His mind has all the meaning of a madman that is screaming
Tortured and tormented, a life lived to be lamented
Drained and defeated, his family finally retreated
Leaving him believing that he was beyond redeeming
The doctors sent in spoke of hope and healing
The drugs they administered only made him more demented
Cemented is the feeling that his life is just an echo
Of an endless, timeless, all-consuming screaming
His best friend is a disproportioned bird, appropriately named buddy
Whose monotonous motion in drinking is somewhat soothing to his being
Though not potent enough to stop, the persistent pounding of the screaming
Often he stares into the emptiness of nothingness, contemplating the beauty
of its existence
Only to find his mind is drowning in a confounding conundrum he can’t quite
It’s hard to be philosophical when your mental testicles have fallen to the proper
So sometimes he whispers tongue twisters until his brain blisters
Madmen mask madness in the meticulous mastery of mindless tasks
Buddy was telling a troubling tale, of a dragon drunk off of some dwarven ale
Who through two days, threw up flames and burnt down the tavern and town
When the door to his room opened with a plume of plum perfume
In stepped an inept and unkempt nurse named Nancy
Her green eyes and fiery red hair caused his heart to flutter and flair with fancy
She had quite the quiet voice and was quick to trip over her own two feet
A bit naïve, she would easily believe anything she had heard or seen
He knew he would make her his, no matter the time nor energy
It was easy for him to pretend to be prim and proper
Just a mask to don in order to dupe his doctor
Circumventing the system that couldn’t save him
He was as he always had been and would be
In constant pain and agony with no desire for sympathy
Just in need of some freedom from his prison and medication
Meditation and mantras had given him the sentiment of a design
On how to inhibit the screaming, and maybe even end it
Four years plotting and planning the perfect moment of promise
A fire formed from a single flamed fueled from an accelerant
It raced through the halls, up the walls, over the ceiling, killing all the residents
Eighty-eight inmates and staff burned alive in what felt like an instant
Such little time to search through the bodies, looking for a single person
He found her on the fourth clinging to the bathroom faucet
He lost his virginity to the burnt corpse of Nurse Nancy
To his amazed mind, he was astonished to find, the screaming was silenced
just a note I cannot reduce the font so the lines fit without overlapping as they
do in stanza two
A vignette of domestic violence and the weird rationale of love amidst such
circumstances - adapted from how it was depicted to me by a female friend and
taken from her own personal experience.
I was defined china and porcelain,
Inlaid glass flowers and gently spoken;
Fragile in doe-eyed delicacy,
Pleading and begging not to be broken.
I loved him with total forgiveness,
Did not, could not, would not understand
The dark chaos mood of lability,
The spontaneous violence of his hand.
Blue and black bruises indecorously swelled
Question marks about tear brimmed eyes;
And I wept and despaired in confusion,
Smashed and grabbed by wherefores and whys.
How could he dream to hurt me so,
The brutish malediction of his touch?
How could he stand to hurt me so,
When he knew I loved him so much?
And now the years have drained away
Like sweeping veils of rain;
The agony of our breaking apart
Ever haunts me with anguish and pain.
I still see him some times,
Rarely, truly out of the blue,
On the old territory of familiar streets
When unconsciously passing through.
And always shook by the stalking truth,
A lancing bright-bladed knife,
And with dogmatic aching my heart lets me know
He was always the love of my life.
And I know there's no sense to be had
When I look to the heavens above,
Just the sad and lonely heart of the matter:
You never can choose whom to love.
Fraught with violation
Forever left in shame.
Folds of indignity
Fulfilling love denied.
*I feel very strongly about this topic.
Have been meaning to bring it up.
This Pleiades is short but meaningful.
Contest: Any Poem#29
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A.
