Best Gummed Poems
Pain is not painful
Until you fall in love
That moment you feel
a missing rib in your body
and honey water turns sour
When you wish just for a moment
Of freedom from earth
When your brain can't reason well
and your eyes can't see well
The time you enter the process
of transition
From old self to new self
Knowing the reality of life
Knowing that love is not real
It's a trick to cause you pain
One moment of joy
and years of pains
Love makes you wallow in regret
Where you find yourself in dark corners
Gummed to the wall waiting
For death to grace your soul
with eternal bliss
And eventually you
fall in love again
Knowing the terrible
Fate that awiats you
Stranded on the road, closed up tight in her shell
Too frightened to head out of the heavy traffic
I took the turtle home to make sure all was well.
She was hungry for she hadn’t eaten since a day
So I dug up four juicy earthworms and put in a bin
The first worm wiggled but the turtle didn’t prey.
We sat quietly and waited and waited and waited
Ants crawled across the pavement and we waited
Hummingbirds buzzed overhead and we waited.
Finally I noticed her eyes tracking a worm,
Slowly shifting her body in right direction
Snapped opened her jaws, picked up the worm
And gummed it to death as turtles lack teeth.
Was full after two worms, a bit in mouth like a cigar
Autism in turtles is a successful failure
Its shell, an amazing self-defense mechanism
Carry their homes and are always at home
Self sufficient mostly, long life, and endurance
Proving the proverb, “Slow and steady wins the race”.
** Inspired by a visit to Myrtle Beach State Park, SC (eastern box turtle
(Terrapene carolina carolina)
July 30, 2014
Form: Free Verse
Dr. Ram Mehta
CORRUPTION
As the tree branch its hands to collect wind
So do men branch out their hand to offer and collect my willingly.
Sweetness, and bitterness of life are my darkness works
Those who eat from me are those singing the song- let’s stop corruption.
Who can say, am the cause of drought in all nations?
Everywhere, echoes of your senseless possessions, crimpled the lands
Look inside you, you will see corruption seed happily growing.
Colour of skins, no longer fear but trend on my path.
Some kill to magnified me; some are roped into my wide name.
The mouth of the corrupted wants me stop for better life
Better life they never intended for any living souls
I am everywhere: in the church, in the mosques, in the families, in the schools;
Even in the bedroom of individual. I am there.
As the nose stood on the face, so do I; in your mind
What you do not need; you do have them.
You give birth to me daily in your blood and tongue
Your eyes sees me and glued to me.
To end me, is to end all humanities; all have corrupted.
Who can says am not part of him or her?
The only truth in your mouth is me.
I am the bedrock of distinct colour’s economy
I made them rich and kept others borrowers.
I made some rich, I made some rotten in jail, while some are permanently poor.
Famine, marginalisation, mass death; strengthen my existence and co-existence.
I walk through dispensations till date.
Those who enjoyed me pervert the course of justice and fairness
Oh, thou that eat from my table, why do thou want me sentence?
Has thou considered: your husband, wife, children and friends who I fed fat?
I have come to stay in this world since man never think to stop wanting more;
You called me corruption, but I called you my seed.
I am god to the rich and enemy to the poor.
If I smile to your faces or hands , no one can resist and flee
I gummed your eyes and palms as the fluid in the bone.
I am due for legalisation and honour
honour me as you do for those I made.
Having headaches daily on how to end me
never stop me from living in the heart of men.
I need recognition; sign ne into law worldwide.
by Pastor Omojevewe Emmanuel
Beseech the wooden hip and eye
To paddle off and caper.
Beseech the Maxfold cat and stye
Forlorn with hairy Gator.
Bring not thy chesticle to bear,
Thy open arms to boot.
Beseeching here and everywhere
To hear old Amos flute.
'You can but not cumcumber me!'
He gummed in chitter-chatter,
And passing water from his knee
Knew something was the matter.
Alas! Alak! A Ladybird-
A lullaby in butter.
Beseech in me the rare absurd,
Not sane, not yet a nutter.
Front door brings in nippy chill,
You step onto the frosty path,
No pleasant air for you to initial,
Only a gut fight with the waft.
But friends are warm and bright,
Neighbours smile by their cars,
Old friends get in touch, write,
The hairdresser chats n’ chars.
What to give is a nice problem,
What to write on xmas cards,
Why not to give, there’s a hum,
Of distance, you only give cards.
Relative’s personalities summed,
Cousins hobbies are understood,
Relations interests taken, gummed,
And friends activities are all good.
Jumpers are purchased for mum,
Plus teapot, hand cream, soap,
Quality Street purple is a chum,
Candles jars are given in hope.
Sporadic robins brighten and light,
Kids build a roly snowman, just,
Dogs walk in cosy jackets tight,
And by-passers stop for a gust.
