(a weedy problem)
They know, they just know where to grow, how to dupe you, and how to camouflage themselves among the perfectly respectable plants.
~ Dianne Benson
Sprouts without doubts
Pretending to know the abouts,
Ready to grow into louts
Of the most nefarious sort~
Useless as fuzz on the spouts,
Tedious noise-maker flouts,
Sending flowers into the pouts.
The police made John jog his memory
“Was the car actually a Camry?”
John delayed, then got free cigarette
Of a brand prized above his Lovette.
And he didn’t hear his voice drop “Yes...”
Before a second thought’s “More or less.”
“Heh! You’ve got my Benson ’n’ Hedges;
Quit building round your answers hedges?”
“Actually, Cop, an off-white Nissan
With blood stains that still give me concern”
“So, then it’d made you touch its Fender
For which, now, you need Good Defender”
“You’ve guessed I’m not A Real Offender”
“Also guessed, for now, The Offender”
“Means I should hate Law of Evidence”
“...Also, your Forgetful Imprudence”
“Hope this won’t be reaching the BBC?”
“Sorry, She minds what blokes hear and see!”.
9:00pm on the dot
And I materialize on the spot:
A Benson ‘n’ Hedges spot
I would at it stop
On a fairly spent night
To enact a scene not right;
Raven-Black for stupid actions
The Pitch-Black unwise options;
Christ, I’m sure in the sky
No flesh to ask me “why?”
Many Million True Miles away,
Who, then, shall give me away?
Jesus alone digesting the scene,
More in his Daddy’s Heaven a sin;
This, perfectly okay by me
Like hot or cold Chinese tea…
I light my patent stick
Twenty Naira qualifies me to pick
For stylish releases of clouds of smoke;
A fresh inhaling and try to not choke;
Clearly a stick
That had been making me sick
But with an index and middle finger victory sign
Why won’t smokers over coughs pine?
Often like I had won some contest
My lungs exposing to crazy tests
At Muslims’ Kaduna hiding my cigarettes
And they could not be sighted from minarets.
V- iolence found in the hand of one who claims
“I- must be god!”
O- watch your back when you think you can attack the
L- iving God.
E- veryone will bend. You drop to your knees, loudly weeping.
N- ettles of your own making. Would that you
C- all out to Jesus, who can free you from
E- ternal damnation. This is a clear warning. Change direction.
10/26/2021
And from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force. Matthew 11:12 NKJV
Benson commentary from biblehub.com:
The spirits of men are so excited and animated by a desire after this kingdom, that it is, as it were, attacked like a besieged city, men of all sorts pressing to get into it, with a violence like that of men who are taking a place by storm. As if he had said, “Multitudes are flocking around me, to be instructed in the nature of my kingdom; and some, who were formerly of most licentious characters, and looked upon as utterly unfit to be subjects of the Messiah’s kingdom, are resolutely set on enjoying the blessings of it.”
He deems the ways and dares to understand,
a measure of a love that went astray,
from libelled forces, which compelled his hand,
to lies, and morals left to slow decay.
No one forgo or risk refute her right,
a stubborn choice is seldom steered by sense.
To cease callow mishaps from leaving blight .
sound case to aid her act of self-defence.
Yet, who can purge despair from a man’s soul,
who boldly baulked against such mortal deed?
His choice dismissed as outside his control,
no matter pleading creed, indeed, his breed.
Such anguish will forever convolute
because abstracts are never absolute.
06.27.21
You are free to choose, but you are not free to alter the consequences of your decision
– Ezra Taft Benson (politician)
WRITING
when other souls
are conceiving
in their dreams
my breath
gives birth
at midnight
my soul
only knows
to labour
to push
to birth
alone
~ Eshe Benson
As I lie amongst wildflowers
beneath the butterfly weeds,
you pondered, through my mind
as you often do,
delicately fragile
essence bursting free
eccentric, dazzling colours
deteriorating, slight physique ~
weakening petals withered
mournful harps serenade,
sensing your soul has departed
in sorrow, I feel your peace
as I lie amongst wildflowers,
beneath the butterfly weeds
you pondered through my heart
as you often do
A tribute to Emmalene Benson, forever beautiful. RIP
several formica red tables
glass shakers of pepper and salt
big plastic tomatoes I wanted to squeeze
and shaped bottles of sarson’s own malt.
netting on all of the windows
scratch marks from chairs on the floor
ashtrays with notches to rest cigarettes
and 'open' and 'closed' on the door.
menus upright in a v-shape
the 'royals' adorning the wall
food through the fog of benson & hedges
with no one complaining at all.
my past was another country
before chains, regulations and brunch
places I knew from those misty-eyed times
are no more and have all 'gone to lunch'.
We rode beyond the flip
Of Walter and his friends,
On this *****steady slip
In the cabin to the west,
Where the pride of lions sleep
All night till the end.