A soul cries yet nobody hears him
They say he has neither a head nor limbs
But he has a soul and a spirit
Undesirable is the soul to be taken from the womb
A soul cries yet nobody hears him
His voice is so mild that no one can hear him
He’s damned for a crime he didn’t commit
No supplication and inspiration to share
A soul still cries yet nobody hears him
He has neither words nor songs to hymn
He’s languishing from a lashing whip
A victim to hatred, dubiety and immorality
A soul cries yet nobody seems to care
He pleas for his precious life to be spared
Yet with a mild voice no one will give an ear
With despair he cries and screams into the night
A soul cries yet this girl has turned a deaf ear
A voice tells her “eliminate him from here”
But a master fate will sometimes have it to be
The Dame escorted him six feet underground
The Poet Preacher © 2014
You have my soul, but you have your fate
Whatever your words, I’m willing to take
You have my word; I’ll give you my breath
It’s like a chain that would never be break
You are my love with all my heart,
I’ll fight for you with all my might.
And in the way, you admire your goals,
You hold my hands, but not so close.
As you go to your chosen path,
I’ll accept the fact that we will be apart.
In the dark side, I leave behind
Within my faith, that you’ll arise
Please don’t look back, coz I’m fighting still
I’m hurting so much! Don’t want to have you near
I accept my fate for what it does,
I’m bleeding so much, do you know for whom it was?
You reach your goals, as you want to have,
Would you remind the man that gave what he had?
As you reach the stars, and be the one
Be a sun that shines its own.
After the rain, the rainbow comes,
Like dark in the moon, when the light flash
A glimpse from you at least a short
For then I knew my pain is worth.
John F. Kennedy
The great 35th president of US
It wasn't really a success
He tried to stop the missile bases
There were lot of angry faces
When there was about to be a war
Peace was what he asked for
Texas was the place he was shot
Later, the criminal was caught
He didn't survive the pain
His people cried like the rain
Based on a true story from a television documentary on Human Trafficking...an international crime with participants from a broad spectrum of society...occuring on a daily basis. I have only seen documentaries on the trafficking of young girls between the ages of 5 and above!! Law enforcers, it seems are fighting a losing battle against the men and women who sell and enslave young girls and I have no doubt, young boys as well.
Somewhere this day on planet earth
A Mother-to-be, while in labor, cries
Not so much for the mounting pain
Nor the fear of possible death
So many fears for the future…
“What lies ahead in the coming years?
What “fate” will meet my child?”
And added to all her heightened fears is…
Will she be there to protect her child?
Those dark years have now passed into decades
When Tanya walked the shadowy streets of the city at late night
While kids her age slept peacefully in their beds
They made her dress up so she’d looked twenty one
Days were spent locked in a room, under watchful eyes
She was fed cheap fast food to her young heart’s content
Soon she'd lose all hope of liberation
This was the second man she had been sold to
And after a while she’d adapt to the situation
Still fresh in her mind was that last day at school
In her backpack was her favorite teddy bear
Her Mother had chosen to believe her step-father again
Now that her twelfth birthday would be in a month
As no one cared, she decided to run away
While at the bus station she met this “nice” couple
Who listened to every word she spoke
They promised her a ride to any place she wished
And she’d always wanted to see Disney land
“Maybe, she thought, it’d be a birthday treat”
However, that would be another promise broken
Weeks dragged on and they bought her “stuff”
Although treated well, sometimes she still felt alone
Then one day came the grown up clothes and make up
That night her innocence was stolen once more
Later she’d try to make an escape
Only to be caught and tied to the bed post
‘Make it easy on yourself and accept your “fate”, she was told
That was years ago, although it seems like yesterday,
When arrested by a new officer on the vice squad
Who saw the flaw in the picture before him
The pimp gave no reasonable answer to the simple question
‘Why are you parked late at night on the street corner with a minor?’
Looking back over the years, she came to conclude that “Fate” is just another word, made up to cast aside blame; when we do not want to see the path we’ve chosen which has led us to our present state
When Pilate symbolically washed his hands, though he had power in that moment to act..
