Best Sector Poems
THE BARE INFINITIVE
Look: up above the stratosphere
Outside the earth's blanket veneer
Beyond planets stars and galaxy
Past even faintest nebulae
Far from the pull of gravity
Free of Dark Matter's hidden vector
In existential cavity
Untied to any spacial sector
All human weakness risen above
In solo freedom primitive
Beyond the bonds of hate or love
There sits the Bare Infinitive
No cares nor problems, fears nor pains
But there's one question that remains
From Liberty, took a blessed kiss?
Or to false seductive promise succumb
Is he in sublime unfettered bliss?
Or formless, endless tedium
COROLLARY - The Meaning of Life
So perforce the very asking of the question
May reveal the answer to that greater plea
Why suffer slings and arrows, pains, anguish, oppression
When we might, by NOT opposing, be set free
The gloomy prince omitted consequence unsaid
In agonising on the walls of Elsinore
Endless nothingness holds nought for us but dread
Perchance to dream preferred to void; that we abhor
Thus life’s meaning may be: to be within a life
Then if we also have a purpose vied with strife
Result: interest, time, curiosity, interaction and aim
Or the elements of what we call: A Game.
Lest you think this demeans Creation to mere caprice
Then observe to be the player, not the piece.
24 May 2019
Aren't many or any finer than Dan me ol mucker & china who now looks out for nightmare cooks or crooks making money off the books with rare meat on dirty hooks in filthy nooks but don't care want to give him a shiner for saying don't be hasty or cheat prepare pukka tasty tucker & succour...safe fayre to eat for every diner...
Owners booming hysteria at inspector criteria
Kitchens so unclean like a war scene in Liberia
Zooming in you find they're grooming Listeria
Rightly fuming that it is blooming like wisteria
Hardly stellar told fella to have old mortadella
Rank covered in dank mould stank in the cellar
Dan who's a fan of Paul Weller is a fortune teller
Scores on doors stop more spores of Salmonella
Suss some are no faff or fuss a them & us schism
Despairing whiners cuss not caring about criticism
Cleanliness next to Godliness just an anachronism
Foolish witticism as diners get ghoulish botulism
Out of date food they buy deny do things on the fly
Just comply no treason and here’s the reason why
If duff stuff you season on the sly to try and get by
The Council’s the fall guy as folks do die from Ecoli
Hunch lunch or brunch scare dodgy ware of tupper
Owners get shirty but it’s so dirty can’t serve supper
Ask my man Dan this is not a masterplan to scupper
A public sector inspector would rather have a cuppa
A mystery for us mere human being to unravel;
B elief and logic fight over our world, all in confusion.
C ome stealthily, it does, while as busy beavers we wander.
D riven to sudden halt; surprise, shock and suffering grip tight.
E ssentials prop up from some dormant sector of the mind to
F ace strain and stress, in some old robotic approach once instilled.
G ot to hold upon, got to stand, got to function, as needed.
H earing and understanding are postponed until opportune.
I rony of life or mockery of fate; its own will to
J eer at our needs, feelings, state of being and expectation.
K indness, generosity and support shower from around
L ike lightness filtering in very long dark and gloomy night.
M esmerised we are of a display of crowding humane touch
N ever anticipated and evaluated in our
O rganisation selfish, to conquer,to build and to rise.
P artly wrecked, partly saved, we wade hard to breathe and to sustain.
Q uestions are many and answers less; in our everyday, they
R ecur, growing in number and torturing us with chagrin.
S omebody, luckily has to be here to listen, to share,
T o give some answers; family or friends, for us to pick up.
U nderstanding and accepting, all we are left with, to fill
V oid that keeps growing larger and larger while self confidence
W avers often; diversion from normal path of ours, repeats.
X enacious we are with willpower strong to rebuild upon.
Y ears of engineering; alas, some habits have to be dropped.
Z eal to live God's given life has to be gathered to move on!
25/06/2017
15 syllables per line.
Hashish smoke trails her
along a dusky corridor
Aka the hall of fires
where mirage chimeras unleash
Encumbered with hands splayed
her crystal ball lumens
wires ghostly apparitions
mnemonic attachments
What mystery ensues
a phantasmagoria
of horror nudging
the demonic
Sitters drenched
in profuse sweat
fainting one by one
Alas unconscious
their fate met?
Coroners couldn’t ‘ve clarified
Described as an arctic chill
bolting across the sector
through each limp body
claiming mortality
As icy temps rise
Hypothermia responsible!
for the fatality, for their demise
Latter days professing onto
recordings of a gathering that took place
confessing that a séance
performed by a mysterious woman
in a trance—was the case.
