Best Contraband Poems
....in retrospect
There were mirrors there
Behind it, where all the Jews would hide
How can someone blame the black despair?
All You were, was a mirror over there
Flooding naked imagery
Flowing naked mercury
Proof there were no fa-ked lies
Unless words were pressed against the frame
Somehow you couldnt recognise...
your name...
Half blinded..
Besides, you would deny it anyway
One day while searching for those wandering Jews
Purple flowers in my garden winked at me
" we are they, if so you choose"
The mirror held was upside down
(It never mattered anyway)
So I kept on walking on and on
Until this very day
Ive heard it said just the other day
They used it to flash the sun
Hoping it would shine away
As some were hiding in its shade
A million miles away
Behind that fragile pane of glass
The looking glass kept looking past
And keeps looking for today
Looking at the torn disguise
And the lying enemy eyes
Though their lips were moist with movement
As yet the sound remained unheard
The spoken word was truth
One day it all may come to you
Whispered by a little bird
Ive held so high your high regard
And so your high esteem
Your badge of broken Jew
And friends by lives devided seen
I tried imagining I was you
Walking, standing in your wretched shoes
To us were done similar things
They also covered up the truth
In fact its happening here and now
How much cover do they need?
In honour tried to imitate , sometimes even emulate
Your cheeky contraband
Conducting your own orchestra
While playing your own band
This mirror holding up I see
If I was ever to wear those clothes
Emblazoned by a David star
Embattled with a Jewish scar
I wish to have your nose
The link between us circumcised
A covenant yet not broken
A people not yet broken by the blues
My love was found
Intact profound
In around
the nation of the Jew
Categories:
contraband, anti bullying, holocaust, mirror,
Form:
Free verse
1) Treat others the way you'd have them treat you.
Whatever you dish out comes right back at you.
2) Don't talk about what you don't know first hand,
And keep most that you know to yourself, contraband.
3) Don't take another into confidence,
Most gossip is spread through this type of pretense.
4) When you DO one a favor, it's a GIFT that you GAVE.
When you GET a favor, it's a DEBT to be PAID.
5) Your children won't listen to what you have to say.
They'll watch what you do and then they'll live that way.
6) Children don't do what you tell them to do.
They watch your actions and learn them from you.
7) Remember that neighbors watch people, it's true.
If they're watching others, they're watching you too.
8) Don't expect more of others than you're willing to give.
Remember these words, it's a good way to live.
9) Don't do anything that could be questioned later.
Don't do what you don't want to read in the paper.
10) Never hang out with a questionable crowd.
What they do in secret will be broadcast out loud.
11) In questions of will or questions of won't,
Remember this well, if there's doubt, then don't.
I hope that these words give you pause, give you thought,
And I hope they're remembered more often than not.
It's really no more than just good common sense,
Read you Bible and pray and stay away from pretense.
Categories:
contraband, inspirational, children, hope,
Form:
Rhyme
While frozen teardrops seep
And prick my face as the winter clouds weep
They flutter, soft and white
And on my tracks, alight ...
To shroud me in the night
My will set firm to the promise I keep.
For days now, I've set pace
On and on, while the bitter tempests race
But now the winds have died
So I increase my stride ...
And pray the snow will hide
The remnants of my prints from those who chase.
Their plane crashed in the storm
I found them, five survivors keeping warm
I meant to lend a hand ...
But drugs, you understand
Their cargo contraband ...
And now they fear of who I might inform.
They've hunted me so long
But vows made to my family keep me strong
And these woods are my own
I'm not in this alone ...
The love that I have known
Will lead me safely home ... where I belong.
* SECOND PLACE in the "Rhyme Me A Poem" Poetry Contest, Broken Wings, Sponsor. Rhyme scheme AABBBA, etc, syllables 6-10-6-6-6-10. Syllables checked at "How Many Syllables" dot com. *
Categories:
contraband, adventure, conflict, courage, journey,
Form:
Rhyme
Songs unsung will disappear,
as breathless as a stone, the fear
of Armageddon fills the air
and gathers strength against a prayer
that withers, fizzles into nought,
despite the lessons we were taught,
to love our neighbours as we would
be loved by them, the greater good.
