She rides into town with a storm as her steed
With clicking ice spurs, and rattling reins
With somber delivery and the bleak look of gloom
Bursting with pride as an old year must end
She shoves her way into the house, out of spite
A gloomy gray cloud, who brings her own blight
Leaving a trail of mistletoe dust
Building a nest out of leftover crumbs
Flapping her wings and spinning her looms
Strutting her youth at the stroke of midnight
She stalks on wet feet, with some snow on her boots
She shouts out the news that some taxes are due
No care in the world she makes us feel blue!
Her windows are dark, and her doorway is bare
She holds a firm grip, till the end of her stay
Yet, slowly and surely, against her advice
Intrudes the domain, as she watches creeks rise
Then comes the sun, of a warm winter's day
It thaws her cold grip, with frowns of surprise
With remorse, she announces... it's time for goodbye!
Copyright © Carrie Richards
red is the colour of her hair
an unnatural red
taken from a bottle
and red is the colour of her flair
where men stare
and she graciously models
her red is such a lovely thing
it has a ring and even sings
her red has it's own style
unseen for miles not on the dial
beneath the hair
a stern beautiful face
she's of her race
and carries a polished grace
some women look better
with their glare
forget the smile
that appears just once in a while
she stays just mostly to herself
guarding her wealth
her reverential status
and though she is fixed
with this aberration her sophistication
i give my admiration
Copyright © John Loving III
I lie in bed dreaming sweet dreams
Smooth sheets caress my body
Curled up with the one I love
You gently call my name
Whispering sweet nothings in my ear
Singing me the sweetest song
I turn over and I reach out for you
Don’t you just hate it when the radio alarm clock goes off?
22nd August 2014
Copyright © JAN ALLISON
The Spiritual wings'
Of Eternity there-by
Expands' with me and you
We sing the praises'
And totally abhor
His Holy sacrifice
We seek His wisdom
We seek it in His Name
Should we have did
What He had did
On the CROSS
The one in the same
Should it have ended that way
Could we have just stayed
The Man of the Cloth.....
Under different circumstances'
We all could have been lost
Fore The Lord is Thy Shepard
Could we have followed
In the name of the Lord
Give due praises'
And just let us pray!
We shall become Resurrect
Come Judgement day'
Copyright © Gary Fields
The terror of night; the terror of day,
The longest creature on earth and sea.
In length, I am fearful to men, In braveness, man worship me;
I have no hands non legs, yet I move faster than others.
In the garden, where I was; man was my friend,
Until Satan borrowed my name;
I gave my name to him without considering the future.
I am not the serpent that steal your dominion non your enemy.
I am in pains as you are; why do you fearfully refused to eat my meat?
Only those that knows my values embrace my meat.
In your markets I am unpopular in demand,
If you want to use me for shoe, Bags or social entertainments;
You don’t remember that you once rejected me.
On God of creation, when will you hear my cry?
The world is against me. Who will vindicate me?
I need my name back, my honor restored, my friendship with man back.
I need my legs and hands back, I am created as you are.
If I have my hands and legs, man will not call me evil.
I am the pride of beauty, my products in your markets speaks volumes;
In the rock, in the forest, in the cities, in zoos, in your sitting rooms I am there.
If you feared me, stop buying products, stop having me as pet.
I have my pains, you have yours, I never accused man of me not having legs or hands,
Yet you blacklist me.
O h my God, come with the wings of healing and heal my hands and legs.
I am one of your creatures , look down upon me and wipe away my tears.
If my legs and hands are kept inside, how can I praise you as others do?
My shining skin, that added beauty to me are your works,
Looking ahead, my future’s beauty reminds me of thy wondrous works.
Pastor Emmanuel Brown Omojevwe
Copyright © Alfred Emmanuel Brown
Peel back my skin & you will find bone.
Bone so white that it drarwfs the paper I scribble on now.
Just like your my bone.
Just like his bone.
Just like the bones of all of those who are black, yellow, red, purple & polka dotted,
my bones are nothing more than branches rooted deep in an idea.
An idea of a man filled with ideas.
Ideas which are seeds, seeds that when planted, grow when watered by heavenly droplets.
And when the rain falls, it will wash the dirt into the gutters & we will pretend that it was never even there.
Just like the innocent bloodshed of invisible African children.
Bloodshed in the name of love?
Bloodshed because men try too hard to be gods forgetting that when everyone at their feet are dead,
the only praises left will be of the voices left remaining inside of their own heads.
