My adamant heart
learned patience
from basket weavers
along the Carolina road
‘The Beatitudes’
by Kronos Quartet is playing
on this Thursday night
when I remember
my English and hospice teacher
“I’m in the dark!” cried Pacino
in ‘Scent of a Woman’
but the tango can make life bearable
We would visit Ernie
She said:
“Save the key lime pie for me”
while riddled with pancreatic cancer
I will never eat another slice
before I see her again
nor speak in hollow phrases
before I find the words
that suggest a quiet understanding
to all of this
manhattan roommate
brainwave specialist
blowhard rippling
always partygoer
dolphinfish royalist
turquoise irresistible
undrained rat
swearing yellowlegs
bearable humbling
houseguest behead
surrenderer bart
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 20–26, 2026)
always clearcutness
freehearted people destined
to be bearable
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 20–26, 2026)
we all brought the spectre inside
making the streets safe to roam
but the sky starless
eternal night
bearable with fallen constellations
the ever present answers
distractingly laid out
seemingly within touching distance
shhh, don't question the few with lamps on
who dim dead light and converse with it
they neither see to believe
or trust tactile epiphanies
let them deliberate on the meaning of dust
do I see all this from across the street
I can't say
denial's reversal leaves me lost
Bright, luminous, blue stars
are fixated on affection
The moonlight fervor flooding
my weary soul.
Storm recedes definitely.
The sun shines brilliantly
fervently. My leafy soul is
full of felicity ,delight
The bearable butterfly lives
In the beauteous desert.
The blue pebble enfolds
a leafless forest.
The green runlet flows into
an unavoidable fate
Life changes in a twinkle of an eye;
Naira notes of low value seems high.
One billion naira in bank-: thousand birds in bush,
One thousand naira at hand-: billion get caught with a push.
It doesn't matter the FLOAT in your account,
What matters is the available handy amount.
It doesn't matter how much,
But the little one and its touch.
It doesn't matter if charges are bearable,
What such pains speak are unbearable.
It doesn't matter if you last five hours on queue-
What UNABLE TO DISPENSE cum turn subdue!
POS attendants are seen growing wings,
But they can't fly with MONEY PURCHASED stings.
Bankers hands are off the cause of scarcity,
Opposite CBN directives to circulate off adversity.
Blame should be on who for this loud whistle?
What's on everyone's wrists more than an epistle.
To traders selling cash to POS attendants,
Thanks for been such good assistants.
Living in the world of OPPOSITE at the moment...
Should not make the wrong people an atonement¡
2023 mad
I must suppose I'm fine. I laugh a lot.
My work is bearable. I have a home.
I guess I like this town I'm in. I'll not
annoy you with the glass that's half ... half what?
I spend a lot of time on Google Chrome,
meandering the streets of Naples, Rome,
Arezzo ... why is that? I've lost the plot?
Or am I just a closet polyglot
who missed his calling? Afternoons are light,
and Donizetti's lapping at my ears.
At times like this, my hobbled soul takes flight
and dreams of Italy. When I have fears
that all my sweetest songs have now been sung,
I turn to Italy. And I am young.
Almost
Why is life such a compromise?
Everything is nearly right or not quite there
Nothing is either perfect or nowhere near
Its as if we were born to approximate, almost
The weather holds up it's mirror to life
It's undecided, like the coin toss, random
Not quite sunny, barely dry yet hardly warm
Its partly cloudy – largely bearable, almost
I trudge down the street, greet familiar faces
Conversations trivial, going no places
The weather this, the latest that
Its as though our imagination’s stolen, almost
I was going to do something different
Ride free, a white horse across rivers
Sail fast, on a yacht over fences
Then I woke up, half asleep, almost
But is it so bad to compromise?
To realise life’s boundaries protect
I wasn’t destined to break records
Second place is good enough, almost
I’ll take my podium place
I’ll carry hope’s umbrella
Its partly cloudy and grey
I’m pretty much OK. Almost
O bathysphere, thy sinking.
Seen: what, as you descend?
Life and death a-stinking!
Break fast around the bend!
Thy formation, O blastocyst.
From whence do you produce?
Rapier, twist! Slip, my wrist!
Pining, be profuse!
Throw sparks, O bright beryllium!
Electric wire, wild wind!
Fire of heaven and hell, come!
Tell me, tamarind!
Biennium, be bearable.
Split in half, two ones.
Pigeons, be thou pair-able?
How that parable stuns!
O boniface, thy full career.
Grinded? Inn. Goad gear.
Cliff by seaside, art thou sheer?
Are thy dropoffs drear?
Honey, O my kinkajou!
Leave it for the bees!
O for hearts that beat untrue!
Claim them, my deep freeze!
O tether to reality!
Cord etheric, hum!
Saffron scents in sabbath sea!
O tomorrow, thrum!
The solitude of nightfall
Is more bearable
Than companionship in the light
I'm beautiful enough for a quick smile, but never enough to be the favorite face,
Beautiful enough for late-night talks, but not enough for morning promises,
Beautiful to be noticed in a crowd, but never sought when I disappear into silence.
Beautiful enough for gentle words and compliments, but not for love that stays,
Beautiful to be desired when it's easy, but not chosen when things become difficult and painful,
Beautiful maybe for someone, but never always, never the desired destiny.
But I've always been more than what meets the eye,
I've been the warmth in the cold night, the calm voice when the world is too loud,
The silent presence that makes loneliness bearable, the one who remembers the small details,
The one who listens when no one else does, the one who stays even when it hurts.
Aren't the most beautiful moments made of laughter, not glances?
Aren't the strongest bonds built on trust, not beauty?
Don't we miss the most those who made us feel safe?
Perhaps the right people will come. Perhaps they never will,
But in the end, I'd rather be real than just beautiful, authentic in my essence.
sharp knives
harsh events
so broken and bent
no escape available
till the light of love blooms to lighten your gloom
and only then does bitterness become bearable
cascading rays
the heat made bearable
under cover
the mist of the waves
cooling her weary soul
Forty hours at work
Doing the same thing
Over and over
You daydream a lot
You have to or you will go mad
Dreaming of being with your mates
Joking and sucking down some cigs
There may be some hot wings
Paradise on Earth
But one thing makes the wait bearable
Knowing that endless bottles of beer await
Cold and tasty
They are waiting for you
Hopefully they will be enough to get you drunk
Maybe that drunk will last until your work starts
And you start daydreaming all over again
For a working man that is his life
Honestly, he loves the way his week works
After all, for him, it is his life
And that is just how he wants it
© Poem – XIV/XII/MMXXIV
LRET
So we are broken,
So we are in pieces.
Sometimes broken enough
to fit the next person's puzzle—
like you did mine.
A maze, a mind anxious,
somehow you silenced the noise,
made it all bearable and still.
In pieces,
theirs fitting yours,
a kind of completeness—
complimentary.
You breathe for you belong
somewhere, with someone,
not alone anymore.
You catch yourself smiling
at the thought of them crossing your mind.
The blues start hitting different;
you dance to music,
sing ever carefree,
even when you miss the notes.
Yes, it’s like freedom,
like you’re a kid again.
Finally, you can feel
the sun kiss you,
the grass in between your toes,
the wind brush over your hair.
You see color,
when it’s with the right person.
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