The
Moon is waxing
First quarter crescent
The beckoning begins
Nodding, gurgling
Opening realms unseen
to the naked eye
Madame
Mystic, psychic,
a beguiling storyteller
and Medium
Down in a cellar, along with a Ouija
volumes of her writings discovered
delving into société espirita
The Goldilocks of the occults
Esoteric subjects,
a burgeoning interest
Astral travels,
unexplained laws of nature,
powers latent in man
Madame channeled
ascended masters
The Voice of the Silence
The Two Paths
The Seven Portals
"gifts" from the specters
This time Madame stands
to receive between intervals
and only he is seated
Warning him of dark spirits
a dimension outside
of our physical time-space reality
shadowing, making absence
of light a necessity
To invoke them
another nod
Continues unabated
Reveal the truth!
By sacred decree, by order
Behind the phenomenon
details of schemes came to light
Denounced as Black Magic
she was no longer to fright
Marked as a fraud
it all a façade
The moon is waning
Third quarter
The stars above like dust arrayed,
their glow resplendent in the theme of night—
as remote to me the heavens, the drone now of my
footstep’s cadence compels me onward.
I urge my stream of thought again to reconsider bygone years—
and review in sorrow moments of regret I wish could simply evanesce.
A passing graveyard's dated markers make the past more vivid, and
as always there appears my own among them, adorned with gilt and guilt.
This sector of the cemetery seems untouched,
and painful stillness reigns until preoccupying words
if only somehow vanish from my mind, and absent these,
I leap joyfully to take my place at last unburdened midst the stars.
Dedicated to my dear and treasured poet friend Connie Marcum Wong, not so much due to content, as to its measured flow, which comes and goes in my work and over which I seem to have no control. Bless your days and nights, Connie.
I work in the retail sector
and everyone's gone mad.
It's really very amusing.
It's really very sad.
Toilet paper and sanitizers
have flown right out the door.
Though everyone is asking
we've no idea when we'll get more.
The face masks of every type
are hoarded like they're gold.
Even the ones for dust or painting.
But those hoarders can't be told.
The painters and the contractors
are getting pretty mad
since the ones they need for their jobs
are no where to be had.
Panic is setting in
and everyone's afraid.
But off to work we go
because we just need to get paid.
The N-95 face masks
( the ones they really need)
are limited to six per customer,
a lot of whom can't read.
We wipe the counters diligently,
the keypads and scanners too.
We don't want the coronavirus
but we understand it's just a flu.
Wash your hands, don't touch your face.
It doesn't seem that tough,
and if you're sick, just stay home.
We can't emphasize this enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~
12/03/2020
I stand naked wrapped only in the truth
you vile, loathsome reptile.
My contempt of you is limitless
as I have been force-fed your hypocrisy.
Your postulations are lost on me
as my insight into your repulsive nature
is exceeded only by the palpable stench of your aura.
Eyes opened to their widest apex,
ridiculously lends support to your “jokerish”
smile overly exaggerated in a…
Carol Channing kind of muse.
It seems your purse a revolving door
to his wants, has an ideally broken clasp…
Your shoulder, a never ending
tissue to his every sorrow should be waterlogged.
Which stands to reason why your legs
stretched open as wide as the earth’s axis,
“she-doggedly-in-heat” sniffs attention from him
and remains open like an all night 7-11 just to
provide “respite” in the name of “friendship”.
You find joy in slinking and scurrying through
the misfortunes and/or gains in our life,
all the while professing your love to him
and masticating on a stolen covenant
you have orchestrated in destroying.
There is no sector of my day
allowing me peace and escape from your
treachery and continued debauchery.
Your hair once a mousy shade of brown
now waxes blond in your further attempt
to assure he remains suckled at your breast
knowing his lust for blond haired, blue eyed
women that are six shades lighter than my ebony hues.
There is though, an appellative to my anguish,
which recoils from my tongue at
any attempt to voice this rage.
Escalating anger marinates and broils within
my breast as your ubiquitous presence
in my life has finally left me little strength
and no shelter from the uncloaked
vicious pain searing me to the core
in this deep abyss I have found myself in…
Unleashed fury beckons me, reaching back beyond now
when day was night and night was only imagined
barely controlling this hate and
the exigency to extract myself
from this nefarious, cheap, vaudevillian
show, which no longer can be ratiocinated
through your insipid lies before I...
Can’t imagine your expending this much
energy with your own household or husband because
you’re always living and breathing in mine!
Contempt has a name…and its malodor is…Linda.
"I will never know how you see red and you will never know how I see it." ~ Anne Carson, 'Autobiography Of Red'
Red are my cheeks when you compliment me.