And yet we will do nothing about it, because far too many of us only believe life.
But in order to believe life
you must first live.
And living only exist on a dying man's bucket list.
So go ahead, jump out of airplanes in the name of your mother's fathers.
Look at your girlfriend guys.
Let her for once keep her clothes on.
Remember that she is somebody's daughter.
Tell that man or woman how you really feel.
Hold the door for someone you don't even know.
Tell somebody a secret that will let their heart grow;
Grow so large that it burst from them as a shout of joy!
And them let them catch fire and call it the spirit.
What spirit you ask? I know mine.
Not dad, but Father.
And my heart and mind when with You, even if your spirit aint mine, that alone I find is true love.
So go ahead. If you're a brother
be my brother. If you're a sister be my sister.
Cause what the world needs now is lots of smiling faces,
Very giving people
And every single one of us putting together the pieces of the puzzle called peace.
So peace my brothers.
Peace my sisters.
Tonight, let these rough cuts
make us into love wishers.
Copyright © Spenser Jones
I CALL YOUR NAME AND I DON'T GET AN ANSWER NOTHING BUT SILENCE.
I KEEP CALLING YOU HOPING THAT YOU WILL ANSWER BUT NO ONE IS THERE.
THE TEARS BEGIN TO FLOW FROM MY HEARTBROKEN FACE AND I AM BEGINNING TO FEEL ALL ALONE.
I CALL YOUR PHONE AND I GET NO ANSWER THE BOND THAT I THOUGHT WE HAD NEVER EXSISTED.
IT CAN NEVER BE BROKEN FOR THE FACT THAT IT NEVER EXSISTED.
I CALL YOUR NAME UNTIL I GET BLUE IN THE FACE WISHING FOR YOUR TENDER EMBRACE.
COULD THIS ALL BE IN VAIN COULD I BE SITTING HERE IN THE COLD AND RAIN.
DEVOTION IS MORE AND DEDICATION IS DEAD HOW CAN THIS BE WHEN WE WERE ALWAYS.
FREE LIKE A BIRD FLYING AROUND FLOATING THE CRISP SKY TRYING NOT TO CRY.
Copyright © Quondreika Cheatham
Moses and his sweet Molly Mouse
have a puzzling dilemma.
They have used all the names they know
from Marvalee to Maryemma.
They have followed all mouse name rules.
Each must begin with letter em.
After their hundreds of babies,
they have no more new names for them.
They can’t use Micky or Minnie,
for they know the unwritten rule.
Using gods or goddesses names
will make any mouse look a fool.
When Sally Squirrel comes to call,
the new mouse family to view,
they speak of their giant problem
and ask Sally, “What shall we do?”.
Sally swiftly offers to help,
but the fine ess names that she knows,
are rejected by the mouse pair,
“We surely can’t use one of those.”
Opie Oppossum arrives to ogle
and bring names with an oh or pee.
Moses objecting once again,
“They must start with an em, you see.”
Then Molly whispers to Moses.
“I will question Miss Mynah Bird.
Mynah is sure to remember
every em word she’s ever heard.”
Miss Mynah is very happy
to respond to their fervent plea.
She has a name for every child
they will live long enough to see.
There‘s Myra and Moira and Meg,
for the girl mice now in the nest..
Maurie and Mervin and Maleg,
are boy names passing the test.
The mouse pastor baptizes them
and as he pronounces each name,
Moses and Molly glow with pride.
Miss Mynah has saved them from shame.
Personification Moses and Molly Mouse, Sally Squirrel, Opie Oppossum, Mouse pastor
Miss Mynah Bird
Copyright © Joyce Johnson
My Name Is December
Hello dear one,
I have been a long time coming, but believe me when I tell you, “It’s worth the wait”. I mean that 'I'm worth waiting for. More about that later; but my arrival is really out of my control, as I have to wait my turn.
I am one of twelve, each of which has a different life span with a certain amount of days. I know. You think that our time is so short compared to your own span of uncertainty. But we are okay with the way we are, and we never debate our destiny with our maker. We take each day as they come, and make the best of each one whether it’s bright or not.
By the way, you look familiar and remind me of someone else I’ve seen before. Have we met? O, pardon me please. My name is December, and I must say that I’m not late, but I am the last. My name comes from the Latin word 'Decem' which means ‘ten’. I know that you are wondering why my name means ‘ten’ when I am presently the 12th month of the year. You must understand that I was the 10th month until my number was changed to the Gregorian Calendar from the Roman Calendar. Don’t you wish sometime that people would leave things the way they found them? Anyway, I still think that I am the most popular month of the year. More about that later.