When there before him stood truth and innocence,
Yet, he chose to make a comfortable bed for his conscience
Today, Tanya is a college graduate and a Mother who has vowed not to leave anything to “fate”. She’d teach her children to take responsibility for the choices they make…
She would teach them that no one is of lesser value than another..
Male or female; black or white, all hues; rich or poor
All have a God given right to live free!
For: Richard's "Girl Rising" Contest
(3rd Place Win)
Through the jungles of sick suburbia
He lustfully stalked his prey.
She was only young, a child of just ten
That he took and brutally feasted on.
Savage desires within compelled him
To befriend the pretty Grace;
She so died by his hand, cannibalistic
Urges he boasted were his thrill.
I do not know?
Fear is what they clothe them in.
Fear of losing their life because of one mistake.
Fear of losing their life because an officer is having
a bad day.
Some say it's not racism;
"It's police brutality."
Whatever you call it, I can't
help but ask "where is humanity?"
Mothers weeping because they're losing their sons.
Teaching them to fight back with silence
but that is no weapon compared to a gun.
Six feet under, leaving families to fight for justice
over their lives.
Societies getting tired of it all-
starting riots and constructing strikes.
How many more time will history repeat itself?
Or are we still writing [his]tory , using coverups
All lives matter despite of their race.
All lives matter despite their mistakes.
In times such as these justice will demand to be served.
No matter how chaotic, crazy, or obscured.
Life is a gift, one that we should all treasure.
Because all lives matter and we need to protect them;
no matter the measure.
An angel formed from
lake of purity,a gift to
darkest parts of hearts.
A chaste damsel,
untouched rose from the
garden of the elves.
Sent to earth,made an
abode in a gentleman's
cherished and loved.
As time travelled,another
fella whom she trusted
lured her to un-saintly act
Her pride laid on altar of
dishonor and infidelity.
Her life she almost
snuffed,she feared the
love of her true love
would be lost. Alas! bond
of love is indivisible.
Shattered,with a broken
spirit she tries to mend
the pieces....on the
shoulder of her lover she
leans,hoping to soothe
her bruised heart.
A true story,a close
pretty lady friend of mine
was raped by her family
called her and told her
his mum was very sick.
She called me and
confided in me .
Don't know whether to
encourage her to call the
Was it said before? Sure.
Was it said this way? I doubt it.
Perspective is in no way obscure,
And his works are nothing without it.
His motivation’s observed in daily life,
Misery, not just some vague inspiration.
He begs for reason, some way to lessen strife;
His words reflect a resounding desperation.
There seems a need at times to clarify,
But that’s allowed in his terms only;
So many thoughts seem somewhat ‘rarefied’,
Fed his fire, but made him lonely.
No ‘underachiever’, not just another fool,
But still seeking solace by the glass;
Tempering his stagger and his drool
With just a bit of ‘kiss my ass.’
But, usually, genius ‘sots’ come to ground,
Lucid moments - on the square;
Their driving ‘bolts’ of genius, word or sound,
Only written because they dare.
Yes, you can feel the written “heart”,
But few of us can realize that sort of pain;
No isolated misery… of many lives a part,
Each begs an answer... “Who’ll stop the rain?”
Yes, he’s lived it, seen it, and told it well;
But Timing is the Master of one’s Fate.
Is the timing right? Funny…only time will tell…
Will you will be a whining sot or dare to be great?
One success can be lucky, we’ve seen that before.
One book, one song, then quietly fade away.
But six novels later, we should know the score;
He must have had something to say.
So, at the perfect time, someone heard.
Someone who was “someone” took someone under wing.
And to those with interest and empathy, they sold his words;
Saying they “are genius” and with “ugly truth” they ring.
But did he create any redeeming changes or impacts?
Yes, what singular influence did all his artful whining bring?
None... just a relentless, repetitive diatribe of sad facts.
Oh, yes…..and a little “ching ching”.
