This place, a dirty concrete beast
that only washes when it rains
and smells of wino piss in drains
or overheated streets,
which meets the sea to dip its tongue
and spew a tide of rubbish to the waves,
a noisy armadillo filled with human fleas
that thrive upon its armoured back,
to fill each crack and notch of skin,
existing on the heart that beats within its roaring chest,
and yet for all its whistling taxi noise,
it has a faded pizza scented charm
which does not rest
except for four am when all is calm,
the time I like this grand old girl the best.
You...are more than everything and anything,
An actress that is perfect for any scene.
You...are the reason my heart beats like a "gbedu"
A love, stronger than the nupe voodoo;
"Anipe..." You...are the rays of the sun bright and shiny
A mighty queen that make others look tiny.
You...are the reason the earth revolves,
The reason that my all my problem resolves;
"Orekelewa, " You ...are the edges of my sharpened dagger
That has slain those who dared to touch our ladder.
A prayer warrior that evokes fire to quench them all,
You ....are the reason "Alayinde" is standing tall;
You...are the best amongst the rest,
I wear your love around like an armoured vest.
Niggyraslife 2026
Andromedan castles
moat has little blue boats
servers are maidens joyed
white iris gardens
deep canyons
radars aimed
soft cadence
magnet minds
love balanced
Orion forts marbled
shining with platinum bands
armoured Galactics cruel
stone and steel makes head reel
bold barons
orlon vests
high pylons
canon shots
warring sons
______________________________
"Angel Wings, Amusement Park Mouth"
Dark horses
aren’t necessarily angels
wrung out poets more like
unblessed prodigals
soaking in their own tears
spin sugared fairy-floss unrelentingly out
their dark sap, "Lost Woods" words,
and the ink no longer necessary
bleeds invisible
from their tap-dancing fingers
instead of dripping like blood
or honey off their
well-armoured tongues
and their messages
like murders of crows
fly out of their amusement park
mind instead of their mouth;
it's a private affair,
nobody really knows;
we sing our way home
on some bent kind of angel wings;
Dark horses
aren't necessarily angels -
the mind, authentic
is another thing...
Candide Diderot. ‘24
I am my own keeper
I was made in my own design
My skin so thick I am armoured
My convictions unwavering
I stood my ground
And I am proud of myself
I'm going to make it
I'm going to fix it all
Life will be worth living again
Because I have decided I am not afraid to spill blood anymore
I will let it flow like red roses blossoming from my wounds
And I will accept this pain as part of healing
I will be okay
And it's because I want to be
playground battlefield
meticulously hand-picked
glossy armoured seeds
The holders of custom and bearings
The teachers of manners and sayings
The steerers of the leanings and standings
The givers of surnames and blessings
The fabric that makes priests and kings
Are fathers in their fatherhood and fathering
You are both shield and guide
In whom sons and daughters confide
You are both scion and pride
Of the society you are placed to abide
You are both the breadth and stride
Of your kind’s spread; far and wide
Be today celebrated but ever honored
For all you have selflessly offered
Good and faithful service unwaivered
May your steps be Divinely ordered
And likewise armed and armoured
For whatever storm to be weathered
God be present in your sunshine and rain
God give you joy for your pain
May all your toils bring you gain
Scale hills as though traversing plains
And all in all firmly remain
Godly and righteous without stain
HAPPY FATHERS DAY.
K. Muitherero
Oh ye tortoise
The longest living land animals in the world
You who bear the weight of the world on your back and yet walks with a palatial gait
From your hovel, you watched the hills and valleys mate
The oceans and seas retreat
Large four legged beast extinct
And smaller two legged emanate
Oh ye tortoise
You who walk slowly but never afraid of a race
You who feel safe and protected in its own house
You who walk on your toes like an elephant
Discerning with your eyes almost like it's squinting
Oh ye tortoise
One of the world most amazing diggers
With front legs armoured with sturby scales
Adorned with your clandestine ears
Carvernous bladder like a cauldron
And brawny beak for shredding and grinding foods
For decades, you epitomized wisdom and cunningness
Unchanged since prehistoric times
Misconstrued for turtles
Still men can't seem to decipher your morphology.
(C) PoeticLord
JANUARY 2023
He often rushed Russia's famed vodka
He had proudly named Bad Armoured Car,
Mouths daring to find the like in bar
Of the same strength and Field Marshall's Star.
But on alertness was set for a fall,
Quick to hear a call and kick a ball:
A strictness rearing for sure collapse,
Darting glances spotting the sure lapse
In a once decided strong bedrock
With a most formidable lock...
Jamo is no more The Real Terror
For every observed abjured error;
Now heads of hundreds to ruminate
Over a new chief to nominate...