Red is the bacteria in the southern Red Sea.
Red is the blood that has been shed for freedom.
Red is the cover of Dutch yellow cheese, edam.
Red, too, the lips after lingering, hungry kisses.
Red marks the sector of bullseye misses.
Red is the power of a celebrity's walk.
Red, the color of love's angry talk.
Red is love, hate, romance, and rage.
Red is the ink that edits my page.
Red is sexuality and esteem.
Red Stars is a women's hockey team.
Red is the blood of Christ and the fires of Hell.
Red is the sound of the persistent death knell.
I was a successful, fashionable florist, in mild green days of elegant gardens,
When an orange sun beamed its pleasure, like locales where lavender begins.
I formed arrangements for many occasions, drawing beauty lovers from afar,
As pretty planets arrange for a meeting, after wild rumors of the newest star.
And crowded hours were filled with summer, like pearly dews crowd morning,
Until ruby butterflies are playing tag, and gemmed damselflies are swarming.
Friends felt I might always be found, in some area of flush bloom fragrancies,
Like raven midnight's march to daybreak, with its warm, varicolored agencies.
Fond family held festive feasts, in fading hours of sparkly, fuchsia sun falling,
As whippoorwill songs clashed with red robin's, midst magenta stars gawking.
I lived in the house of tangy, saturated noon, when flowers were in full glory,
Like the most beautiful day of a woman's life, when a bride she's come to be.
Scarlet, saffron and other hues glittered, within the soulful sector of summer,
As starlings sang songs along my street, and sun rose and retired, a stunner!
Neighbors were nomadized at times, as honeydew moon nestles in new night,
When visiting me on eves of silk and satin, when fresh June was at its height.
Silver clouds were saddled with summer sun, in suddenly days of sweet rose,
Like grey encumbering smoke from autumn fires, when in plum mists it flows.
Raven noon was in green treetops, as the inarticulate ravens were squawking,
And fading time seemed to stand still, but ephemeral moments kept walking.
One day I woke to a gorgeous view from my window, daisies pink and yellow,
In the wide field right next to my house, glowing in the rich, sunshine mellow!
It put such a smile on my face, oh my! Like flocks of pretty blue jays going by,
And I kept seeing daisies everywhere I went, like a pearlescent moon on high!
I beheld African daisies and shasta, and pom pom-like chrysanthemum ones;
Along with fine lustrous gerberas, in all colors found, in wild green kingdoms.
I wondered at my strange, good fortune, in seeing beloved blooms anywhere;
Like the young, butterscotch days when Mother said, 'We're going to the fair!'
For awhile, I saw sweet daisies by day, and it seems I dreamt daisies at night;
Like a brief mystic spell of rapture, when hidden beauty's freed from its plight.
I imagine attending a colorful graduation ceremony at the college or university.
After attending my mind is stuck with a lot of queries:
Would graduates cultivate in themselves attributes of entrepreneurs,to think outside the box?
Were graduates tipped to be innovative, self-motivated, willing to take greater risks in
their fields?
Would graduates go into industry to add value in the economy sector,after being equipped with suitable skills?
Could the skills they have acquired be able to sustain them and support their families
with or without formal employment?
Would graduates narrow the skills gap that has existed in the industry?
Did lecturers expose graduates to both technical and entrepreneurship skills during
their training?
Would graduates be entrepreneurs who will constantly create and grow business ventures,thereby creating employment and incomes in the economy?
Could graduates embrace the intelligence of the labor force,and start running viable growth-oriented ventures as a career alternative?
Could they survey key industries,organizations,family and friends already in business ventures?
Would they start up their own business ventures,provided they have access to support and other requisites?
Could graduates blend various fields with entrepreneurship sustainability to overcome unemployment levels?
Could graduates separate what's important from what's irrelevant to make
achievement in life?
Could they be confident, pro-active,decisive and energetic in their endeavors?
Would they be hardworking,firmly decided,continue in spite of opposition or difficulty,
and have the ability to see clearly?
chipepo lwele
*Dedicated to granduads
TIME
A.
Time exists in testimonials encased and framed.
Each singularity proud and erect standing beside
and supported by a lone consort.
When recalled and rendered within,
No pause is seen nor heard, except
when played in very slow motion.
From beginning to end we discern infinity
and see the process as one motion never completed.
In a blink of an eye, eternity exists.
The story gets told in the afterglow;
lingering as ripened fruit on an old tree.
Revealing time as ringed markers; remnants
of what was and will never be again.
A collection of the Creator's intent.
B.