Entered in the "Idiot or Genius" contest 27 March 2014
not so genius
FOES AND FRIENDS (D’SCRIPT)
It all happened so sudden and so perfect
Just like a script, no single line was missed
Just like a stage, everybody played their own part
It was a free role; everybody was free to play their best part
To the best of profession; the drama went so professionally
In this stage, the protagonist made the decision of his worst fears
He chose the path of slaying every single dragon that is haunting him
He started off with the little dragons that breathe no fire but haunts him
It didn’t start off well and it ended up so tragically a movie
In the very end; Foes got separated from friends.
Many antagonists; one protagonist
So many things to endure; one heart
Endurance became too much a burden
In a twinkle of an eye, it all exploded
Intimidation got in line, no more patience
It is a war; a fight for pride and self-redemption
Friendship torn apart, there is no let go
Everybody was right but someone was wrong
To every right thing; the wrong tongue made a speech
In the very end; Foes got separated from friends.
Fate does not have an escape; it’s a final destination
Fate plays its role to the end; it’s a ghost protocol mission
Sometimes it is good the bad things happen and something new learnt
To every bad situation, there is a good lesson; that’s what I meant
Friendship is more expensive to money; thought the wise said so
In trouble, money the issue, friends run away; the fool proved so
There will always be misunderstandings; cases will always be settled
To some misunderstandings, no understanding; some cases can’t be settled
Everything will never be the same as before even if the friendship continues
Foes and Friends; The script still continues…
Oh,what a hectic month
Oh what a month it’s been
Two lots of relies came
Over from the old country
It’s been a frantic game
I’m not used to all this stuff
But I’m glad it all took place
Although it was real hectic
No frown did crease my face.
One trip to Margaret River
Wow! This, it was a blast
We toured those rich surroundings
Till we went home at last
Then the darned flue knocked me down
And I spent some time in bed
And then I put my back out
As I banged my bloody head.
It seemed that I was on the mend
But my computer shat itself
I lost both poems, and photos
They’re the sum of all my wealth
Thank God I got the poems back
Alas, but not the photos
I guess I lost them, all of them
But this is how it goes
It’s been some heavy karma
That’s all that I can say
But now that it’s all over
I feel real fine today
So it’s back to meditation
And working on my soul
It’s time to get some relaxation
And once more feeling whole
23 October 2013 @1450hrs.
I saw a man once on TV
He was hunting grizzly bear
Then bear, he got the upper hand
And blood was everywhere
That man was in an awful state
But I lacked in sympathy
You live by sword, you die by sword
That’s just the way it be.
I knew a man, a fisherman
He hunted for big fish
But when his boat did over turn
He never got his wish
Cause big shark came and took his life
And Karma, it was done
It seems that this time hunter lost
And mother nature won.
It seems some folk are low on soul
And only live to kill
I have no sympathy for these
And nor I ever will
When the game gets turned around
They’ve only they to blame
Because they gained their pleasure from
This heartless killing game.
It comes back to me in solemnity,
And I wistfully wish it wouldn't.
A willful case of killing it was—
A hunter doing what he shouldn't.
Father had taken me deer hunting,
Thinking to make a man of a boy.
I prayed we wouldn't see a deer.
And we didn't—not one—such joy!
Daylight was dimming to dusk
When he said our hunt had ended.
We started down the rocky trail,
And at a turn—we froze, suspended.
A hunter was positioned to shoot,
Crouched, rifle cradled with skill.
Target? A shiny-eyed rabbit
Happily nibbling a leafy meal.
"Oh, don't," I felt to cry out,
But then a c-r-a-c-k cricked the air.
The place where the rabbit had been
Was as if nothing were ever there.
"He missed," my glad heart sang;
"The rabbit's alive and is all right."
But the hunter's face was fulsome,
Albeit bleared by an odious blight.
As we came by the spot, I retched;
The brush was garnished with gore.