Families welcome drivers’ eyes,
When they look in the windows,
With flashing lights, mixed dyes,
In patterns, pictures, pure glows.
The atmosphere at restaurants,
Beckons xmas truth and tale,
When others also have nuance,
For special kin who chat, sail.
No negatives divide and split,
No text to state what to say,
Greetings are heartfelt and lit,
Your chat can be any old way.
Church is optional, a possibility,
But fires and heaters gaily blast,
Radios aptly inform about activity,
When Santa will visit stores vast.
Decorations furnish, fill stores,
Giant Christmas trees stand, line,
Large baubles hang on all floors,
Huge stockings see shoppers dine.
There is a righteous business,
In the air, filtering, at xmas time,
It’s friendship and happiness,
That's engineered, the told sign.
The central focus is a snug meal,
A slot saved and made for chat,
Where for each person the deal,
Is to converse, discuss and bat.
All are welcome, all can have,
Everyone can enjoy, participate,
Each one can find peace, shove,
Xmas with you does coaguate.
Whatever the question, give,
Everyone is part of Christmas,
A smile, joke, a chat, a forgive,
You can even restrain for a bash.
A Comrade like Ben
A statesman like Mandela diplomatically
suspended the necessary struggle of opposites,
gummed his fragmented land together with reconciliation….
exploiters to exploited , murderers to martyrs
imperialist to invisibled indigenes
lives in Sandton and councils Bill Clinton
and Naomi Campbell on plush carpets
a sinewy activist, hard as nails, like yourself…
Ben Palmer Louw, always
cajoling
conspiring
criticizing
organising
uprising
forever
beautiful in your pregnant concern
that freedom , dignity and justice
is tangible and beautiful as black skin, kinky hair
is real when a continent’s wealth is fairly shared
is manifested when the state collapses in selfless deeds
old man Nelson turned ninety and is now a teddy
to those who feared the terrorist at forty.
He no longer speak for himself but for his party
and the party is a self-serving affair.
Pity your death at thirty-something
when Nelson started talking to his racist oppressors.
For ten years you and your young militant army
punctured holes in the racist ideology,
marched flames and thunder through townships,
died in your thousands,
stopping with blood and bones
bullets casted for centuries by the fascist
in black holes of greed and fear.
“A shame … but subversion is to blame ”
`` the defenders of law and order loudly exclaimed
“Not good for business”…the moneybags conceded
“ if Soweto bleeds , profit –rates receeds . ”
“Give black chiefs and compradors the garrotte
and stick the small change of capital under their nose .
They will throttle the radical noises at the root ”.
Wounded deeply, your rapid-firing baritone voice
still thundered on battle-fields and in halls,
urging us to destroy mental and wage slavery.
I saw you fight for freedom
the whole scorching way,
every hour of that long bloody apartheid day…
but one night
you leaped ,
proud black brother of mine,
right into the sky…
fist raised high as heaven with a two-hour smile
whispering re-assuringly “Don’t ever give up, gents…
the harder they come , the harder they fall.
See… brothers and sisters…revolution is!
In memory and respect to Ben Palmer Louw (1950-1987)a student leader of 1976 soweto insurrection
Milton Brown
1822 – 1917
I knew C. W. Harvey.
Knew him and liked him.
I lived on the first floor of his Greenleaf Hotel
By Bailey Street.
Lived and thrived on the flowered verandah.
Sipped lemonade and gummed soft bread
In the swank dining room.
Talked and listened into the long afternoons
With the fine folks from Illinois and Iowa.
Most of the time,
I rocked and thought back,
And I remembered fondly
The old times in the trackless wilderness,
Seeking a permanent woman and a permanent home.
I found both with a pair of leather boots, a spade and a torn Bible.
Ye Kings and Princes of the Earth!
And to all the rich and the powerful:
“What doth it profit a man
To gain the whole world
And lose his own soul?”
We are truly nothing.
As nothing as the still wind.
As worthless as the dirt
That presently covers my still bones.
Yes, I knew C.W. Harvey.
Knew him and liked him.
He was the richest man in town when I arrived here.
And yet,
He taught me humility and dignity.
Lessons learned with a kind word
And a daily tip of his derby hat.
And after my passing into the eternal night,
He honored me with a kind eulogy at my burial
Here in Artilissa’s flower yard.
My forever resting place
Under these countless stars!