Or take His name in vain, the strain
of blending with another's pain,
the art of empathy forsaken,
errant paths so quickly taken;
thoughts are squandered, so are souls
who glorify malicious goals
and chase false dreams to sand consigned,
the facts misjudged and misaligned.
Cause and effect, the laws of nature,
whom to kill and whom to nurture,
whom to crucify or kiss?
the measures of our helplessness.
There is no try, there's only do,
and I expect the same of you,
to strip away dishonesty,
the trademark of our misery.
To live in love and purity
and nullify our enmity,
we join together, hand in hand,
no hurtful lies, no contraband.
The answer lies amongst the stars
unnumbered in the universe,
a child's first breath, the blushing rose,
where hatred cannot interpose.
Categories:
contraband, philosophy, love, universe,
Form:
Rhyme
Give me some contention
I need a good head spin
I don't think you can fathom
All the trouble that we’re in
Serve free speech for dinner
Let's cut it to pieces
To divide it among us
And see how far it reaches
If you told me what you thought
Would I be compromised?
And in the heat from your fire
Would I have to pick sides?
If I told you what I thought
Would it pull out your roots?
Would it give you the impulse
To give me the boot?
I am no dogmatist
Man, I just want the truth
If you ban the contention
You are banning the proof
If some opinions are contraband
Then can't I conclude:
If the truth can't defend itself
How is it true?
Categories:
contraband, angst, feelings,
Form:
Political Verse
I cannot say with any certainty
why it came to me, then, there,
but it came to me
unexpected as birth.
The kitchen was bright as the summer
and comfortable as the paving
next to the swimming pool.
Our hosts were pleasant as we were,
the conversation pleasant as our hosts
as pleasant as we were.
Yet somehow it came to me
that there might be a man at the table
unpleasant and angry as life itself,
and somehow it came to me
that he might be me.
I didn't like him much
but I wouldn't dare tell him,
he was far too unpleasant and angry,
I'd seen his kind before.
He was shorter and stouter than I would be
but he might be me.
He was made of muscle and malice
and maybe some contraband too.
He had a mohawk, or something not far off,
they'd not been seen much
in polite society, not yet.
If it was good enough for Mr T
it was good enough for a swaggering bandit
returning from prison, or from the war,
or a crack-house on the fringes of midnight.
He ranted some, he spat it out with relish.
I'm not sure who he ranted at
but he ranted, maybe at everyone.
He may have ranted at me just a little,
perhaps because I let him,
but if you'd met him you would have too.
13th July 2018
Categories:
contraband, birth,
Form:
Free verse
October blows a symphony of sighs
with blustry gusts that presage winter's bleak
arrival as I shuffle through the park,
kaleidoscope of leaves a welcome prize.
Swings unswung on, roundabouts without
the rush of children stutter to a halt.
October blood suffuses to the hilt
my heavy heart, and calms a soul in doubt.
Images, bright images that have no
need of language, the pictures tell the tale,
a gang of schoolboys, picnic-packed, hale
and hearty, hoping for a hint of snow,
their teacher, raven-black, with no command.
Oaks stand guard, ramrod-straight like sentries,
rhododendrons, strong and sprawling bushes,
a place to smoke illicit contraband!
The dial at sunlight's pleasure points to time,
the weather vane makes plain the wind's direction,
no need of clock or any vain contraption
to guage the day, its reason or its rhyme.
The stillness of the morning and the day-glow,
and meadow grasses blessing me with softness,
the rippled waters thrilling me with sweetness,
what other measures do I need to know?