Father's silence tracked the truth;
We wouldn't go hunting any more.
How to conceive of such blood thirst—
Wanton killing as an act of pleasure.
I trust, however, for those so cursed
Deity will answer in certain measure.
I am silent although this monster
of my isolated life seems to hear
my thoughts, smell my fear and
taste my hate.
Suddenly I am pushed against
a wall gasping from utter pain.
Held by my neck I feel a fist
clashing against my tender face.
I fall, blood pours from my mouth
and now cracked lips.
I try to run but I am stopped with
my hair being pulled with such
force that I scream from the
top of my lungs.
It drags me to the bedroom,
my face constantly in pain
from the ever repeating hits.
Suddenly I feel my legs being
widened, I scream once more.
I struggle to close them,
tears of pain and utter hate
rapidly run down my now
they burn my wounds like acid.
I feel something penetrating
inside of me, I scream once again,
it is of no use, no one seems to
notice or simply hear.
It pulls itself out of me and kicks
my tender side,
still I lie here on this floor feeling
dirty and ashamed,
ashamed of my own self and
I shall never escape this monster's
presence for he has eroded my
free will and inner strength.
Fear controls my thoughts.
Until I embrace the truth my life
is impounded by domestic violence,
never to be freed,
never to be seen and never to be
one with the glory of hope.
I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear
Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm
When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane
I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes
I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries
I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs
As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call
With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay
Attainment of success, stardom and fame
Remains the ultimate dream of many
Who seek the publication of their name
Upon the future pages of history
The journey to such a destination
Requires effort and dedication
Those who at last gain such recognition
Enjoy a well deserved satisfaction
Some celebrities who make this journey
Find coping with this new life can be rough
There's an invasion of their privacy
And the demands of stardom can be tough
They then turn to some drug to ease the stress
Whether it's alcohol or other stuff
Soon their entire life can become a mess
And dealing with it's pressures can be rough
Bouts of anxiety and depression
Are what they have to endure constantly
Some develop a serious addiction
That may lead to suicidial tendency
Women tend to choose a gentler ending
Like drug overdose or a means that's neat
Some may opt to end it all by hanging
Mindful not to mess up the body sheath
Some men go for a violent ending
By putting a bullet through their own head
Others jump off a bridge or tall building
Seeking to ensure that they will be dead
Those aspiring to fame and stardom
Pursue your dream and goal diligently
Just be mindful of how things can become
And seek to be guided accordingly
Whitney Houston(singer, actress) – drug overdose
L'Wren Scott(fashion designer, model) - hanging
Kurt Cobain(singer, songwriter) – bullet to head
Tony Scott(Academy award winning actor) – jumped off bridge
When wind’s silence
heralds boundless oblivion
and the trembles of cracked earth
raise the dust of tears
dried by the boundless footfalls
of sallow flesh
When a thread of gold
brings unearthly thought
and the misconception
of suns fallen
drives foolish men to their knees
in unending tremors
An army of one
frees the air from his fingertips
and stays not his opal blade
as it bites the rotted gray necks
of kings released from their wrongful bliss
by his trembling palms
An army of one
unconstrained by nature’s volume
freed by the sin of his naivety
yet, bound by earth’s oldest secret
as the scarlet sun weeps
its bloodied tears
An army of one
his cloak worn through
by the acid blood of his deception
and his bones stilled;
the branches of a dying oak
which no longer caress the wind
Your words are like stones
Whether skipped or thrown
They fly alone
Bruising and breaking deeper than bones
Yet pain from these stones will never be shown.
Whether near or far
She'll faithfully wait
Till the unknown date
When those stones are kind and lost of hate
You make mistakes
Yes she can relate
But what if the pain becomes to great
Whe the kindness comes too late
Such small pieces of her heart
whats left to make
She gave to much
Now there's none to take
Just one everlasting ache
That your stones did create
They say you can never retake
A women's heart once it breaks
So next time withhold the quake
Your stones with take
And keep this lesson
As a dear keepsake.