Although yours truly modest,
the only personal issue
I will lightly boast about
constitutes lingering
self worthlessness bred
if not prior to first grade,
than most definitely incipient,
academic deadlines
loomed large with dread
and exacerbated by procrastination
quickly adopted as linchpin
damned obsessive compulsive
currents (i.e. thoughts) fed
modus operandi, which intricate
schema writ over lifetime invisible
within this talking head
who ironically enough
never uttered a beep
engendered from lack
of confidence, esteem,
somehow worthlessness,
insignificance,
emasculation, et cetera
took root, and didst leap
(axon to neuron)
and said mindset did seep
percolating into every nook,
and cranny comprising
aging shades, transformed
gray matter, sans this
beatle browed bummer, a deep
purple, though easily mistaken
for minuscule Uriah Heap,
or perhaps, ewe might notice,
(albeit while in a sheep
push disposition) similarities
between mine fist
sized thinker, and another creep
pee totally tubular Charles Dickens
character, or maybe
even a commercial
for nano bot sized jeep
grand Cherokee keep
up a moderate clip despite,
and/or because I
oft times feel a light
buzz sensation within me quite
average gummed up noggin
jammed numb skull,
(essentially barren aged
teenage wasteland recently
undergoing gentrification),
(yeah how really) excite
ting, a no brainer fright
fully glommed with peevish
gobbledygook plus worthless,
obsolete, and crammed academic right
hand busily twiddling, scribbling,
and sloppily drafting
error riddled assignments
deliberately failing heavily
marked with bright
colors adding oomph
to mental blight
punctuated by
attaining puny height
(...oh, about seventy inches),
nonetheless, my slight
physique and mute quiet
as a mouse, I might
as well hove been a stand in
for Charlie Brown right
down to the tree eating kite
good grief - never an ending fight
with Lucy, hence now this knight
in rusty armor forever
disparaged his might
and attests to
20/20 hind sight!
The Zweiback Warrior
Zweiback cookies – teething biscuits
Yucky, gnawed upon, gummed delights
Xeric surface absorbing wanton drool
Wielded, by the toothless cherub, in
Valiant fencing stance encumbered by
Unsteady footwork of diapered distress.
Tongue licking the blunted sword tip
Short sticky fingers grasping the hilt
Reeling under the self’s relentless
Quest to free the imprisoned.
Pursed lips immune to all assaults,
Open gates of tormented demon
Nourished by the wailing
Moans of twice baked relief,
Lulled into the whimpering
Kingdom of the succulent biscotti.
Jaws clenched on mercy’s mushiness
Ingesting its flavored fluids,
Holding the healing wand
Gripping it tightly lest it be lost.
Featureless, the ravaged cookie, is
Eased from the grasp of the
Duelist sleeping hand.
Champion of the
Battle for
A tooth.
7/12/2015
submitted to – Abecedarian – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Shadow Hamilton
Look at that monkey over there!
Can someone tell me what he is wearing?
Is that not an oversize Agbada he's wearing?
Yeaaaah! look at his shoes, are they really shoes?
His 'fila' falling here and there,
Is that how a normal human dresses?
The neck of his Agbada is on his shoulder and
He is putting on the cloth on its back,
The embroiding is visible to his skin.
The sokoto sags to his waist like a prisoner in th US;
Can you see his displayed pants?
Oh! No! Not again.
Can you watch the way he dances without his legs?
Is that how a natural human dance?
Does his teeth looks like that of a man or woman?
Maybe he belongs to the Animatician' Kingdom.
Yeaaaaaah! I have seen his buttock!
He is a monkey with a human buttock!
He is a monkey fashioned from the animal kingdom!
But, I have seen him once in the government house,
He was painted as the president of the country.
So many of them have joined the animal farm!
Oh, oh, oh, oh!
All the money he acquired should have make him better or even finer!
Does he have no mirror in his room?
Hmmmmmmmmh!
I can not put on Agbada again if those
That wears it always look like monkeys.
Watch out for his shoes!
There is gum under it!
Make sure he is thoroughly searched before he leaves otherwise, you will lose all your money to his gummed shoes that he put on.
Those monkeys in your party are wiser than you think.
Once they get hold of your fortune, they embezzle it, so becareful here!
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016
Charcoal polished fingernails poke the clouds,
Gun metal arms staunch and concrete,
flex under the sun.
Chiseled gray palms clasp tightly,
shelter gummed pavement .
Still,praying hands protect Charleston Harbor.
Structual magnificence.
Steel Beauty.
A small piece of Cooper River Bridge history.
http:/ravenalbridge.net
1930s Dirranbandi Mucky eye fix
Coming back from bloody Cobar,
where the dust storms used to blow,
came the mucky eyed with Sandy Blight,
as the mucky eyed do go,
back in the thirties - forties,
Ning-a-Ning Joseph saw em, hah,
When ole man Wise took to fixing,
Mucky eyeballs, yes bloody sah!
Widdle in a bottle, swirl the mixture, sweet delight,
Add a little drop of Ainaseed, to kill the smell orright,
Splash it on the eyeball, let it trickle tickle there,
Just a widdle bit of seeing,
Till yer sight was bloody fair,
The mucky eyed no longer gummed up, & eyelid red,
just the trickle on the eyeball, fixed the mucky yucky head,
Ole wise was up 4 sainthood at the Black stump water hole,
A widdle bit of widdle cleans the eye and soothes the soul?
