Dim out press the button, no more at a time was fun now ride, they was all coo, more fun with jewels, learn real fast, rocks and brawns, keep your head up, unload to load, no results , yellin out loud , cause u think U the stuff , in reality, u just a sad case of human waste , no ing with her, she was your friend and kin, a southern thang, all talking the mouth kept going thought one was friend found out she was unwired and pretend , rumors where spread like putting sauce on a sandwich to a bread , since then they mentally dead, homie on the side was sure, for a minute he did ride , in a passenger side , found out things , unpleasant, kept my reach to arm for a length, had his back from a fist to ass beatin, he feel off with his bad intention, sorry again , equal line , I’d trip off again , the pile shortens , of a list of friends , some are made with a few in between, others are made in a pack of green the color red till I crack it , it’s off
Emancipation
We peddle not our own woes
nor scream aloud to our foes
Brawns are our worthless parts
we then talk with our hearts!
Thus, in pursuit of knowledge
all will come to acknowledge
Our sharp eyes and long looks
we bury faces between Books!
We preach, sing and discourse
to seclude Nature's resource
You may mistake it for a tirade
our Commerce is a loud trade!
Yet, at sundown or end it all
eyes we cast outside our wall
For, together we are a people
who live, who stir who ripple!
13th September 2013
I was immersed in an impervious imagination
of these frail flowers feigning a feel of freedom
I watched their wings whirling in whoredom
Impious, they are implanted with impinged impetus
A dignified dust, decorated and dubbed a domineer
Yet they decided to be detritus on a detour, detrained.
Thronged by thick thorny thoughts, theme and thrust
On a throne of thistles, ever thrilled by thralldom,
Pots parading potpourri, they preen in power pomp,
positioned in a plain, poisoned, they prey on the potter,
O where did you wield those wings of woeful wisdom;
to trail the terrain that will only twist and tame you.
A dust you are, drunk and drenched with delusion
Deluged by derisory dream in the domain of darkness,
you drill and drink from the dust you did not designed
O dignified dust, your destiny is but dross and dust.
Devious: you devise deviltry with the devoiced dusts,
With a magmatic mind, mutinous against your marker
Your beauty, brain and brawns will soon get broken,
And you will be drowned in the dust you dignified…
No storm is too strong for
the Strong Tower to still,
He start from where your
strength cannot stand.
No burden is too big for
The Burden bearer to bear,
He begins where your
brains and brawns break
down.
No pain is too powerful for
the Prince of peace to
plunder,
He pleasures us when our
presures seem to prevail.
No mountain is too mighty
for the Maker to move,
He makes move when our
might makes a mess of us.
No curse is too cruel for
the Convenant Keeper to
crush.
He comes in when our
closest company cannot
comfort us...
No sorrow is too solid to
the Savior to sweep off,
He soothes us when it
seem smiling is too strange.
No worm is too worthless
for Wisdom to make a
wonder,
He works in ways beyond
the walls of this world...
No fault is too fierce to The
Father to forgive,
He finds and fills us when
our faith becomes feeble.
No terrain is to tough to
the True Vine to tame,
He trades treasures where
our toils cannot take us to.
No life is too low for the
Lord of all to lift and lighten,
He lives in a lofty lane
lavished with love, light and
life. Amen
On this darling day, some sixty two years ago was born
a golden girl with glory, glee & glow; christened Dane-
Ann, a nice & noble name... I know, garnished with
grace and great gifts as she gently grow. Now a
woman, so wise, worthy & wonderful, a christain so
committed, calm, colorful & careful, a mother so
meek, mild, mindful & merciful, and a grandma so
great, glorious, glamourous & graceful. She' blessed
with beauty, brawns, bliss & brains. Her green garden is
garnished with golden gains, She's simple, selfless &
sincere...no stains; she's passionate, patriotic &
pleasant...no pains. A poetess with a passionate pen,
painting on pleasant pages who's indellible ink
inscribes immortal images; her solemn, sweet songs...
soothe saintly sages, weilding wealthy words...weightier
than wages. HappyBIRTHDAY to you Dane. Many happy
returns of the day, Lon life & prosperity! Hip, Hip, Hip:-
) Hurray!! To my great mentor Dane-Ann Smith
Johnsen on her 62 nd Birthday!
The gray-haired boys on our street who pipe and peep
With rags hanging on their neck …trying to cope
All night on banana leaves they stop to sleep
They’ve got no cakes nor crumb not even a little hope
All day their legs sweep back and forth the town
Little folks like them know they have no privilege
Their mental make-up and vocal virtues are tied down
Their brains and brawns are bound… they’ve got no long leg
They’ve got no lamp to see through the dark,
Summer swords pierce their nerves and make them upset;
Winter drops spanks their bones and make them bark,
They are strolling shadows, they never fall nor fret.
They wake up each day to hear the songs of sparrows
While they’ve got scripts that could make their sorrow cease
Let’s get them out of the city of shackles and shadows
And make them ALIVE AND WELL AND LIVING IN peace.
They are kids and kings from poetic places
Wooing wealthy words with friendly faces
Their pens and pads filling saintly spaces
They are brains and brawns from right races
They croon with curiosity, creativity
They ring in rhymes and rhapsodies
They pen poems for pride and posterity
They move with marvelous melodies
Simple soupers, daughters and sons of sages
Sincere soupers painting passionate pages
Serious soupers, printing proud passages
Simple soupers… strolling with sincere sages
Oh mothers! Mothers! Mothers of the soup!