October blows a symphony of sighs,
of spells and incantations for the wise,
who, weather-worn and beaten, seek the skies
or haunt the woodlands for a siren's eyes;
for nature is the most compelling teacher,
companion to my father and my mother,
she cavils, then is kind, just like a brother,
and binds our earthly tapestry together.
Categories:
contraband, nature, me,
Form:
Verse
...inspired by 'Especially When The October Wind' by Dylan Thomas
October blows a symphony of sighs
with blustry gusts that presage winter's bleak
arrival as I shuffle through the park,
kaleidoscope of leaves a welcome prize.
Swings unswung on, roundabouts without
the rush of children stutter to a halt.
October blood suffuses to the hilt
my heavy heart, and calms a soul in doubt.
Images, bright images that have no
need of language, the pictures tell the tale,
a gang of schoolboys, picnic-packed, hale
and hearty, hoping for a hint of snow,
their teacher, raven-black, with no command.
Oaks stand guard, ramrod-straight like sentries,
rhododendrons, strong and sprawling bushes,
a place to smoke illicit contraband!
The dial at sunlight's pleasure points to time,
the weather vane makes plain the wind's direction,
no need of clock or any vain contraption
to guage the day, its reason or its rhyme.
The stillness of the morning and the day-glow,
and meadow grasses blessing me with softness,
the rippled waters thrilling me with sweetness,
what other measures do I need to know?
October blows a symphony of sighs,
of spells and incantations for the wise,
who, weather-worn and beaten, seek the skies
or haunt the woodlands for a siren's eyes;
for nature is the most compelling teacher,
companion to my father and my mother,
she cavils, then is kind, just like a brother,
and binds our earthly tapestry together.
Categories:
contraband, on writing and words,
Form:
Verse
I could see fear come alive in her eyes,
she knew I could bring about her demise;
We stared and then raised a mutual flag
just like an insidious game of tag;
Locked gaze and two pair of fangs extending,
but as of yet there was no blood flowing;
Fable and I were gonna have to work
together and not drive ourselves berserk;
I said to her ‘I want to learn from you.
Knowledge is power. I know this is true.’
Reached out to her with a very firm hand
felt like we were exchanging contraband;
It’s alright for now I’ll call her ally,
and take her once she has taught me to fly.
Categories:
contraband, dark, emotions, horror,
Form:
Sonnet
She calls herself Bunny Boucher, but she was born Veronica Chermak. She’s tall and leggy with a body that looks tidy, yet lived in. She’s high and tight, but flexible like a strong rubber band in a tricked out pinball table. She reminds me of that actress Tracie Lumbar playing the actress Fern Hall in that old movie Iguana Sunset. Her topography leaves no room for global climate change. Her tropics are seductively torrid, while her poles remain perpetually cool; makes you want to straddle her equator with your meridian. She’s been to Mussel Shoals, Shucked Oyster, Bearded Clam, Moose Knuckle, Camel Toe, Beaver Falls, Cottonwood, and Rabbit Patch, just to name a few of her more well-known hangouts. Some would say she looks Greco-Roman, but I’d describe her as looking more like a Hellenized Phoenician who emigrated from Trans-Alpine Gaul, or maybe she looks more Etruscan, with a hint of Minoan when you see her by moonlight. They say she’s as pure as bloodstains on a purloined letter. She traded in her Biblical name soon after she left her home in Mississippi and never spoke of it again. It may be just routine housekeeping, but who could blame a girl for sweeping off her back porch. She recently had a front end alignment. They say her rearview mirror never lets her down. After arriving in New Orleans she passed her bar exam at Vaughan’s on Dauphine and kept the circuit judge disrobed till way past last call. She’s a sexy banshee when she’s in the catbird seat with her cherry basket swinging from a bungee cord. Last I heard she was sharing a dump with a couple Guatemalan dancers. Her room ain’t worth a dollar, but it cost a pretty penny. She pays the rent with a pickup truck full of contraband. She says she needs the space, but not the distance. Like most women, nobody’s ever been able to figure her out. But there is one thing I know for certain, her smoke may sometimes offer you a tempting indication of certain possibilities, but her fire has never been known to lie.