<3 Kalee Lynn
More things can happen or could have happened,
From a cold metal,
Sharpened in fine fettle,
Making skin nettled,
Damaging the mettles,
To keep minds unsettled,
Provoking to ask, if this is or if this was real or mental?
Blade on arms,
Skin might be harmed;
Skin was gashed,
Blade grinding and gnashed,
Red colors coming in a flash...
Blade on gut,
Feeling a sudden jut,
Provoked as a rut,
But, this was a guff...
Blade on neck,
Thinking about a sudden sweep,
Discord trying to overcome conviction and peace,
Even though, the blade failed again,
Failing to provoke the red gushes and streams...
Blade on heart,
Might be the last battle so far,
Trying to not give in, being so hard,
Though in the past, there could have been to many cuts,
And more deadly slashes,
Creating red splashes and plashes,
As I slowly might have fought, winning or losing,
Against the sleeping and life flashing feeling,
As I bleeded out..
Life is hard, tough, rough, like a brilo-pad
Growing up, street smart was all I had
I had no choice but to turn to the hood
It's difficult trying to change for the good
What do you do when there's nowhere to turn?
Before you decide, look back, what did you learn?
Out-of-control, like an untamed beast
If I should fall, I'm gon' rise like yeast
Got the game in submission, fools better tap-out
On the road to success, ya'll on a different route
I'm shootin' up haters, more than a heroin addict
Ain't talking 'bout electricity, but it helps prevent static
Like a ship's anchor, I'm gon' hold it down
No matter the outcome, I'ma' stand my ground
I tried turning right, but end up going left
Already living in hell, so what's worst after death
Fast life, gotta' slow down, like I'm in a school zone
Made amends with people I ripped off, like clothes being sown
Searching life's meaning, can't find it in the dictionary
Gotta' change, or end up caged like a canary
Got a pocket full of green, like a bowl filled with lettuce
Satisfied, 'bout to end my run, so roll-the-credits
A woman walked up to me asking, “Is there anything I could do for my black eye?” I stood there for a moment, “Well…” There wasn’t much that I could tell her to do besides letting it heal knowing that time is and forever will be against us and pain just slows the process.
She stated,” It has me feeling…” I was puzzled looking into her eyes, I asked,” Feeling what?” Noticing a black line under her left eye and the right slightly bruised.
She continued, “I’ve chosen certain things in my life and I don’t understand why, crying doesn’t help my heart from hurting. Unable to remove scars you know, from my heart. The pain to real sometimes and I’m blinded, look at my eyes. Scared by tears and a hand that I once kissed. My protector, the man I thought that shown genuine love, turned on me and without second thoughts. As he hit me…I played back the moments in which he said he loved me, kissing me daily telling me how much he misses me. Love made gave us a beautiful daughter in which I can’t explain to her when she asks, “Where daddy?” I have no more fear because it’s passed that, I’m broken. Make up and shades does not cover how he made me feel with his hands around my neck, and I still can’t tell you what I’ve done wrong besides loving him. Was it enough? Verbal aggression rose to another level because I took it for years, because you know what they say about love?”
She paused, shaking her head…” So my black eyes, bruised skin and broken heart, what can I do?”
I stated,” Time…” As she walked away.
With my men holding our flag high,
we storm a school and hold the children
captive, handling them like enemy soldiers
they are not, as they cry and scream, some
probably living with trauma for the rest of their lives
“I am a hero of war!’’ Is that what my countrymen think of me?
As smoke of explosions and burning cities fills the air,
we indiscriminately shoot on whoever is coming close
to us, in the end realizing that we have shot mostly
innocent civilians who have nothing to do with the war,
after the smoke has partially cleared out in the air
As I cautiously walk ahead to ensure that all the enemy soldiers are dead, my boots feel a bump; a hand of a woman holding a white flag for peace, as white as snow, with her clothes drenched in blood
“I am a hero of war!” Is that what my countrymen think of me?