I and all my siblings never cease to arrive each year at different times with various tasks. Some of us, 7 to be exact, live to be 31; 4 of us make it to 30; and for some reason, one of our brothers, February by name, lives to be 28; but occasionally, he gets stretched to 29. Please don’t ask me why, because I’m not that smart.
Did you know that I am the first month of winter in the Northern Hemisphere where I also have the shortest daylight hours of the year? And did you know that I am the first month of summer in the Southern Hemisphere where I also have the longest daylight hours of the year? I sure hope I got that right.
I don’t claim to be the most famous, though I really am. Please? Do not repeat that to my 11 siblings. I must say that perhaps more money is spent in my 31 day life span than any other month; more gifts are exchanged; lights are their brightest; more decorations are put up; and many people feel that a big fat guy name Santa Clause comes from the North Pole on Reindeers, bringing lots of toys to kids the world over. O, by the way, did I say that Christmas came in the month of December? And did I not tell you that l was worth the wait?
Copyright © curtis johnson
Its simply remarkable, the excitement I feel
When I am blessed with your dominating presence
I am easily drawn to you and immediately lost within you
Traveling glorious heights exploring the depths of many heavens
The sight of you promotes intense anticipation and extreme anxiety
Umm…I am easily overwhelmed by a hunger, too strong to resist
A tremendous desire for a need, to omnipotent and persistent to just dismiss
Without you, my rational thoughts and actions become elusive and impulsive
Emotionally, I am incoherent and unstable, besieged by a love so fragile but
Physically, I am deaden to the actual world around me
But reanimated mentally and spiritually to the fictional world that impounds me
Extreme chills and vigorous shaking spells, cleanses my flimsy body of any
During the absence of your efficacious aroma filling my lungs with love
I long for your intense inoculations
Baby, I must be tripping…please inject me with your venom
It’s what I want…it’s what I need and what I truly desire
I don’t care what they say or how they characterize me
All I know are the feelings we share together, you control my thoughts
And I …I…I passionately ignite your fire
I hear the rumors they call me weak and say I’m addicted to your love
I say, I’m addicted to your autonomy, honesty, loyalty and spiritual essence
We’re on another level, just you and me…I trust you with my life and you give me
a different version of life One of trust, freedom and understanding, without
Those other people fear change…they make such a big deal of change
When it’s really all the same…there are no differences whether white or black
My only disposition or concern is “why don’t I know your real name?”
For months now, we have been intimate lovers, yet I only know you as “CRACK!”
Copyright © Des Juan Richardson
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
Who prays for the nameless dead ?
Who names the nameless ?
Do john and jane doe, have a big family ?
Have you ever cried for the nameless,
or said good-bye to their souls ?
I died today, but i can't cry for my soul
I don't know my name, do you know me ?
You can cry for me, if you will!
Place your hand over my heart, pray for sunshine
When the sun comes, ask my name
I will always remember the feel of life,
if only for a short while
IT was warm and glowing, now dark and cold
MY eyes that could once see, are only blind
I feel no warmth, and see no light
Only thoughts of nameless and homeless souls
All lost to nameless places, yet to find home
Their cold eyes look upon my nameless soul
Now that i'am gone, do you remember my name ?
Can i now have a place to rest ?
Now that i know that i'am gone ?
I have been given my name !
Do you know it ?
Copyright © john griffis
He's called a Pistashe
Now isn't that a odd sounding name for a tree?
A more likely name would be Dashing
With his bold personality
He's not meek, or discreet
He has a daring streak!
He steals the limelight
From every other tree in sight!
It's not very humble, with all his pride
Standing out from the other's on our mountainside
But I must admit, he outshines the maple
He outshines the ash
With his bright, bold, red leaves
He's quite right to be rash....he's the Pistashe!
Copyright © Carrie Richards
Hello my name is Rose
Do you suppose I smell good to your nose?
Hello my name is Willow
Wouldn't you like to use me for your pillow?
Hello my name is Hyacinth
Don't you love my fragrant scent?
Hello my name is Daffodil
Why not place me on your window sill?
Hello my name is Sunflower
Do you know the Sun gives me power?
Hello my name is Violet
Why not enjoy me on your table set?
Hello my name is Gladiola
and I just want to say " Hola".
Copyright McCuen October 2008
Copyright © MC MC