Categories:
contraband, sensual,
Form:
Prose Poetry
October blows a symphony of sighs
with blustry gusts that presage winter's bleak
arrival as I shuffle through the park,
kaleidoscope of leaves a welcome prize.
Swings unswung on, roundabouts without
the rush of children stutter to a halt.
October blood suffuses to the hilt
my heavy heart, and calms a soul in doubt.
Images, bright images that have no
need of language, the pictures tell the tale,
a gang of schoolboys, picnic-packed, hale
and hearty, hoping for a hint of snow,
their teacher, raven-black, with no command.
Oaks stand guard, ramrod-straight like sentries,
rhododendrons, strong and sprawling bushes,
a place to smoke illicit contraband.
The dial at sunlight's pleasure points to time,
the weather vane makes plain the wind's direction,
no need of clock or any vain contraption
to gauge the day, its reason or its rhyme.
The stillness of the morning and the day-glow,
and meadow grasses blessing me with softness,
the rippled waters thrilling me with sweetness,
what other measures do I need to know?
October blows a symphony of sighs,
of spells and incantations for the wise,
who, weather-worn and beaten, seek the skies
or haunt the woodlands for a siren's eyes,
for nature is the most compelling teacher,
companion to my father and my mother,
she cavils, then is kind, just like a brother,
and binds our earthly tapestry together.
Categories:
contraband, writing,
Form:
Verse
What a city I murmur to myself looking at its map.
We approached the city known as Dis,
with its vast army and its burdened citizens.
At last we reached the moats
dug deep around the dismal city.
What destroys the poetry of a city?
Automobiles destroy it,
and they destroy more than the poetry.
Dante and Virgil chased by 7 or 8 dangerous devils
Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Sleepy, Dopey . . .
Our heroes reduced from metaphysical philosophers
interested in god and what man has done to man
to improvising primitive tools for survival.
Hope abandoned, we rate our chances of expiring
in the nuclear fire – excellent –
during the decline of western civilization.
On the other hand, I hope
our current problems are only temporary
and it’s just a matter of time before
the public ignores the 24-hour news cycle.
Bad news sells but the good life’s all around us.
One feels love and devotion
even for the 60 million who voted for our opponent.
Vaclav Havel said with a wisdom well beyond brilliance:
“Either we have hope within us or we don’t.
It is a dimension of the soul, and it’s not dependent
on some particular observation of the world or estimate of the situation.
It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart
that transcends the world as it’s immediately experienced.
It is not the conviction that something will turn out well,
but the certainty that something makes sense
no matter how it turns out.”
It resembles grief. But it's not quite grief. I'll give you grief.
Certain days planned to be eventful I look forward to for weeks.
Let the peaceful transfer of power proceed. The sorrow and the pity.
Never may the anarchic man find rest at my hearth.
When the laws are kept, how proudly the city stands!
When the laws are broken, what of the city then?
We are moving through some allegory between a City of Hope,
where history has been abolished, and a City of History,
where hope can be slipped in only as contraband.
Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching
outer space for an entity to unite us as humanity.
That person, or city, is consciousness.
Two ancient female poets are a revelation,
the clarity of their complaints: lost lover, lost city.
Our enemy eventually becomes our brother,
his misery lifted by coming to her city.
Categories:
contraband, animal, city, grief, hope,
Form:
Verse
While midnight bats are gnawing gnats and feasting free unseen,
a toddler’s fed from garbage sheds an elegant cuisine.
Along the trails in distant dales a lonesome wolverine
feigns appetite on fogy nights and days of crystalline.
The circus gongs excite the throngs in nighttime Never Land –
they swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command,
while Acrobats step pitapat across the shifting sands
and Lady Fat adores her cat and oozes charm unplanned.
The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the band,
ask crimson Clowns with painted frowns, to lend a mutant hand,
while Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land,
lure minds entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned.