On the hillside of west,
The corns are left for rats,
The moonlight is left
For the cave of the bats,
The stars in themselves
Are laid so on the mat.
That same mile leads the heap
Of lofty stuffs up the hills,
The snow of flake spills
Into Eve's marshy opened hips,
And the apples of honey
Are plucked on Adam's lips.
The bed bath of Mr. Benson
Floats out steadily in the skies,
Reaching the pride of the sons
Laid up the feet so high,
Sailing all the phantom men
On the carpet of the smile.
There is a table solely laid
Down below the blue ceiling,
Also is a shea iced cake
In the pie wholly sealed in,
And the storm of the day
Rains in the fields of candy.
The circles are in squares
In the Square at the Circle,
The cycles can be shared
In dome down the valleys;
The clones you can swerve,
And bike up the galley.
Now that I have you mine
On the hills up the shores,
Take a look the while
At the feathers of the scores,
One by one in the time,
And rise up on these songs.
We rode beyond the flip
Of Walter and his friends,
On this *****steady slip
In the cabin to the west,
Where the pride of lions sleep
All night till the end.
On the hillside of west,
The corns are left for rats,
The moonlight is left
For the cave of the bats,
The stars in themselves
Are laid so on the mat.
That same mile leads the heap
Of lofty stuffs up the hills,
The snow of flake spills
Into Eve's marshy opened hips,
And the apples of honey
Are plucked on Adam's lips.
The bed bath of Mr. Benson
Floats out steadily in the skies,
Reaching the pride of the sons
Laid up the feet so high,
Sailing all the phantom men
On the carpet of the smile.
There is a table solely laid
Down below the blue ceiling,
Also is a shea iced cake
In the pie wholly sealed in,
And the storm of the day
Rains in the fields of candy.
The circles are in squares
In the Square at the Circle,
The cycles can be shared
In dome down the valleys;
The clones you can swerve,
And bike up the galley.
Now that I have you mine
On the hills up the shores,
Take a look the while
At the feathers of the scores,
One by one in the time,
And rise up on these songs.
Today Mount Benson is covered in snow.
Down here, below, we have none.
It's a sign of Winter, this we know,
in spite of today's bright sun.
We look to the mountain for a sign
of what to expect, too soon.
Even though, today, the weather is fine,
tomorrow we'll sing Winter's tune.
If the snow is at the halfway mark
we really have nothing to fear
but when the whole mountain is white, not dark,
our turn for a snowfall is near.
The mountain is our weathervane, true,
and here comes a snowflake, as if on cue.
24/11/2015
(Dedication: For Benson Sim)
Make peace with your soul:
Live brave and bold,
Do live with cheer;
No need to fear,
In just a while;
Fate will re-style,
Each finds the light;
Love sets the sights!
Leon Enriquez
11 August 2015
Singapore
Through the Pit's mouth she saw it-
Inert body prostate, lightly lit
the pale face staring up, hollow eyes
the cold waters, the mud, the mice.
Through the pit's mouth, she gaped down
Her heart about to be listed afar,
In the fate of the quiet traveller.
O Benson Drew! O Miss Drew!
If only she knew-
There pours the tears and anguish
Here escapes insanity and gibberish.
Watch her! watch her! Watch...
Reach out! Catch her! Catch...
But Alas, she drops ten feet below
For the arms of the fallen Moor.
She walked in the door like an Amazon Woman
Let me introduce myself I'm____________
I've been doing this for thirty years
She was pale as death warmed over with red hair
But flawless porcelain skin that had never seen the sun
Well let me take a look ...yep
Here's one of those pre-canerous lesions...nope make that two
Then she draws out her equipment ..a bazooka flame thrower
There's no need to numb these up I'll just zap them
Then she turns on her benson burner and goes hold still...hold still..
I'll never get it burned off if you move away..
They must have just released her from some mental hospital
Where she was on the ward for mentally sadistic disturbed patients
Well at least I learned one thing...maybe two
One..never trust a woman with liquid nitrogen in a blow torch
Then she said to me you are of Scandanavain decent..
Strange place to learn of where one's ancestors came from..huh.
"Leave it cleaner than you found it;"
Do not be too high for a minial task.
Those above you may come around it
And curse a praise, then, amazingly ask,
"Did you perform this excellent work?"
"Are you the one behind it all?"
"Would you like a position that others shirk?"
Just you be ready to answer the call...
And "leave it cleaner than you found it."
Do not act too high for a minial task.
Though all your peers may come around it
With curses behind white teeth to ask,
"Why are you doing more than the work?"
"There is no need to do much at all!"
"They care not for us, so this we shirk."
Just you stay ready- they will miss the call...
(Dedicated to Lee Benson, Professor of Art)
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