Best Hyena Poems | Poetry
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New Hyena Poems
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Trump Laughing Like A Hyena
by Horn, James
by White, Kelli
Hyena called hyenas
by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
An Old Hyena Stalks the Pack
by Sutherland, Marti
by hunjeri, njeri
The Cheetah and the Hyena
by Soe, P
by MOCKETT, NEILL
View all new Hyena Poems
The Best Hyena Poems
As Joe was biking down the side of the road
He ran across a chap with a dearth of driving skills.
Or more accurately, the driver almost ran over Joe;
'Twas one of life’s unwanted thrills.
A spirited exchange ensued between them
About who was in the right.
But this being the delicate poetrysoup,
I’ll keep the language light:
“You fornicating chewer of masculine appendages,”
Quoth the driver. “What the fornicating inferno were you doing?”
Replied Joe, “Just following the traffic signs,
you premenstrual hyena in need of screwing.”
He quipped, “You’re replete with fornicating doo-doo,
My light was coitally green.”
Quoth Joe, “Alas, your light was not.
And your maternal unit stars in movies obscene.”
Said he, “A shower of gold, is what I’m told,
May clarify your sight.”
Retorted Joe, “Stay in that car, spawn of Jar-Jar,
or you’ll be seeing lots of lights.”
“Perhaps remove the telephone pole,” said he,
“From where you store your bowel.”
Quipped Joe, “So I could fire a methane cloud in your direction?”
Oh my, how the driver did howl.
The driver continued. “I don’t give an airborne
intimate encounter about you and your bike.”
One thing was abundantly clear,
This man Joe didn’t like.
Joe gave not a rodent’s backside
For this foul troll’s attitude.
Yet the driver felt inclined to continue
with his prattling so rude:
“Consume excrement and expire,
you maternally fornicating
portion-of excrement consuming
rah-rah blah blah…” He continued bloviating.
Suggested Joe when he finished, “Might I refer you to a friend,
one you clearly need?”
He’s a cranio-proctologist,
The best around, indeed.”
“I invite you to perform an antatomically
challenging act of self-gratification,” quoth he.
“I ought to apply my foot to your tightly clad posterior
and then everyone will see.”
“While I’m good at riding bikes,” said Joe,
“Flexibility is not my strong suit.”
“So the contortionism is out,
and I plan to continue my route.”
“And as far as threats go,
I must say that I’m not very impressed.
I wouldn’t bet your Hollywood looks
on what I sure hope is a jest.”
“In matters of fitness, you clearly lag,” noted Joe.
Which is why you’re in the car, and I’m not.
Thus, I cordially invite you to make a bowel movement
or kindly get off the pot.”
Happily the driver understood the score.
Away he drove with a whine.
Turns out he had to rearrange a sock drawer.
“Too bad, “ thought Joe. “He talked such a good line.”
Away Joe pedaled into the day,
Whistling a happy tune,
hoping not to encounter such a
fornicating bowel movement show anytime soon.
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
Mongrels gyrating on the edge of town
This it now- its going down
The chant electric, the doomsday count
It matters not that no one speaks a word
We knew it was coming, but you havent heard
Just know how I loved you , go fly little bird
A mass of hungry hatred flash of glimmering blades
Blood of the martyrs, murder and Hades
Dance of the hyena, foul flinging dung
Clinging our candles only looking up
Feeble little fingers summoning the Light
A promise in our prayers armless in a fight
This is my cry, tell it to the world
From the podiums and parliaments
Dont believe a word
Copyright © Jannie Breedt | Year Posted 2018
A BUSH FIRE
One scorching afternoon,
A sudden splintering sound was heard,
The nearest was the buffalo herd,
They smelt the smoke and felt the heat,
And began to charge, they had to beat,
The, scorching red hot fire.
The monkeys who swing and never tire,
Screeched loudly in tongues,
Whilst smoke, stole oxygen out of their lungs.
A mighty midget the porcupine,
Warned chancers that his quills so fine,
Would incur great pain
Not only a red blood stain,
For he dreaded to be turned belly up,
And had no intention, of being anyone’s sup!
The birds began to fly very high,
Away from the smoke, in the sky.
The unfortunate tortoise lost his way,
And sadly, with his life, had to pay.
The giraffe with tall spindly legs
Ran wildly destroying nests and eggs,
His wildness came from his wrath,
And, the chaos along his path.
The animals ran faster away from the fire,
Whilst the flames leapt higher and higher.