For a ship with no space for doomed drunks,
Come defence time down lying like trunks.
Rest from world-wild gentrification,
city by citation,
never honking hurt inhabitants.
Armoured by cultural displacement,
no fraught with controversy,
peace and ceasing.
Landlords raising,
no ethnic minorities,
landlording themselves.
Potholes might get filled,
but the heart line might not appear.
Nothing happens along racial lines,
glorifying the guests is mandatory.
Graciously, without feeling offense,
No subjecting to extensive questioning:
"What is your religion?"
Charlie Norton has expanded
Ever since his work was seen
And favourably commended
By an Equerry to the Queen
He’s added Panto Dames instruction
With an optional modular course
For white faced clown technique
And lead end Panto Horse
This coupled with existing stuff
Has pushed his venture to the fore
And Charlie’s mind is working
On this and so much more
He’s been invited to the Palace
Where he had a spot of lunch
With Charlie Windsor and Camilla
And others of the royal bunch
The Prince’s trust approves
Of Charlie and his scheme
And opened him an off shoot
In deepest trendy Cheam
And it is rumoured seriously
That the Queen’s old man
Wants to learn to tap dance
In pumps and Coat of Astrakhan
Life is so exciting at Charlie’s
School of Armoured Acting Parts
And Charlie is considered
To be a man of many arts
It says By Appointment
Over the front door
Can any theatre school
Realty want for more
But not resting on his laurels
Charlie has a further plan
In providing correct training for
Portrayal of The Invisible Man
The Charlie Norton School;
Of Modern Theatrical Art
Can give your career
A high powered start
At the Charlie Norton School of Performing Arts
They only taught armoured acting parts.
They had a special maintenance man
Always kept busy with his little oil can
Keeping the suits free of fleas
And all the joints moving with ease,
Especially the cunningly concealed vent
For the disposal of excrement
And the removal of noxious gasses
Which even the refined on occasion passes.
Trying to learn lines could be hell
When surrounded by your own trapped smell.
In the event of a dearth of suitable parts
They taught other non performing arts
Like sweeping leaves away from drains
In the event of torrential rains.
As this part of the course was free
It didn’t carry its own degree
But for the elite chosen few
It could be a unit of your NVQ.
The Charlie Norton School of Performing Arts
Gives your career a powered kick start
Tensing, and about to move,
Clouds hover twisting with hoof,
Lingo parapentes this flush body:
Hurling shavings’ stop the prove.
A whale, psycho or streetlight:
Moss convenes the hefty truss,
Armoured spears fling to the bat,
Frozen in time to lure the buzz.
Naked! Bereft of pen and paper -
Paparazzi’s might slithers in dipole:
Collision kills this vapour, tribe, vibe;
The soul fraps, flapping a gold taper.
Whence is thy labour parapet -
Where are your stations and grain?
Why are solid requests paraphernalia?
When adjustments are fisture gain.
How you loath me - the self, soul:
Incanting verse and troth to fight;
Whilst proxy, spread, call, sound,
Legitimise oozing, sore canons - tight.
Butterflies come from caterpillars,
The human comes from trait, said dead,
Poesy loves grammatical technology,
And diversity clothes in personal thread.
O self, worldwide! How do you drift?
The miniature scoops cleaving the spirit:
Fine detail creates the abstract flint beside,
And structure charts float the pixel’s sift.
Dominique Webb
The war games
Yesterday afternoon in Finland, as happy people walked about
content in their world of social welfare and full employment
a train loaded with armoured tanks was seen heading for
the Russian border as spring light danced on the lakes.
What do I know, that might be the military's yearly outing?
As the wolves howl lustily to the stars and the trout wakes
in the streams of spring.
Is it, God forbid, a strategic baiting to divert the Russian army?
From Ukraine. If so, this is a dangerous war game.
Finland has a long border with Russia, 1400 kilometres, therefore
2-to 300 tanks a drop in the forest, but enough to make a point.
I prefer to think it is a manoeuvre performed in days of light.
The vale of the rich
A strange place houses as big as castles tall forbidding walls
on top of broken glass in cement: gates that can withstand
armoured tanks.
Lush dale but no humming bees or bird song too much pesticide
for the sake of beauty, what’s left is graveyard peace.
I sat on my bike for an hour in the hope of seeing people, but no.
Each palace was like an islet cut off from the world outside,
here they need no one and no one needs them, splendid isolation
Like an asylum of the weary madness.
Just as I was to leave a hearse pulled up an iron gate, the gate
opened and let, well even rich people must die, prisoners of wealth.
I ought to take some of them outside, so they see a bit of real-life
before a hearse arrives.
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