White Elephants in big-top tents sell black tusk contraband
to Sycophants in regiments who overflow the stands,
but No One sees anomalies, and No One understands.
At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonely Crowd disbands,
down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their threadbare rags in strands,
and Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned.
Continued
Categories:
contraband, cute, fantasy, society,
Form:
Rhyme
Beneath Unknown Shores
Waves envelop the steel keel of a massive cruise liner
Off rails eyes hypnotized sense serenity on indigo bay
Cloudless sky beckons the sun for an endless summer
Islands perch on the horizon shaped like sculpted clay
Frenzied bodies traverse sundecks flaunting exaltation
To lips server hand exotic nectar full of alluring cheers
Above ivory keys dancing fingers exude determination
First time cruise explorers conquer psychological fears
Beneath unknown shores life meander above the sand
Seahorses cling to reeds evading rapid surging current
Green turtle Sargasso seagrass cuddle like contraband
Octopus amidst coral scampers survival reflex inherent
Apathy drown hushed grieving voices in troubled water
That breathtaking beauty of glowing vistas veils reality
Spirit of innocent whales menacing harpoons slaughter
Toxic plastic float and drifts contaminating flawless sea
Isolated world in need of crucial humanitarian concerns
Engaging altruistic minds in laborious ecological battles
Guardian of the flame strongly affirm the blind discerns
Fate digress evoking hearts to address ethical struggles
09/10/2018
Aboard cruise liner: Vision of the Seas
Ibiza, Spain
Categories:
contraband, allegory,
Form:
Rhyme
PERSERVERANCE BREEDS SUCCESS
Jss One was an insult, I cried
Like time should hit full stop,
My breakfast was sweet without
Salt,
My parents tasted like this evil
Citrus,
I continued to hide like Air Force
Was only for my seniors.
Jss Two arrived with the wind called
Releave
I began to breath as an aspiring king
Now I believe the race would definitely
Finish.
Jss Three was the mighty season
Everyday had a sweet beginning
Suddenly the queen became pretty
As boys begin to fill big,
Every Sunday I was in the dining hall
To clean wasted beans,
The brown Khaki now fits my tiny skin.
Never did I forget the mighty JSCE.
Ss1, trousers became the big deal,
I was also a victim for every ss3's
Laundry,
Morning duty was almost ending,
Up keep of the latrine was attached to
Me.
Inter house games had huge meaning
These was the day to show all my special
Skills
And entice that pretty queen,
As we stroll through freedom tree
Dangling the box room's key,
My sunday wear now had this profound whitish Glimpse.
At ss2, I became a commissioned officer
I began to predict the whether,
Even during holidays, I dreamt of returning
To my headquarters,
In Jaguar I had two lockers.
In Dornier my friends sent invites for
Dinner
Alpha wasn't my regular signal,
She whipped me in basketball finals.
I measured my days and wised there
Could be an alternative taste
But JPE was the key to unlock ss3 dreams.
Been a finalist was like magic
Today I float on the atlantic
As I scream 'ONE BOY'
The hostel begins to panic
Ariku becomes my transit
I trained this special team of bandits
So I had a contraband producing factory.
The days now had wings
Time flew without traffic.
My ink recollect's like she was a five
Minutes conference meeting,
Many couldn't climb this Iroko
For sex seasons.
Today, am not only an ALUMNI
But an harden fresh corrosive lime
Ready to swim under river Nile's eye.
AFCS is high in the sky
With the flying colors that now
Leave in my life.
KEYWORDS:
Jss_ junior secondary
SS: Senior secondary
Jsce: Junior secondary certificate examination
Jpe: Joint promotion examination.
Ariku: A small town in Iwo,Ibadan,Nigeria.
Khaki: A thick brown material
AFCS: Air Force Comprehensive School.
HABIB AKEWUSOLA.
Categories:
contraband, artsweet, sweet,
Form:
Ballade