Best Junks Poems
The cloud is set to cry
Thunder rumble
A sunday in RCCG
Drummer boy in spiritual malapropism
Members of choir malaguena(- ing)
Blue, purple and scarlet yarn floating in the temple
A chest-piece in between my ego
As my thoughts grew larger and thinner
I stood in the company's of fools
Upturning sanity for relativity
In the laboratory of my thoughts
I adulterated truth for thoughts
Questioning the audacity of morality for the concept of anything goes
Romancing with secularism and syncretism
In holy matrimony i stood with duplicity
Igniting animistic junks
Dancing round the camp fire of spiritism
I an offspring of paranoiac
Swam with mundane and nude views
In the harmony of my vain thoughts
A lightning electrocute my rear ear
A voice slashed me like sash, saying
' awake brother, the service is over'
awoh awoh
Water rains the philosophies of mums each morning plying jeer can with tough
faces because the taps have been experiencing months of loneliness in it
gush.
The waking of sleepless mums gluing their hope to the taps gush, merely
believe this city certain to save the mums from slavery of their own. Owed
the boredom drenching in strings water to the songs of birds close the
window to the windmill.
The nights become longer to the size of river Nile wishing the night to
swallow the day, their pace can be heard in parliamentary to the voice of
the kettles rumbling in the morning
Their sweat determines the pain they have been through to ignorant of the
truth the pipes are like dead snakes on the roads biting us with fear.
It gushes no water that too melancholy on milky tooth of incompetent man
hovering his wings to the nation and attribution regretted.
She colors her behavior to spit the crowded of women around the well to
the crisscross that wills the nation to notion active only by the title of
competency if imagined.
The cascade of the city to scent of village with tantamount hope boiling no
interest to glue in city that with no sign of before, but backwardness
rumble to the dumbbell in the morning to mothers cry.
The dampness of their clothes to the scent of cockroaches well being, the
fake manifesto entertains poverty and glue the water collectors to
colloquial gossip in the morning hoping to ram the messed up and the big
mistake ever nation has cried that circulated in short saga.
Dumb in parliament to the palatable junks of protruding stomach shining
gown to the shake of lizard to the fall of Julius Cesar by the sword
And by the oath of power to the pointless of being a President to the
resident overdue of coalition of poverty is fence of blunders on the frying
plate
by then the imagination of mums fetching the tinkling of water enshrined
them each morning to months of lamentation
They rallied you to paint their faces with hope of impregnated oath to
breath of thief with heavy sombre spell diction's where we must defend to
the arrival of Jesus by jumbling solutions to fix broken ideas to the
weight night.
High in the blue sky
a dark lonely cloud
shadows the sun
above them, thunder rumbles;
and the trees humbly bow
to the incessant wind.
Beneath them,
shadows grow shorter and taller
from the north,
dust thick as fog gathers,
whirls and twirls
filling the sky with
murkiness and junks.
A lone leave circles and floats
blindly, undecided to rest
or join in the tumult
and then landed at my feet
I looked up as a tiny droplet
perched on my nose~
It's the first rain.
am the one that you corruptly and acidly destroyed I once a country of success and national prosperity hub educational champion, but you politicians ruined me. I was meant to benefit everyone living in me, you exploited me exposed me in ruin. I was the national Anthem of West Africa, because of bad leaderships and excessive of bureaucracy I was designed to benefits all people rather unfortunately I am the captain of poverty and development underdog, architectural blind.
I am stinking with abject poverty chronic sculptures and broken windows, the king liar and acceptors of blame lazy bunch of kindergarten, capable of feeding the nation with myopic thinking, justice is dying in courtyards. You let the people to dream pleasant dreams they wake up to utopia. The country is in abject poverty lotion of thieves, excessive greediness.
Politicians used our blood to write their golden manifestos they flattered us with junks of food. They altogether brainwashed us, we are the rightful and meaningful owners of our destiny. We have been denied justice to serve our country men and women. Sierra Leoneans are proclaiming having lots of minerals all infancy, and surreal.
I am a hamlet where developments are eminent. But corruption have eaten into our hearts destroyed our organs and kidneys like narcotics. Lawmakers enacted laws ask criminals to apply the peace. Beggars are moving around town to mendicant in order to survive in the heart of Freetown, in order to skip the day.
The Statehouse witnesses these painful memories the beggars are finding it too hard to put food on their tables. They move from east to west north to south as if they are intoxicated though they are not, but because too much of pain sucking in their skins, they brought us the Ebola method to subtract the population with Nazi salute.