I crave thy sacred saucer and super spoon,
Thou make aroma flows from art in this pot of soup
which makes our belly boom as you call and croon.
Oh mighty mother! Sharon Weimer!
Thou woo wealthy words, and wisdom wields;
Thy sights and sounds are as hot as summer,
Thou taught me not to yawn nor yearn but raise my yields
Oh model mother, Carol Brown!
Thy rhymes and rhapsodies are rich and real;
Thou art a queen with a comely, colorful crown,
I am addicted to munching thy melodious meal.
Oh musical mother! Sue Mason!
I am proud of thy pleasant, passionate pages;
Thou build with pen and pad… a modern mason,
No wonder your scripts are sacred: signed by saintly sages
Oh mothers with beauty, brains and brawns
I am proud of your vibes, virtues and voices;
I love thy poetic prowess and… pink prawns,
Oh my soup mothers! You do not nurse needless noises
My fatherland oh Africa!
A robe of glory and glamour
spread on this terrestrial ball
with golden…green scenery
-a symbol of beauty and blessings
Africa! A mansion of might and memories
built on a dark rock…of mysteries
on which were engraved immortal images;
Thy rooms of strength and dignity
are pages of passion and pride
Africa! A giant on the global field of play
I saw thee in thy dark years
when thy strength was sapped by western parasites
and thy golden fluid sucked by white pests
- a slap on the face of fairness and freedom
But now oh Africa! Thou art fat and flourishing
and clothed with the robe of peace and unity;
Thy aroma of power, perceived by the super powers
Is once more tapped and used to rule thee once more
-neocolonialism modernized
Arise oh Africa! Thou art a king
thy princes have got brains and brawns
and thy princesses have got virtues and voices;
Arise out of thy sorrowful slumber
-let me know you this Africa, my fatherland.
Forever oh Lord! Thy word
is settled in thy holy heavens,
thy word that caused Noah's flood
the same made men, roses and ravens.
Forever oh Lord, thy blood
surpasses all our swords and shadows.
Jhy blood that crushed the cruel cord,
the same bring the rugged rods and...rainbows.
Forever oh Lord! Thy cord
spans beyond the sun and sky,
thy cord that binds our brawns and blood;
the same makes men without wings to fly.
Forever oh Lord! Thy word
was in the begining so full and free.
The word was with God and the word was God,
The same which is true has made me free.
Fans club or fans cult?
I do not know why teaming throngs celebrate
a round leather game with heart and hurt.
Putting their brain and brawns in passion’s plate
Fans club or fans cult?
I do not know why tears and torment roll
In the center of these mansions and huts
for the loss of a team they don’t control
Fans club or fans cult?
I wonder why an unknown fan of mine
Will shout to the heavens that I hurt
His feelings just because I wrote a lovely line
Fans club or fans cult?
I wonder why a brother outside Europe’s border
Living in a lovely African haughty hut
Could commit suicide for an English club’s blunder
Fans’ club or fan’s cult?
… this is the fulfillment of a prophecy
sons and daughters encamp in passions’ pot
against their parents… without colors of courtesy
Thy curse and crown of thorns
Are the bones that back my brains and brawns
The tears and blood you shed
Are my foes’ stumbling stone and my safe shed
Thy words and wonderful works
Are my refuge when the rebel rocks
Thy heart and the arms you spread
Is my resting place when my foes go red
This is the crest of my comfort
The lord is my firm and faithful fort
This is my story and sincere song
Thy arms and alms have made me strong.
Lingering languages, lovely lies
Morality murdered, mistakes modernized
Words of woes, wooed by the wise
Flavored flowers falling: frailty fraternized.
Mean and mighty men moving…
Tempted to touch the thrones traumatized
Best bows, brains and brawns bending
Inertia institutionalized, iniquity immortalized.
Goats giving grafts, giants gaining grounds
Mean men’s monies monopolized
Righteousness rusticated, robbery rubber-stamped
Cronyisms in control, corruption customized.
I crave for thee oh heights
Fathomless heights,
Hiding beyond the skies
Where wisdom and wealth lies
I crave for thy zenith oh heights,
Fathomless heights;
Not for the audacity of euphoria
Nor for the aroma of nostalgia.
I crave for thy topnotch oh heights
Fathomless heights;
To become the epitome of an epicure
And my brains and brawns to insure
I crave for thee oh heights
Fathomless heights:
The abode of the twinkling stars,
The home that can’t behold scary scars.
More brawns than brains, the young soldiers charge into battle.
Many of them will die in their struggles with their enemies,
while others will realize the reality of war and never return
to this hellish domain.
Bombs pelt the ground from above them, the soldiers's heart race
for survival with little faith of ever surviving.
Gaining the experience needed more will survive this time around.
The soldiers will be honored with their feats in battle that will tell of
their struggles long after they are gone.
Some crippled by the travesty of war, while others are emotionally
scarred for life by the haunting memories of their fallen comrades.
So many conflicts before them usually never amounting to anything,
except for the casualties of war.
The experienced soldiers wonder if it was really worth it.
People mourn for the fallen soldiers at their memorial.
Sadly, many truly do not understand their sacrifices, except for
the ones dearest to those heroes who gave their lives.
Asked now, and from so many before them, the sadden heart
ask, "Why?"
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