPLE
Copyright © Isioma Esemene | Year Posted 2012
Sometimes in my mind, a thought appears
I wish I could run like the lovely dears
Moving and grooving on the jungle beat
Dancing like Elvis on my feet
During a dark and dreadful night
I wish I could be a beam of light
Piercing through the sad time
Kicking the butt of the night time
On a later stage in my life
I can’t imagine anything
It’s cutting me like a knife
I just can’t live like that no more
It’s making my heart a hard core
At this time of life and age
I feel like there’s no rage
Now I feel like I’m totally wasted
My distant dream wasn’t long lasted
When there is a beginning, there has to be an end
A natural thing that I can’t offend
But I couldn’t imagine it so early
As for me, it’s very much dearly
Copyright © samrat sikri | Year Posted 2012
Today I’m free from slavery
Yet hatred still revolves in my life rev MLK had a dream
it was for darkness of hatred to be freed by the light
Dr king died doing his best so that people like me would have a better place to
A different world than the one he lived in everyday he wanted a change but It
seemed the more change was made the more most things stayed the same
Slavery ended and segregation and oppression began
The only difference was now we were not bonded but our rights as humans still
were. We were free to go wherever we pleased
But not free from disgust and hateful remarks
Signs that banned the colored from certain privileges
If people put as much energy in to love as that did with hatred
The world would be lovely
But it seems as thought that dream is a fantasy and
It seems as though history repeats itself
I’M SUPPOSE TO BE FREE!
With my 40 acres and a mule
Yet I’m held captive by hatred of people who think they can rule me,
Just because my skin was dark brown
It’s not going to happen because we have rights now
Hatred of people like me who think because one generation put chains on our
feet and lashes on our backs called us words that started with the letter n
referring to “blacks”
Listen to me, one bad apple don’t spoil the whole bunch
Black and white are two shades of beauty to me
Two five-letter words that mean my skin in darker than yours is light
Don’t try to stereotype me as a person who hates you because of the past
I look in to the future on to my freedom path
I can not be in despair about mistakes and bad judgment
I have to get over my feelings toward things that happened long ago
I can forgive, I just won’t forget or I will make the same mistake as other people
Copyright © Norey Bailey | Year Posted 2006