A mamba slithered forward next,
Whilst a frightened cub looked on perplexed,
A Zebra, tripped and broke his back,
Causing more confusion in this race track.
The springbok and hyena together ran,
They were now close to the water pan,
The pan was next to a river,
Would they make it,
Each animal began to quiver,
Could the springbok be tomorrow’s lunch,
A tree falls with a thud and crunch,
Distracting the hyena from his would be munch!
The fox cunningly glances from side to side,
Nimbly a burning log jumps wide.
The lions mouth their cubs gently but tight,
As they run from this horrendous plight.
But water is in sight!
Everyone is close to the finish line,
This race has become competitively fine,
The crocodiles are savagely waiting to dine!
They have spotted their first meal,
The frightened perplexed cub hurriedly steal.
Only a quarter,
Can get into the water.
A stampede starts, animals clamber over each other,
The young ones protected by their mother.
Unfortunately only the strongest will survive,
To tell future generations of their strive,
Of what it’s like, living a bush veld life.
Copyright © JENNIFER PROXENOS | Year Posted 2018
visitin me aunty Cushla
For the first time in Ballybay
I found meself beside a signpost
An I stopped to find me way.
It was then I spied a little feller
Laid behind a bale of hay
He was prepared to help me
but wanted to know what I was prepared to pay.
Well I couldn't believe what I was hearin
He's a tight fisted scallywag
but he wouldn't listen to reason
and jangled the coins in his money bag.
Would ye do that to a feller Irishman ?
I hope yer marry a sour faced old hag
He said , Why do yer think I'm chargin yer
Shut yer gob an get out yer swag.
He rubbed his hands as I counted me money
Just like Ebenezer Scrooge
Gigglin like an hyena
With his cheeks the colour of rouge.
Twenty pieces of silver
I thought his price was huge
The guys a bloody comedian
an I am to be his stooge.
He stood up from behind the bale
An dressed in so many shades of green
With his funny hat and his little pipe
On his shillelagh he began to lean.
Now where was it yer said yer were goin
Ah Ballybay , Well to prove I'm not too mean
I'm gonna walk there with yer
Aren't I the most generous leprechaun yerv ever seen?
As we walked I told him about me aunty Cushla
an me bein on holiday fer two weeks
He handed me back me money
I'm so dumbfounded I can't speak
Ah to see a leprechaun yer must believe
He said,So yer must forgive me cheek
An its luvvly to see a young Irish lad
Who didn't treat me like a freak.
Well Shamus an me became buddies
Fer the duration of me stay
Downin pints an eatin colcannon
an dancin in the Irish way
He could really play a fiddle
An no more did I have to pay
I loved me visit to see aunty Cushla
On me first trip to Ballybay.
Copyright © DARREN WATSON | Year Posted 2014
Lurking in the darkest shadows,
she looks for one of us to hound,
trying to catch a little glimpse
as she staggers along and limps
Spittle and drool keeps dripping
from yellow teeth and snarling lips.
She whines and hunches her back
picking out one of us to attack.
Alone because she's made enemies
of those who once pitied her, but
she never let us howl our intentions
and blocked any effort of intervention.
With watchful eyes she tries to be sly
and has an ego that's rude and annoying.
She's always waiting for the chance
to trounce, then do her trophy dance.
She takes swipes and nips at our butts
when she thinks she has the upper hand,
but her whining doesn't matter to us.
Our pack calls her 'the ornery old cuss.'
Let her coo and take those falsetto bows,
and let her think she's a ruling queen,
but we all know she's just a looney hyena
while we laugh at her haughty demeanor.
Poetry in an animal's view
contest by Jamie
Copyright © Marti Sutherland | Year Posted 2017
The Mariner's old salted-air skin, leather tight,
on a mast-hard frame of bones
and flash flood rushing blood,
faces ice-fed winds bouncing his ship
and helm cockeyed on continuous curling waves
from Nature's rough hewn seas,
beneath skunk-colored skies
Standing redwood tall,
in a locked jawed face of stormy, screaming weather
with honey badger determination,
to fight for the aging breath and life of his vessel,
of foot worn,handmade English Oak,
in a lion and hyena fight with the storm
Hoping the molten core of flaming,fiery light from the sun,
bursts through volcanic ashen clouds,
leaving his still sided barnacle plugged wormwood planks attached,
until he reaches shore
4/25/17 contest Word Play Images, Dense and Pithy
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2017
See them circle high upon the wing
Their beady eyes scan for anything
A weakness in their prey is all they need
And patience for its death before they feed
They watch hyena harry of the weak
To join in the gore is all they seek
To get their beaks in flesh by any means
They listen, waiting for the dying screams
See them circle lower to the ground
Encouraged by the warring battle sound
In numbers now, to the fight they flock
To witness murder of him in the dock
They watch hyena with his teeth now bared
Knowing soon his meal will be shared
The scent of blood, delighted with the kill
Swooping in, enjoying every thrill
See them flutter ugly in the dust
To scavenge in a death that seems unjust
The victim, he was happy getting by
Pot bellies satisfied without a sigh.
Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2014
There I was.
Inside a crowded Toys R Us
On a mid-Winter’s evening
Abrasively loud 5 year olds
And depressed fathers
Ready to throw their “angelic” brethren
Into life-size Nerf basketball hoop
(Because it was on Clearance)
To embrace sanity’s madness
I was simply here to search for a porcelain doll
For my darling 8 year old angel
To match her serene complexion
But, toddler stomps & red-faced pouts
Equivalent to octaves of Hell’s 5th circle
Could not stop the strut that suddenly coated my foggy nerd glasses
There she was.
Her 5 foot, 10 inch majestic walk
Performing exorcisms on corrupted tile floors
My ear canals
Swimming in the serenity of
Her olive-coated curves
And violet-auburn shaded, shoulder-length curly locks
Sensual witchcraft was placed upon my resilience
Chipped away by her Hazel ribboning pupils
My heart’s atrium, flat lining, with laughing hyena smile
Frozen by igloo’s revenge upon madness
“Excuse me, sir”, she vehemently moaned
(At least, in my head)
“Hi”, I expressed with pre-pubescent coarseness.
“I’m looking for a porcelain doll.
But, I’m a tad lost in this maze.
Could you help me find my way?”, she whispered with demure smile
With my tongue pressed against seconds’ icy arm,
Locked for dear life,
I inhaled with Olympic stature
“It’s 9 isles this way. May I show you?”, I confidently declared on sanity’s edge.
With constellations aligned by blue moon signatures,
As crux of evening’s audible stresses
Faded into final curtain’s epileptic sunset,
The winds of Yahweh curtailed all foggy affirmations
Into palms of bliss
On this night
I proudly took the long route
Slow dancing with magnificent silence
To the isle
That was only 2 steps to our left
I believe we both discovered our porcelain dolls on this night.
©Drake J. Eszes
Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2013
A dusty street, commuters meet
A taxi crowded, a route decided
Street vendors sell, plastic from China
Fresh fruit, dead meat, flies from hell
A cellphone rings, a message pings
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Populations swell, polluted wells
Children dying, old man crying
Nobody cares, everyone stares
Gold, coal, a bloody diamond
Everything's traded, lives degraded
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Guns blazing, wars a raging
No rain, no grain, population with hunger pain
Wilderness retreats where humans meet
Malaria, mosquito born hysteria
Hyena calls, a lion roars
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Witchdoctor belief, the mans a thief
Muti making, money taken, knuckle bones shaken,
Throw the bones, skinny man quaking
Superstitious dread, powdered vultures head
Goats throat cut, ancestor pleasing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Habitats shrinking, a duiker drinking
Rhino horn, elephants tusk, money lust
Charcoal making, our forests forsaken
Aids, ebola, a broken molar
Africa dying, nobody crying
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Dictator for life, a stupid wife
Life is cheap, broken bodies in a heap
A leopard coughs, a baboon bark
Gangsters fighting, drug addicts scoring
Corruption, consumption, businessmen laughing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
The rains have come, a cowhide drum
Wildebeest mating, zebra migrating
The grass is green, landscape clean
Thunder clap, lighting strike, a stole bike
People sowing, maize a growing
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Choking dust, untamed lust
Political lies, rugby tries, meaty pies
Little round huts, kids in the dust
Fat cows, little black pigs, a cockerel crowing
Turtle dove calling, a blood red morning
Africa, my Africa, I know so well
Copyright © John birch | Year Posted 2016
Full moon uneasiness
Veranda dining, seven course style,
One day after my thirty sixth birthday,
I dine alone, in a poem.
Waiting for the Moon to pass to wane
and contemplate for Zanzibar, in vain. . .