Before the sun sets, my men and I sit around
a bonfire and plan our next move and next
attack on the enemy, without realizing that
the enemy is war, brought about by hatred
by people who we call leaders
“I am a hero of war!” Is that what my countrymen think
Name: Teddy Kimathi
Contest Name: The Poet III
I do not know?
I have no want to help in technical progression.
With 6 billion and counting. Let someone else do it.
I have no stride to conquer the universe.
This world is our home.
With endless areas to know on your own.
Without their help.
Three lives open this door.
And no matter what.
Only one of those three will truly close it.
And I do not even curtsy the thought
of seeing anyone of you there.
When I get to tomorrow.
A priceless restitution.
For a fingerprint journey of, actually, desolution.
Its not mad, prince.
Or sad, princess.
Fate is a fable.
Your life is not a story.
Billions of invisible hands. Like any farmers field.
Holding on to a bar with weird engravings
Etched into it.
All of the answers are in the palm of your hands.
If only our eyes could read them. Plucked.
Oh if only we hadn't been fixed.
The garden is very much here.
But when the mother passes out.
And you are separated in concerns for your health.
You are secretly given the deserts map.
Of only left turns forever a turn is coming ahead.
There is not nature living with us here.
In the place that we are in.
That is not comfort that you are feeling within.
Its the god of mirage. Leaving us staring blank-less.
Into a corner of black. Not darkness.
Well! My gums play a gymnast.
My teeth reverse the up and down!
Why not eat your own flesh, indulge in yourself.
Just on the very edge of the desert bashes
a soundproof completed tsunami ocean.
Where men have always succumbed.
Too terrified to go on with exploration.
There is more than this
Your soul is a great dance.
Not a history lesson.
You think you’ve gone just far enough,
I could smile knowing you’ve gone far enough that you can’t go back again
You think you were careful but,
I’ve caught a glimpse of your true, wretched form
You think you can find a way into my good graces
I’ve seen what you are, monsters with a friendly costume
You can’t deceive me anymore and, I don’t consort with serpents
You think I’m a game to be played but, trust me, you could never win
Don’t underestimate me
You think I’m a joke but, trust me you won’t be laughing
You think I’m just talking myself up but, trust me, you’re the ones going down
My eyes took too long to adjust
Better late than never
It may take a monster to know one but, I promise my teeth are sharper than yours
My first reaction to the hideous revelation that was your form was to weep
Fall to my knees, maybe even wretch my heart from my chest and onto the carpet
Then I thought about the mess it would make
I decided the only blood that will spill, will be your own
I was not weak, but I had a weakness
A heart of soft gold stitched to my sleeve with care
Now my heart is a stone so heavy
I could kill at least two birds at once
Being the nice guy is a thing of the past
Thanks for freeing me of that softness
You thought I was all sunshine and delicate things
When really I had just been swallowing razor blades
Now that sun is setting and I hope you see it was you who were wrong
Can you feel my darkness coming, because it’s eager to hold you
If you thought I was the one who would just stand still or turn to run
Your gonna be the one with tired feet
I’m not sad anymore
Just sick with the plague of your lies
Contagious, and I’m looking for someone to kiss
Even angels can make themselves wicked
When we do, we take no prisoners
Still think I’m a game
This one is just beginning
The joy of the pheasant shoot.
Getting set for the big event
The good folk do their stuff
They beat the earth with sticks, do they?
With their little dogs so tough
They flush those pheasants from the scrub
So all can have some fun
Killing them with smiling faces
As they fire beloved guns.
Then as the pheasants in a panic
They bolt into the sky
Our hero’s with their guns in hand
Make sure that hundreds die
As the air is filled with the cracking sounds
As birds fall all around
Just so these fools can get there jollies
These corpses cover ground.