Don Johnson
At six o’clock in the morning
Upon the sixth of June
Came Michael-Paul O’Higgins
Into this bustling world.
At school he was but middling,
He never cut much ice
In English, Maths, Geography,
In Scripture, Sport or Art.
In early adolescence
On the back seat of a bus
He found a tract on how we must
Seek out Salvation’s path.
Soon at the local gospel hall
He preached with fire and zeal.
“Put all your trust in Jesus,
In no prelate, prince or priest.”
He learned a thousand texts by heart,
Knew the number of the Beast,
And having read the Bible through,
Turned back to Genesis.
His school performance soon shot up,
He banished ease and sloth.
No dirty jokes would pass his lips,
Like they might from other folks.
N this world, too, is virtue blessed.
His hard work soon bore fruit.
He gained a place at Oxford.
His ambition was the Church.
But lofty halls of learning
May stifle simple faith,
And Michael-Paul had fits of doubt
That caused his lapse from grace.
He switched to Economics
And flirted with Karl Marx.
To a secular millennium
He strove to find the path.
Soon active carrying banners,
Their colour deep-dyed red,
He got caught up in fisticuffs
And was bundled off to clink.
They noted his particulars,
Affiliations, too.
The magistrate just said “tut tut”
And he was free to go.
However minor was this brush,
He aimed to live it down.
He learned to mind his P’s and Q’s
And be just plain bourgeois.
Forgetting youth’s illusions,
For a salary safe and sure
Than ran into six figures
He sold Babylon his soul.
Up higher, ever higher,
He climbed each echelon
Until the plum job of his dreams
Was juggling on his nose.
But in some data memory bank
Was that record from his past,
The which, recalled in a routine check,
Gummed up his future plans.
He lost his job, his house, his wife,
He lost his heart and soul,
And now he’s palely loitering
In the long queue for the dole.
O wise man, give an answer,
O say what devil’s art
Has turned his world reformer,
This promising performer,
Into a mere statistic
On an economic chart?
The lucid stereo vomits archetypes
For all ages. Primitive vengeance escapes into light,
Blanketing the fables spread upon pages,
Hushed voices commingle into a murmur of fright.
Unto goblets raised, we praise scoundrels
Whom were dined with gods who've since fell.
Deceiving seas of dumb, lame sheep,
Goats grow like flies on a dung heap.
Let pompous pricks switch and move grooves
To lose mishapen dreams and cumbersome sleuths.
Butterfly wings gummed underfoot
Expound plumes of debris and ashen soot.
May we not be trampled under the foot
Of beasts so truly gruesome and be put
Into castes and cubicles and tombs
Fated to a life of doom straight from the womb.
A sterile conclave situates itself within
Bogs and ghastly hogs with rotten vision.
Stomachs bloat with bread and wine,
Groveling shamelessly until the end of time.
I wave vaguely toward a boat in the distance, but
can't think of what I would say if they invited me on board.
"That seems excessive kindness," I say, but a voice laughs in my head,
"Yeah, but they'll never do that!" In its vacuum stare, a seagull
encourages me to think past my confusing options. I laugh pretty hard and
move on to the empty boardwalk overlooking the choppy waters, picking someone's trash as part of my civic duty, thinking "life's better in this barren habitat" and then am glued to a kite spinning wildly in the sky attached to a windsurfer riding the waves, suddenly disappearing and then resurfacing, has trouble unhooking the kite, saying to myself, "that's a good kite he should keep it" and then watch it fly like a free bird before crashing into the ocean. I walk past the sign that reads, "Sally was here today" wondering if she was blonde or brunette. I whisper in my head, "this place must do well in the Summer." Today it's silent, like our interior souls crushed by the disease. "We'll come ahead on this one. What made you look for water snake in this environment?" My father would have encouraged me that I was right, he was always delusional, always carried a small umbrella even in hot Summer days as a precaution. "You need to learn to manage your affairs better," his voice rings in my head. He loved his car and wanted to drive it to his own funeral. I see an old grill gummed up with ashes, wondering how many beachgoers it had pleased and all the stories it had to tell. "There was once a married couple who ate their burgers raw." The boardwalk turns into rocky sand, waiting to torture my bare feet, a seagull is looking purposefully at my predicament, perhaps chuckling,
"these helpless creatures."
Lend me the swiftness of your wings, so I can ride above
the foamy waves and sit on a humpback whale that lies still in
recumbent grace, sniffing you out. I am your maid and it does not take long
to try its patience. I hope you spare me your wet witching. You would have saved a squad of dolphins from their daily doldrum if you were game and
moved in their playful company.
Inaccessible solitude, I venture to conclude at random.