Leawa Downs Marathon
Elephants graze in the foreground
Campers camp, Samburu chant
Hyena’s WHoop Whoop whoop
5 A.M. Army alarm wake-up
The brown dust rises
and runners move in
In the African Day
Building a Country Together
Blowing in the wind . . .
Descending into the Rift Valley
Baby nephew Dylan sings along
to the Beatles. Masi heard their cattle in
Red blankets and colored beads.
Sitting under the tree of knowledge,
Different universes under one sky.
The pounding rain of the Mara
Post safari, I sit in my tented camp
Five Star style and naked.
Rain Dancing on canvas:
Rain Song of Hyena Laughing,
The baritone of the Wildebeest,
The tree Frogs low hiccup.
I will shower in the hot rainwater
Sit on the Queen bed of honeymooners
And wish you were here.
Whoever you are. . .
Copyright © Stephen Barry | Year Posted 2015
The Zebra she walks through the African dry
Unaware of the mare, under Montana sky
A World far away yet somehow so near
With similar interest and similar fear
The Zebra is free with her family to roam
The mare has a stall, to call all her own
They look much the same, but for stripes on the one
The mare’s glossy coat shines in the sun
The Zebra is alert for danger is near
The mares grown accustom, to a much different fear
A cat for the one, is an enemy to guard
To the other, a cat is a friend…who sits in the yard
To the Zebra a dog, is a Hyena pack
To the mare he helps, put the cattle out back
So both carry a burden, through the long everyday
One careless mistake, with their lives they will pay
A broken leg turns, the mare into glue
One slip by the Zebra, and her family is through
So the mare and the Zebra, may not share the same stripe
But well connected they are…in truth and not tripe
Copyright © david kettler | Year Posted 2015
We live in a world full of anger, hate, mistrust, fear and hypocrisy, but it wasn’t meant that way. Once upon a time, thousands of years ago God created a green, pretty and healthy planet to live in where all the animals could work together and live in peace, but suddenly, all started to change. There was a kind and good-intentioned lion, the king of the world, that always tried to do the best for his planet, taking care of all the animals on earth and maintaining peace all along the different species, but there was also a hyena, his best friend, who was so jealous of the king that he stabbed him on the back. The lion always trusted on his best friend, he told him everything he knew and all his thoughts. He thought he would be there for him whenever he needed him and always sought for his good, but the king started to notice his odd mood and felt like he was loosing his best buddy, he tried to talk to the hyena but he refused. So the king turned to somebody else to ask what was going on with his friend and nobody told him. That was so weird, everybody loved the king, everybody would kiss his *** for free, but not now, everything was different, not just with the king but the mood itself. Everything looked sad, darker, like dead. Then, one afternoon, at the weekly meeting of the Great Council, where everyone was discussing, telling wrongs and rights, the hyena stood and spoke up and turned everybody from the king, he was creating a revolution. With all the king’s ideas, with all the tactics he had, the hyena started to create a new team, he was creating bad people, he created evil. Even though there were still animals in the lion’s side, the evil one was stronger. The king, surprised and devastated by his best friend’s betrayal, he took up arms and started to defend his kingdom, the beautiful world he had. So they all started to fight, there was blood split everywhere, screaming, shouting and violence all around the place, like never before. Nobody stopped until wining or dying, dying was the choice they had to make to live in honor. So that was how the beautiful piece of heaven they had on earth stopped existing.
Copyright © Andrea Aldana | Year Posted 2012
worn like a killer bite around the neck
It breathes in unison with a heaving chest
offers protection like having eyes on the back
of the head like an invisible shield in a clenched fist
it now lives on through the soul of a Masai
the only skeleton in the wild never approached by a vulture
it is at the heart of the pride of a Zulu warrior
there’s no greater, more fearless culture
it hangs as a symbol of courage next to the heart
sharp and ready still to tare flesh from bone like a spear
wielding its fury in spite of mouth and jaws, still a beast
it would be the last gasp its victim souls ever hear
a roar like the voice of the gods, the command of death
echoing tremors across the savannah
the thrill of the chase, of the hunt, of power and stealth
the eternal strife, of the nervous chuckle of a hyena
it remembers how it instilled fear, how the wind caressed its mane
how claw and tooth worked together to bring down wildebeest
there’s no middle ground in this life, in the world of man
only the insatiable desire to rise above the rest, to be the best
Copyright © Thabang Ngoma | Year Posted 2015
Led to believe
you'd help me achieve
the grace of a ballerina
a voice operatic
from my usual asthmatic
cackle like a laughing hyena
I endured your bite
the party with gusto to steer
true state of affairs
via video fare:
drunk, I'm a weirdo, witless and *****
Alone on my porch bench
abhorring my stench
I sit with my head on the pound
in hangover's claws
I glare at the cause:
scores of bottles strewn all around
"I'll drink no more
on wine declare war
as of now I'm calling you quits
thief of humanity
my reason for insanity
'cos of you my life's in the pits."
