marauding foxes
mutilating fruit
minutemen mischief-makers
marching upon us
pick our pockets
laugh at our loss
“No mangoes for sale”
maimed, mangled, mashed
sweetness shamed
to death
ants and gnats feasting
off illicit mango chutney
sly scamps
evade
like Bolt-pace
their intake
of fruit sugars
insufficient for catching
robust diabetes
enfeebling the fiends
abducting limbs, or a pedactyl
soulful eyes stare with jeers
sailing
mimicking
bold breezes
through the trees
as I could never
in the canopy of my Caribbean youth
under mother's God-eye
girls outclimbed me
wearing puffy petticoats
and cumbersome cornrows
to perpetrate petite thefts
of mangoes
Spit out the clot of revenge
that kills your voice, that dries up world sympathy.
You have the right to resist -- to a limit.
Transgress and you're judged harshly by history.
Obey the law of conscience in your darkest hour
and survive the hurricane you instigated with your daring breakout from your
open prison, interlaced with illicit cruelty.
No Gazan voted you in power to set their homes on enemy fire! Where in Quran you find rationale for abducting women and children, for murdering whole families in cold blood?
The aura of 'Free Palestine' floats in another way with your self-inflicted wounds.
("Untitled - The Eye of Jihad", 2019, original encaustic)
Love is Love - and other absurd truisms
“Love is love” is like “Follow your bliss”
a way to deflect the moral agency
and subsequent consequence of our desires
with vague equivalency.
It’s like all love and bliss is somehow equal,
which is absurd.
What if my bliss comes from destroying yours?
Or I love abducting, raping, slicing and dicing
then barbecuing
the infant you love…?
Where is the moral equivalence?
This is why the Golden Rule sounds great
up until you are up against a masochist.
And the world today is apparently filled with masochists.
But it’s all good…
At least it feels good,
to think we are all the same, all equal
in what we love and cherish.
The truth is we aren’t.
We may all be made of the same dust,
but that doesn’t make us equal.
Meanwhile the world turns,
a hit soap-opera
in its nth season
spinning relentlessly
a veritable Wall of Death
which in its shocking extreme
delivers some kind of perverse pleasure.
It may not be bliss,
or even what we love,
but it’s certainly captivating.
(11/1/23)
With no end in sight and a year has passed.
Kremlin won’t admit their forces are gassed.
So they keep their foot on the wrong pedal.
Exhausting their labor and supply of metal.
Playing chicken with a globe full of enemies.
Moskow wealthy saw their accounts freeze.
Peaceful banks are refusing to aid and abet.
Forcing the powerful elite to do a full reset.
The world has endured enough nonsense.
The ICC is asking Putin to start his repents.
They issued his arrest warrant for crimes
Of atrocities against children many times.
Abducting and trafficking them into Russia.
Dealing low blows to their parents in militia.
Doing this thousands of times at his request.
Kidnapping hostages & executing the rest.
Without a conscience targeting defenseless.
Forming Barbaric creatures to be tasteless.
Now justice is being served by The Hague.
To put an end to this insane Soviet plague.
We should see Nuremberg Trials part two.
To see the bastards brought their hell due.
Ruining cities deserves equal punishment.
Payback earned for their missile rains sent.
Things That Wake Me Up
I sleep in my bed and get woken up by different things
But not all at once they get me one at a time
There’s the earthquake shaking the bed side to side
The need to take a piss when all I want is sleep
Bowel movements rumble griping me to get up
Time to go to work to do my slave job
A big ******** my urge to shag shag shag her now!
Rise and shine Nick it’s time to hike the hill
Smell of lovely bacon cooking ruins my sleep
No sleep as all keeps me awake so I find her
Zombies breaking down my door rouse me
Aliens abducting me thru the roof spook me
All this and more wakes me up now now now
All I want is to get some bloody sleep!
You’ll sleep when you’re dead lad…
Crows love an audience, not with people but with the gentle folk and others of their own kind .
and if their lucky it would be with jet her self.
My wife has taken to wearing heavy shoes upon my pleading because of the fondness the crows have for her skinny self ,
It doesn’t take a lot to make a crow laugh .
One just has to know what to say or do ,
My wife being such a weedy woman and I suspect part genetically related too the gentle folk anyway,
only has to turn sideways and appears to vanish from their noble view .
this has your average murder in stitches.