A sweeper follows your every vector
locked in folds of a played out sector
As procreator, with no beginning and no end
that all before cannot amend.
Thy sly requiem nestled beneath the sun
appears to gloat in what's begun
as ancient rhyme created by design
and recorded in an eternal shrine.
CAK 11-07-2013
SYNOPSIS:
What is Time and Space?
Hard to describe in human terms.
When I think about life
from beginning to end,
it seems implausible to even
contemplate but like a fool,
I try.
The Era of Area
Diameters
Circumference
The whole sector
My vision is the mirror of the world I'm reflecting
Led by my Path and direction
I said I was reckless
But only to relay the message
That
peace is peace
But that don't mean just ah fraction
We are mankind
Not manufactured
Intellectuals
That lack actual
Intellect that's factual
Susceptible
To information un creditable
Satisfied with lies made eatable
Audible and fashionable
Collateral
damage,
descendants of
Degenerates
Piggybacking
Of ignorance
Soliciting
Bigotry and
Vengeance
Is it
the power of adding every cents
Or the fact that we been slaves
Caged in that same ship ever since
Kunta tried to make a drum
But the beat skipped
Speak it
He taught me,
that's the way to pass teachings
Read it
Alex Haley taught me
Words are our secret
language leads us to our healing
I thank Ayala for her leading
And Lauren hill for her grieving
So many I thank without guessing
But you feel their presence
Through my content and evidence
I'm forever rich
Gold is my soul
Diamonds shining through my bones
I'm all elements and minerals
Ascending in intervals
I'll be the bird with the word
So you dont get pigeon holed
Strength is within us
We forget it though
Looking at the exterior
Forgetting the inter folds
We self centered
But are we centered though
See the picture and throw a filter on
Then wonder why you vision thrown
We all sinners
casting the first stones
My people, take these steps with me
The path the leads us back home
Economic development is the precondition of higher living standard
Therefore we should focus on economic development at first
We know infrastructural development is a must
For economic development of any country
So the government should go for it in the first place
And if necessary they should go for partnership with private entrepreneurs
Now it’s an open market economy
If we want to take off to the sky of prosperity
We need to utilize our own resources including manpower
We need to figure out our competitive advantages
Because it’s not a hard task for us in the information era
Now-a-days tourism is a lucrative sector for any government
Because we are living in the time of globalization
Protectionism is now a history
That’s why
The role of commercial banks and other financial institutions
Is more pivotal than ever
They should provide loan to the industrialists
In such a manner and style
So that the latter can import cutting-edge tech
In order to survive in the fierce competition of open market
They sit gossiping
around on chairs
Under shady walnut
Sh! Sh! Backbiting!
Abusing! Loud laughing…
having fun!
A proud young man
newly appointed
Abused his pupils in
anger
When I in innocence
interrupted him
And reminded of his
class,
For the poor pupils I saw
were waiting
Opening their books on
their bags.
Another one, a Master, I
saw was pulling his
inferior female
colleague’s arm
And dragging her in…!
A lecturer kissing his girl
students on cheeks,
whispering in their ears,
and
embracing…!
A broad shouldered tall
teacher would kiss and
bite
The plum-cheeks of my
fair-looking class-
fellows,
One among now is a KPS
officer!
An old lame teacher,
A drinker, abused the
pupils all the time,
Often sitting cross-
legged, lighting a cigar.
O! Let’s stop it here…
but a sick Sikh
headmaster
Now I see had been
highly communal
Would beat at prayer-
time
The poor pupils
sweating in sun,
Without seeing the
wooden-slates
And beating with willow-
twigs their soft thighs.
Thanks to the highly
disciplined modern
schools
In private sector
But the curriculum be
child centered
And not fatiguing and
boring.
O O! Recently I have
heard of the teachers
Who gave me a
humiliating nickname,
One is shouting and
hurling stones at people,
Another is dumbfounded,
hardly talking to any one.
Whom have you hired
teachers...?
Drivers and Boucher—
I wonder and I ponder…
But, let I at least protest.
Herded into a small city sector like sardines into a tin can;
Encased by constructing surrounding walls so they cannot get out again;
Imprisoned in their home country for the crime of being Jew;
The history of the Warsaw ghetto is tragic, but it’s true.
A pandemic of hatred for people who share a common creed
Requires vitriol fed to the masses for it to multiply and breed;
You would have thought lessons learned from a history that is not so far behind
Would make it impossible for this virus, enough hosts for it to find.
Yet, in this country we think superior to all other countries in the world
The illness has returned; fed by political banter it now builds;
History forgotten repeats itself, the wise men often say;
I had hoped I’d never live to see another pandemic like this in my day.