A surprise move by the Nordic King
He orders his men to kill Huffle-Winks
They are big-headed junks hollering mouthfuls
Blood they need of Princess Umberta.
'Take them into confidence' the dragons
They are so poor, shorn of fire-power
And master of Huffle-winks takes note of
The dragonflies are so busy with lillipooks.
In predawn strike, Huffle-Winks bleed
Dragons' mightiest scales lose glitter
Legends fall into pieces,vulnerable stories
Litter the pavement to be walked over.
Now, she tramples the path out in garden
In regular errands to Umberta's studio
A baby dragon little feet wonder chum
The princess is happy with the kingdom.
Dragons, Dragonflies, and Huffle-winks Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
01st June, 2018
God will give you everything you want
Mark my words
Think on it
He wouldn't put that desire in you
And won't fulfill it
Think about it
When was the last time you really want something?
Did you get it?
Yes, my Deliverer is also making home delivery
Cause or no cause
So the next time you really want something
Say "thank you" for His putting it there
Because you know that you will get it
Whether it's a burger haha
Or something outrageous - off the hill
If you want it you will get it
So make sure that's what you want
Or else your house so will be full of junks
That is what it is
Prioritize
Do you really want that?
Or think you do?
Nah
"You got it, mate"
It's a line I heard someone from Australia say
Got to borrow it
Lol
So did you learn anything today?
Let's see now... ahh... haha
Mother told a story yesterday
of how poets die in black penury
she said I won't be a pretty poet
as my dreams dance on my ink
"Poets are mirror of deceit and pain
craving beyond the debris of life
over my dead body will you be one!"
she pulled down the heaven on me!
a woman is a country of many colours
the hearts of men are far country
we are all students of life, learning
even the masquerade has a date,
a date to join their ancestors beyond
hold your tongue to your bosom
fate knows whose palm wealth will
be planted sooner or later by nature.
You will be raped by darned darkness
fed by junks of insanity lurking by...
a teary gland shall emerge, right in
the bosom of your myopic despair shall
you live by your sorrow like an oiled
orchestral stammerer down the street
father raged holding my LLB firmly
like pixels collection from a twisted
camera abandoned by a loner.
writers are mirrors connected to reflect
this world filled with broken stanzas
if my fears are not for my brothers and
my sisters and for Nigerians chains...
I will leave my hope dashed in the air
tilt this morning with the eyes of the night,
we will dice this moon for hand
on the paupers animated series of life.
Aduke birthed venoms last year for you
Chioma made your tears red images
words are like Sunbeams, the more they
are condensed the deeper they burn!
demise of a poet, no one seem to notice
in your domain,you don't expect praises
if a kingdom falls,there are several others
to replace it while you rot calmly.
Poetry pays but its a business of the Elites,
a trade not meant for children!
Shakespeare name is still carved on the
body of the sky, his head still seen today.
what is penny without a route in life?
Poets are pauper to their testy tongue!
Father, leave me to my dreams to perish
alone, even if evil calls for good,
I will stand as one poet and always will.
let the traces of a saint be kept in peace
let the shining armor of a poet glitter
becoming another star is not a sacrilege
Poets are not broken and shattered dust
this musing muse is only our spirits;
a spiritual elixirs to the clay world
we are crops, the worldcover, ladders
let the ways of poets be kept, we are
not paupers on the street begging for meat.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
Yelling at hallucinations with grimaces
He confronts shadows in public places
And donning wooden face, tosses
Between manic depressive psychosis
Dialogues incoherent, logic weird
But bizarre visions surpass Dali and Picasso
Or in self-inflicted agony invoke Dante's Inferno
Symbolize residual junk--life collecting junks
Acting never so dramatic
soliloquy never so erratic
Sudden threats daze strangers
Or his suffering of pity stirs
But obsessed by suspicion of thought insertion
He keeps blaming others for his own action
Withdrawing himself from society
He lives in a ***** world of reverie
Meeting him gives a feeling of having visited
The dilapidation of an erstwhile grand mansion
Perceiving the air's beat,
He positioned his feet as expected.
Bewitched by the rhythm asserted,
His paraphernalia did compliment his treat.
Pulling junks and unusual stuffs,
He settled on a cracky old muddy stage.
'Hey! , the beat of life did constitute my
rage',
He thundered, as to the inspirationist he did
cast the stuffs.