A-cuss and a-curse
I pick up the first:
"Say hello to the wall of the park
sing your last aria
afore I smash yer!!"
as with a discus fling a wide arc
"Nice tinkle I reckon."
bend for a second:
"You fiend, I'll smash you to bits
you dug me a hole
my life to control
stole the bigger chunk of my wit."
my eyes a-twinkle:
"Down with alcohol, scourge of society
to drink is absurd."
smashing a third
"You monster, you stole my sobriety."
"Whoa! Whoa! This one is weighty
unlike your mateys
with you I've never had quibble
in fairness to you
you'll lift my blues
for my woe I don't hold you responsible."
DELYSIA. FOR GIORGIO'S CONTEST.
"Dear alcohol, We had a deal where you would make me funnier,
smarter, and a better dancer. I saw the video. We need to talk..."
Copyright © delysia hendricks | Year Posted 2013
Dar es salaam where I live means heaven of peace
But to me she has proved as well to be a haven of peace.
A peaceful place for any peace-loving person or race.
Atleast selfishly from here seem faraway all warring feuds all bloody massacres.
For here we simply catch sea and fresh water fishes
instead of getting caught up in goddamned skirmishes.
Oh and I live in a land of seven wonders and I stay in a mansion of seven windows
Each of them overlooking a different view
Guys, seven wonders to be exact
but be ready here for both fiction and fact
For I present to you these seven wonders of this land
as if I could view 'em' all from where I stand.
Ah and though I've settled down trying to be content with Tanzania.
A major part of me will always belong to my beloved India.
Well, well my first window has a view of Mount Kilimanjaro
the highest mountain in all of Africa
Rightfully named, the Roof of Africa.
The 2nd window overlooks
and fishermen with nets and hooks
in the 2nd deepest and longest lake in the whole wide world.
And from my third window can be seen
the famed, fabled and very pretty
Natural park known as Serengeti
Nature's celebrated celebrity.!
The 4rth window affords a view of the wide Ngorongoro Crater
Just as rich in wildlife
Throw some fish to the 'gator
even if it's such a ruthless predator.
The 5th one it overlooks
The great game reserve Mikumi by name
no less in fame
for a choicest variety of game.
As for the 6th window, from there you can see
Lake Victoria too
and I play peek-a-boo
with a marvelous maribou
and cheerily say 'karibu'
from the largest lake in all Africa.
The seventh, the last window gives me a view
of the dry lush gold-green sea of Savannah
Teeming with favorite flora and fauna
Here a rhino, there a hyena
and hee hee 'hear' that mynah
So now it's up to you to plan a trip, a Safari
to this land of precious Tanzanite, the land of the Maasai
.Aha, mind you only the mansion overlooking all that is fictional
and every other detail is soo real and factual.
Copyright © S.zaynab Kamoonpuri | Year Posted 2015
Zebra, Yak, Xenopus, Walrus, Vulture, Urial, Tiger, Snake, Rhinoceros, Quokka, Peacock, Orangutan, Numbat, Muntjac, Lion, Kudu, Jerboa, Iguana, Hyena, Guan, Frog, Elephant, Dromedary, Camel, Bison, Avians.
Copyright © Nathan Bach | Year Posted 2015
The elephants were feeling down
As pachyderms oft do.
The cockatiels were quite depressed
The chimpanzees were too.
The mood among the jungle crowd
Was in short quite low,
When a young Hyena yelled,
“I’ve got guys, I know!”
We should throw a dinner Party
To stop us feeling dismal,
But please don’t ask the vultures round
Their manners are abysmal.
“Splendid!” called the warthog,
Very much excited,
“How will we let the others know
That they’ve been invited?”
“Easy!” cried a young gazelle,
Getting rather heated.
“Tell the parrot who should come,
He’ll find them and repeat it.”
“What shall we eat?” exclaimed giraffe,
“I tell you, that’s the question.
‘Cos if I have the tigers grub
Then I’ll get indigestion!”