I’ll hear a fading squeal of delight as my thin woman is carried up aloft into the branches by and to preform for said murder .
I’m the one who has to rope up and retrieve my preforming wife every valiant time ,
if crows can shrug a dismissal ‘then that’s the very thing that greets me for my intrusion when I eventually reach the crown of that great oak
and then breathlessly exclaim “really “
So that is why
‘it’s always heavy shoes to be worn outside please (for her ),
as a way of deterring that ancient
Black feathered
Fan base abducting my thin wife ( Again).
Blessed with morning beauty...
Chirping mynas pecking nuts;
Jumping squirrels abducting nuts;
Pretend to be fighting as naughty
Yet they are sharing it's beauty.
Gallant is a white night.
Deceiving one with delight.
Beckoning with such might.
Obscuring our mind's sight.
Abducting all human rights.
Deluding our true plight.
Creating an endless fight.
Gripping souls so tight.
Distorting our foresight.
Gallant not this white night.
Hell, it will surely you unite.
Strength it takes to fight.
Time immortal, the master thief,
stealing tomorrow from the past
Abducting each moment, all life itself,
—today within its grasp
(Santa Fe New Mexico: February, 2019)
I walked by the old cafe on Rue De Sienne and heard an angel playing harp
a cherub an ethereal mome bewitching me and playing softly with my heart
she wore a halo made of gold, a soul that laddered up beyond the tarp
and as the fluent clouds rain-teared upon her alabaster tunic.... Art !
Each star a studded light inside her angel eyes of blue. Each note
commemorating, unfastening, abducting, a copious symphony of one
The buckling breeze became her muse I, a kite released in far remote
a Mystic with no malice in sight stringing up the moon and jealous sun.
June 20, 2018
The birds are our witnesses
The birds are our narrators
The birds are our revealers
The fire was burning
The smoke was rising
The bombs were bombing
The people were dying
The guns were sounding
The folks were weeping
The rapists were raping
The kidnapers were abducting
The killer were killing.
All bad things were gone
All good things are come
Untranquil land it was
Tranquil land it is.
Uneducated people they were
Educated people they are.
Country's blood lakes and rivers it had
Country's fresh lakes and rivers it have.
The birds have unguilty eyes
The birds have verity mouths.
The birds are so innocents.
The birds will verbalise forever!!
#EDM.
She had a single tear pooled in her green eyes
It's presence on her cheek, would never be
For she was so broken, she could no longer weep
Lost and lonely, unlucky in love and life
An unforgiving solitary existence, solely in her mind
Abducting every ounce of her being...to sustain her breathe in life
CLB520-2017
Elements Part II-Wind
Sponsor: Brian Davey
Brisk breeze beyond the bluster of the buzzes from bumblebees,
great gusts gifted and granted toward the garden full of greaves.
Coiling curves within curls created contingent upon the current,
tangled and torrential twines taking the sea towards the turrent.
High temperatures are hazardous while handling the blowing heat,
weaving winds will wander with or without natures wreathe.
Abducting air is absent while aligned after its zephyr ablazes,
fire forgives fearlessly as the lightening frees the winds uneven frazes.
~This poem is a mix of Alliteration and Couplet~
~Date Written: March 25, 2016~
Like runaway water
you run to meet your lover,
the death.
The hidden story,
spurts many questions.
You want the
severed head of the pen
back,to write the destiny.
The savage resurgence
of abducting-
the aurorean light,
will demand a
heavy price, since the
cease-fire had melted down.
The lotus-eaters
will decide to open
the scars.
Satish Verma
“Bring back our girls”: a silent whisper now the global anthem,
Re-echoing the opposing bells to our corrupt system
Is this the prospect sought-after by our patriotic gem?
Nigeria! Listen to the loud tears of your future stem,
Give joy to daughter-hood; salvage them.
But wait! Bombing at first now abducting,
And our tomorrow, they take liberty in destroying:
Creeping into our streets with arsenals uninviting;
Kai! Things are falling apart swiftly, as a mountain erupting.
Oh! Once upon a time in Chibok
Unraveling the serene puzzles gazing from our books;
Reading and playing to pass examination’s hook
Girls in tender uniforms with big dreams,
Insuring their future on the seedbed of academic teams,
Rain-date indeed! Absent from our schemes;
Little wonder you were abducted; as in Nollywood films,
Shai! Where is God in this scenario? It seems.
Related Poems