Being possessed by his virtuous talent,
He resumed his usual relay.
As the littlun did squeeze sound out of their
traditional gadget,
He consciously maintained the unconscious
alley.
'Away! , here he comes; the pouncer.'
'Be not away! , he is sane but 'A street
dancer''.
C.2017
SETTLED ?
Settled now what we are here.
Let's give our life our last shot.
Desires appear and disappear,
sometimes fulfilled but sometimes not.
Spread happiness, being humble..
Settled now that we are here.
Drive out junks in mind, that jumbled !
On journey of life, make paths clear.
Proceed free when love leads entire.
Give your best, no greed by mistake.
Settled now that what we are here.
We have come to give not to take.
Love is the best urge we have got.
Transparent open mind clean- clear.
Love can untie Gordian knot.
Settled now that what we are here.
03\19\23
You will go through the same mountain until you pass the test
You think your heart is pure but not until you face the challenge
Then you will find out
Do you know what is in there? Your heart that is
Do you know what are you made of deep down?
Really. Take a look of yourself
Don't worry - God will test you
And you will know soon enough
Are you really free of junks?
Lol - pure that is
Do you really have another person's interest at heart?
Or are you willing to shove that person out of the way - so you can have yours?
Girlfriend, boyfriend - you never know until you face it head on
Then you would know what you are made of
You want to be able to say to God
"See I passed the test. I told you."
I think you know who you are and what you are capable of
But until it goes through the fire and tested
You will not fully appreciate you
Haha don't think you are too good
Lest you fall
You will know when you finally pass the test
He will let you know
Is He done?
Ha - not a chance
Am I done? - yeah lol
Tis of a truth about Africa,
An idea seducing my ear at the eventide:
He's a dwarf
Bearing a gigantic burden,
Dazed by weariness,
Betrothed to heaviness.
Diverse folks standing beyond the margin,
Admonishing him:
'Move,Move,harder,harder',
You can get here,if not faster',
Come,ho!,slower,slower,
Strangle the motion,trials're better.
But could he move?
The burden stayed his leg:
You want a proof?
Ask the bird!
He being a cubits above the earth,
His burden 105 cubits preparing his death.
He bears the burden
Or his burden bears him:
Burden constituted with junks:
A Suitcase bearing an octupus lung.
Tell Africa,
Even say to Africa:
'Unburden yourself:
Put down the burden,
Untie it's knot yourself,
(For if another hand does,you'll be in power bed-ridden.)
Search it's content,
See if all are gold,
Shake off the useless,
Consciously re-tie the load.
Then,bear on the burden,
In decades,you'll get to the margin.
But if you be blind
Still,that counsel you'll not heed.
You'll remain in street.
18:01:17:08:57
HISTORY IS UNTRUE
Columbus discovering America? Yeah? Who says?
Only after a small army of Vikings from overseas
Traded and raided on the coasts for centuries;
And Brendan had navigated from Ireland to the Bronx;
Not to mention precolumbian wrecks of Chinese junks
Found in the sandy bottom of San Diego harbor;
And the Mongoloid footsloggers who tiptoed south to Ann Arbor
Across the floes of the Bering Strait a millennium before.
Food and Elvis
I had opened a can of low fat rice-pudding and was
watching a food program, a big cook off in Tupelo.
Elvis father, Vernon, once built a small house here,
it cost him $ 250, but he could not pay the bank and
lost it; now the house is a shrine .
The winner, a cook who looked like a body builder,
said the pork had to be so tender that a toothless
man could eat it, and the sauce had to be right,
not too sweet or too sharp but with a hint of lemon.
When Elvis got to be famous he bought his parents
a big house and filled it with junks, he never been in
a fine home, how was he to know how the rich lived.
Cooks have come a long way, from the backroom to
where a bitter, low paid man resided and cleaned his
nails with a carving knife… and now TV stars.
Elvis best food was not pork, but a whole loaf, sliced
long ways, with a thick layer of peanut butter, bacon
and jam washed with sweet coca cola.
HISTORY IS BUNK
Columbus discovering America? Yeah, right !
Only after a small army of Vikings from overseas
Traded and raided on the coasts for centuries;
And Brendan had navigated from Ireland to the Bronx;
Not to mention precolumbian wrecks of Chinese junks
Found in the sandy bottom of San Diego harbor;
And the Mongoloid footsloggers who tiptoed south to Ann Arbor
Across the floes of the Bering Strait ten millennia before.