“Who’s invited needs more thought.”
The wildebeest all said.
If we ask the lions round
They’ll eat us up instead.”
“What ssshall I wear I asssk you all?”
They heard a grass snake cry.
“The monkeysss might all fit in ssssuits,
But how on earth will I?”
“We’ll never find the table cloth.”
“And who will do the dishes?”
“We’re running short of cutlery.”
“Where will we sit the fishes?”
They argued on all through the night,
But came to no conclusion,
And in the end forgot their plans
Amidst all their confusion.
Copyright © Rufus Reed | Year Posted 2011
Each time i scolded and abused you
It send fear into your humble heart.
High tense in the mind with high wind.
I made you cry under no offense
Battered you like a slave
And your tender heart forgives .
emotional tears gushed out from your white eyes
pleading mercy but, it touches me not.
All i am interested is what i wanted
Not what your beautiful life desires.
i thrust you aside in pain but peace p revealed.
No motherly emotions attached between me and you
BUt your tender mind seek wisdom.
I nagged and complained always,
But the wind take them away from your heart
Perhaps fatherly love means a lot than mine.
I hated you but you loves me thousands times.
On the the bed beside your companion, the wall
I pushed you aside and hit you thousand times,
YOu never complain to any one rather to the wall.
I made the street your home,
and the gluttons feed you and the flies your play mate>
You certainly have come to stay .
Yo may think all your thought, you may,
But your idea and dreams shan't see the day light
Hear evidence the nature gives judgement.
i place no mouldy margin upon what i should imagine.
I made you fatherless because of ques t for fame,
the dream i had was to wash you away.
The under world would be a better home for you .
Because i have no human feelings.
You cry to be free like the hibiscus flowers,
But i frustrated your dreams
And thrust you to the dark night
Where demons fear to tread.
I have no heart as a mother
And you still loves me.
On the couch you laid soliloquizing
Wet the pillor every night for my seek
In the mountain i hung my ears
living life as i wanted.
i rejected in the morning
In the afternoon i whipped you,
And in the night, you were left untouched.
i left you with no food .
Behind my eyes and my mind raging in anger
Wildly as a hungry hyena
Seeking for time to take away your life
You proved difficult right from the day i conceived you.
You are of a great person
Telling me what you wanted
Intimacy and the bond between us i cut.
with days of illusion and abandoned dreams
And sleeplessness with agony.
Twelve years of suffering poured on you from my stony heart
IN you i have rediscovered the memory of my blood.
Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2014
If your love was like the Namib;
Mountainous and bare,
Would you dig deep for water?
Would you scour the ridged crevasses there?
For something that moved,
Within and without,
Trying to remove, any and all doubt.
If your love was a deserted plain;
Parched and dying,
Would you search in vain –?
Weather-worn, beaten, sand-blast hewn;
Pecked by vultures – circling,
Stung by bees – swarming,
Gouged by the horns of a great Wildebeest;
Devoured in the jaws of a mighty hyena,
cackling, with delighted spite at your plight.
If your love was arid;
Would you imagine
A mirage of pelicans, seething,
Pink to the horizon, hungry and feeding.
Could you still dance to the silvery moon,
Sway and kiss the Milky Way, and swoon.
Could you make a sand castle stick;
Or would it fall through your fingers –
Quicker than quick.
If your love was a desert;
Would you hide like an ostrich, in fright
Or, chatter like a baboon,
through the night
Would you roar like a leopard
Looking for it’s spots
Or fight like a lizard
who knows what’s what?
Cast in Stone.
Designed to destroy;
Would you lay down on the scorching sand;
To wither and die.
Or mutate to survive – why?
Would three raindrops;
Dew-soft and honey-sweet
licked from your skin
Make a river that flows,
wide, wider and thin
If your love was brittle and dry;
Would several clouds in a clear bright sky,
Make you cry, allay your fears,
Or bring you to your knees.
Would you rest on a rock to renew your will,
Would emptiness give you impetus to fill?
If the suffocating heat of relentless rejection;
Stifled your breath,
Would your mind be plotting,
an early death?
Would you quiver like a zebra,
Stampede like an ox,
Sting like the scorpions tail in a knot?
Or - would you
Soar away like an eagle –
across the skies;
Coo, coo as a dove perched on high.
Find an oasis calm and green,
And squat like a quail, soft and unseen.
Think about life, and it’s true meaning.
Be still, patient, accept;
That glorious seeing.