I wonder sometimes if these hero’s
Have any souls at all
That they could get such satisfaction
Doing these acts so cruel
Sometimes it leaves me speechless
At the way folk get their pleasure
Killing beauty just for fun
Is an ugly kind of leisure.
10 September 2013 @ 1340hrs
Born into poverty
Instead of heraldry
Disappointment struck me glum
Square peg in a round hole
Ends up on the dole*
Got no money and I want some
My nights of abandon
Were strictly rationed
Contraception isn't cheap
Then into these drab nights
No warmth and no lights
Fed up of counting sheep
You came and you stained
the sheets and the bed frame
Your self indulgence left me sore
You left me white
and a terrible sight
But still I craved for more
But if I had money
You'd stick with me honey
You wouldn't leave me in this mess
But I'm just a pauper
Can't support a daughter
(Finances) stretch to a budgie at best
Well she cut her hair
and dated a millionaire
Splashing cash has such allure
But, he beats her senseless
Then buys her a new dress
She's not happy, but she's 'secure'
He has and I have not
I want what he's got
The irony is - I had it once
He went to Cambridge and Eton
He's got me down and beaten
He's left me feeling such a dunce
The moral then sonny
Is those who have money
Will always get the best of both worlds
So if your not rich
Then life's a b***h
So go find yourself a rich girl
*old fashioned term for social security payments in the UK.
[This is actually a song rather than a poem, which I wrote almost 30 years ago - when I was full of angst and acne! Can't find or remember the music I wrote for it though - shame]
The chook defense
Now I’m no vegetarian
Though I’d like that this could be
At seventy I’ll never change
So I’m just stuck with me
And I really love’s me chook
In every kind of way
But now I’m in the mood I’m in
I just have this to say…..
If we’re going to eat these chooks
Don’t we owe them some respect
We treat them like commodities
But what I might reflect
Is, if we treat these creatures thus
That God placed on this earth
Then we neglect our very souls
And too our own self worth.
Those birds are treated so damn mean
How can one understand
This cruelty, are we then humane?
It don’t look too damn grand
And where’s the goodness in a food
That’s never seen the sun
So when we treat these birds like this
What damage have we done?
That chicken flue was scary, once
But who knows much at all
About the karma that can come
From things, unnatural.
It’s time for changes in this world
When dosh is not the ‘all’
And then humane might be a word
That’s truly wonderful
10 July 2013 @ 1301hrs.
The Martyr Girl
Arabic Poem by: Jasem Al-Khafaji*
Translated into English by:
Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
In your absence,
Dreariness, in every class,
Has been the prayer of the break..
Every teacher calls your name,
His voice falls slaughtered, in pain, on his lips..
In every standing and every sitting,
Your class condoles with your desk..
Without you there, the schoolyard feels empty
The bell sounds strangled as it tolls for you..
Oh, grief of all schools!
Oh, weariness of all lessons!
Too young to be gone..
Your mother wished to see you a bride..
Vacant was your stand in the lines and rows
For the flag ceremony
The flag was raised..
The blackboard is missing your words
Saddened with no words to spell
“Dar” … “Door”
When your braid caught fire,
The kids tried to put it off with your bookcase
Their hands were too small to carry water..
May God help your mother..
Your mother, who, in her grief, turned white,
Like daylight upon your coffin
Your mother, who, with slaps of grief,
Drew skipping squares on her cheeks
Your mother, who raised your hand in prayer to God
Your mother, who used to come to get you,
At the end of the school day
Your mother, who, not even once,
Received a teacher’s note complaining about you
Your mother, who is wrapping ribbons
Around your pictures
In madness after you
God help your mother, who, in her grief,
Turned white like daylight upon your coffin..
O God, May all bombs be paralyzed,
And all blasts be blinded!
* Jasem Al-Khafaji is a poet from Iraq,
The poem is in Iraqi folks spoken dialect