An open field;
flower-filled and breathing.
Life lived in a reality of beauty and feeling;
Hung out boldly with the stars,
for the dreaming.
Forget about love;
lost in the desert;
The impressions and depressions,
of the changing landscape.
Blood, shed from wounds;
in the Valley of Death,
The fire ants have taken,
to their beds.
Copyright © Judith Palmer | Year Posted 2010
Clinton on steroids—Fiornina
She shreds truth like a hyena
Let's make the world right
No—she’d much rather fight
As the killer in the arena
Can Hillary have the right stuff?
She couches words not a tight ****
If her clothes be stripped
See the mummy from the crypt
Quite rough to see her in the buff
For billionaires—Super PACS pander
Their “MO” is to ooze slander
So join with Bernie
Sanders' great journey
Since he's Mr. ethics and candor
Author's Note: There are two women running for the 2016 White House. I only wish that there was a more qualified woman running for whom I could vote--like Elizabeth Warren. This past Friday I went into Manhattan and saw Bernie Sanders speak. Recently, he spoke at Liberty University, and the event is searchable. BTW, I see Hillary and Carly as sisters in deceit. There is something very wrong with the body language, speech and ideas of each. They both are owned by big money. My apologies to the hard core supporters of these two beastly hypocrites.
Copyright © Duke Beaufort | Year Posted 2015
Isolated and surrounded by her worst enemies
The lioness fought hard, but her fate was sealed
"You're gonna die tonight kitty kat" one hyena said
Then he bit her viciously
The others joined the attack....
When the dust had settled The lioness lay lifeless.....
"Hey did you hear the commotion last night"
one lion asked to the other
"It was the hyenas and lionesses fighting"
"Were there any casualties"
asked the lion with the black mane
" Yes, they killed a lioness last night"
answered another."But tonight they'll feel the pain" he added
Later that night they heard the hyenas laughing
A laughter that curdled their blood
The lions began walking towards the hyenas
The smell of blood was everywhere
The lions were focused on the battle ahead
"There'll be some dead hyenas tonight"
The golden maned lion said
They increased their pace as the stench of hyena intensified
The hyenas stopped laughing
When the lions came into view
The lions attacked immediately, the payback was swift and deadly
And many of the hyenas fled
When it was over 3 hyenas lay dead
And the faces of the big cats were stained in blood
Roars of victory echoed through the night
Copyright © Joseph May | Year Posted 2013
Caring is cool, my poetry is revolutionary,
im scaring a school, the team is on my back and i carry them to,
the promised land, atlas shrugged and gave me you,
the world on my shoulders and i am prepared to share the truth
Too many lies permeate into innocent minds,
fight for peace? Who are we to kill our own kind,
militia dont kill my vibe,
i see what i speak is on the rise,
the dawn is so close yet we are in the dark (k)night,
but it is so important that now is our hardest fight
Lennon and kennedy, started what i attempt to steady speak,
if you're still a sheep in search of a team you can get with me,
this is the only medium where I largely get to speak,
the world will be inherited by the meek,
that doesnt mean dont be strong, im arming the weak
The voice of Ed the hyena is done by Cheech Marin,
in that scene Scar is surrounded by smoke that's green,
what other subtle symbolism has been used by Disney?
Even if it is discreet, more characters die in their movies,
violence to the kids is what our society feeds
Im gonna quote Marilyn Manson- is adult entertainment killing our kids? Or is killing our kids entertaining adults?
Most messages of hip hop glorify hittin the asphalt,
rather than encourage em to sell crack off,
we could encourage em to read, not be trapped or play basketball
I don't know, but like the title of this mixtape is,
its just Gourmet food for thought, why so serious?
There's no reason to be fearing this,
unless you're fearing within,
i quiet my thoughts through a meditative experience,
Find out what is subjectively true,
when you get told how to think, question it too,
in this life all you'll ever be left with is you,
speak when you stand so you represent the mute
A wise woman once said the only thing worse than no sight,
is having no vision, ive seen the light,
yeah it didn't last long but i know im the brother that was meant to write,
my favorite number is seven, thats the days in Genesis right?
My door is always open to let in and invite,
a pen is my instrument, yet currently i type,
for this Christmas im getting a mic,
in these recordings im working to send you my life
Copyright © Wonder Bred | Year Posted 2015
In My Language
This you might not know is a conversation,
It’s a conversation not of persons.
This is a conversation of multiple languages.
If you could observe the functions of my mind,
You would marvel at the thought processes
Criss-crossing ideas in various languages
I am not sorry for not thinking in one language only.
I am happy that the multiplicity of languages
Offers me just as multiple images;
Here you are thinking I am writing this in English,
Yes. But know this that what you see in this language
Is thought through ciTonga, through, siLozi and even
Through ichiBemba and chiChewa
How more purer can an idea be created!?
You sure do not know that a dog in siLozi is nja…
To know the word ‘dog’ I need to imagine ‘nja’
How else would I know its meaning?
To write a sentence, I must have thought about it
Three times more than you reading this…
‘Wait a minute’ in my language does not mean sixty ticking bits
That’s what it means to you…
In my language your minute could last a year…
You wonder why ninety days is more than ten years!
Wait a minute darling…welcome to my world.
In my language things are winding.
Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking that a ‘chimbwi’
Refers only to the animal ‘hyena’
It should; but does it?
In my language, you are safe if you do not translate anything.
Say ‘chikala’ and you will be cheered on
Translate that to some uncivilized language…
It’d be too civil for the hearing.
We do not name, we image in my language…
Love imaged as someone’s property
Think of a car that one really cares for…
That’d not sound real romantic in your ears…
In my language a mate would dance hearing
Being referred to as a well-tended car…
In my language, unlike yours, ‘fat’ is a compliment
Sex is communicated through naughty dances.
No one is exempted from these dances.
Even people in public offices show desire…
What you see…that’d not what you get.
The smiles carry within them deep felt grief.
They hope their loved one would come back.
He has prayed his goodbyes without facing them.
They wait for a minute; they still wait.
They sing dirges as the sun sets
There you are thinking they are morning a loss
In truth, they are rehearsing for a soon to occur demise
The disease without a name has come to visit yet again.
In my language stories are a norm
Alcoholic drinks accompany the tales
We have long known how to play our ‘ngoma’
The sound of ngoma does not mean anything to you; maybe
We know the differences in pulses;
Which announces a birth and which a death
There are fewer birth sounds…not birth to this side
Many births to the other side…
In my language Christmas is not the birth of some strange child.
It is for eating and drinking rare food and beverages.
The free range chickens know where to hide…
The greens wave with joy; they celebrate…
The not so nimble white hens pray in surrender…
The young and the old flirt…what a sight…
All adorned in new regalia…
In my language…
© Copyright.2012. All Rights Reserved. Nsamu Moonga
Copyright © Nsamu Moonga | Year Posted 2012
Vestal purity, all men succumb- the Virgin whose eyes stare silver beams- crystallizing his very soul. He, and all who gaze upon she.
Aeonia writhes behind fallen lids, unable to awake. Betrayal of her psyche-. Silk whispers upon her sweat soaked skin. 1000 nights have come and gone as she still writhes, unable to awaken.
Her **** swallows the evil the world has delighted in - all betrayal, lies and sin.
Dripping from between her great legs are left the dregs of green heat,
jealous heat that slides down and puddles on the floor.
The vacuousness of her **** has left no good...
fear, hatred and rage are ****ed inside of her... pounded into her birthing, ever birthing animosities.
Sludgy sperm of bastards evil- threaten to fertilize her eggs. Gray fetuses passing through her pose the question- "Why?"
She dares not answer, for to open her mouth would invite flies to lay their maggot eggs upon her very tongue...
Still she cannot- dare not open her eyes...not yet.
Screams! tortured hyena throes of Thorazine echo in her mind.
Do Not Open Your Eyes!
Aeonia- and her aeons!
Ever lay bare and never to see, never to move.
Aeonia! Why have the gods punished you? Fair one of the crystalline silver eyes?
Time immemorial, leperous tongue dies piece by piece, inch by inch until nay but a smarted stub exists.
Who hears you anyways? No one to hear your cries whore!
Whore of all women, shall we call you Eve?
Cocks of man and gods and kings all rape your syphallic cave-
one by one.
Whore! You are blamed! Oh Aeonia, for misbegotten deeds by every wife, woman and queen!
Succubi, WITCH! A potion of cat claws and rat maws you brewed, from Adam to the last man standing, you are to be blamed! For his infidelity, his disease, his shame!
Copyright © Amy Green | Year Posted 2012
A fellow named
was killed by a
When went him a
to pray at a high
for God to send
down bunch of
Copyright © UGWU CORNELIUS CHIDERA | Year Posted 2014