What was here — before the Nothing —
Before the Breath was tried —
Before the Clock — in timid brass —
Confessed it ever Ticked —
Was Silence but a folded Thing —
Within a Larger Hush —
Or did Eternity rehearse
Its syllables — as Dust —
The State — with careful, mortal Hand —
Extinguishes a Flame —
Yet cannot certify the Dark —
Nor docket — Whence it came —
A Scaffold — is a punctual Act —
The Soul — a rumor — wide —
No Statute binds Infinity —
No Warden halts the Tide —
If Life — be all — how fierce the Blow —
If more — what Court convened —
To trespass on the Invisible
And stamp it — “Closed” — between —
Perhaps — before the Nothing — stood
A Door — without a Frame —
And Death — the shy Attendant — waits
To whisper us — our Name —
The Universe—no Hourglass—
Unspills its silent Sand—
No Final Bell—no Curfew rung—
By any mortal Hand—
It keeps its Secrets—like the Sea—
That never quite admits
Whether it ends—or merely folds
Its Shores to other Fits—
A Star—may seem to Perish—
Yet only learns to Hide—
As Truth—when pressed by Time—slips on
An Everlasting Side—
If Birth be but a Door ajar—
And Death—another Frame—
Then Motion is Eternity
And Stillness—just a Name—
I ask no Priest—nor Telescope—
To certify the Whole—
The Infinite—confides itself
In Pulses—felt by Soul—
So let the Theorist—be still—
And hear what Silence knows—
The Eternal—does not Argue—
Where it simply—Goes—
Woke up with a headache
Throbbing to the beat
Of that song on the radio
Always on repeat
Sung by a masochist
Written by a creep
How I love when I’m criticized by the meek
By a rickety white man
That’s morals are constructed
By hate and inequality
Love that’s paired with scrutiny
Plus constructs that are weak
Trust my lovely brother
He’s funded manipulation
For a proper nation
Where the homos repent
Where the women are mothers
Where the church is forced on the troubled
Where naturalism is turned to ash
Where equality is taught to be bad
Woke up with a headache
Throbbing to the beat
Of the rhythm the soldiers make with their feet
Reciting orders told to them
Mistakes will certify being beat
They learn the steps to a dance
Named the atrocity
who will help this land
Now they are gone?
Certify to be identified
Who will help the land
The land will be lost
Without their love and care,
They are moving, in slower motion
Adhering to the called of a nation
they saw the earth
under the fingertips
Aftermath pain that lingered throughout their bodies
We must be indentified,
A title of bob marley song
Coming in coming in from the cold
I need my avocados, they hate the cold
I crave for my oranges, they hate the rain
The land will be neglected, less productivity
Certified to be qualified,
Come in from the cold: others doors will be open
In foreign lands, they land will be floruish,’
They store will be stock to the ceiling
they true identity will bring on affinity:
Ribs
My right and left detestable ribs aren’t
recognised as
meeting required standards as
stated by
Miss Certify.
Santa is on the road, ready to fly.
It’s raining in Minnesota, no lie.
He scratches his snowy beard with a sigh.
Reindeer and sleigh will not get very high.
Kids must get their gifts so he says goodbye
to Mrs. Claus and the elves that certify
the flight though it’s raining tonight. Red-eye
of chief elf unique, it breaches each sky.
Gifts must be delivered by North Pole guy.
It’s raining, no snow, unusual sky
with Minnesota travel that’s bone dry
of flurries. Request of Santa’s supply
though the weather is not frightful, no lie.
He came. He went. Cookies and milk bye-bye.
"I'm not a Grinch, but would rather see an inch of
new growth on a tree then to fell it down to please me."
~ by poet
Quite earnestly, I would decree
it unjust to cut down a tree
then simply toss it as debris
It saddens me It saddens me
Trim it with ornaments and light
Praise its beauty every night
But it's dying, not from a blight
I feel contrite I feel contrite
They're glorified, as tradition
But trees don't give us permission
So, we are... in supposition
A mortician A mortician
Flocked with snow, their needles die
Drooping branches will certify
Christmas trees, humans crucify
When death is nigh When death is nigh
Trees place oxygen in our air
Replenishing what we can't spare
Everyone should be made aware
Does it seem fair Does it seem fair
We destroy them for our pleasure
Enjoying moments at leisure
They do more good than we measure
Nature's treasure Nature's treasure
'Several opinions on same issue if followed simultaneous prime target may be
spoilt’ ..... Poet
OPINIONS
Own opinion is priority on any outcome or happenstance.
Person to person opinions vary on same topic or occurrence.
Invariably some are strong, some weak.
Next comes analysis, not to be influenced to pick up quick.
Inevitable controversy : Take advice but don’t be prompt to apply.
Onward , rationalise the matter from all aspects to justify.
Need to establish prime consideration before to certify.
Several opinions may be consulted but own decision to rely.
A massive malaise is sweeping across the land
People are saying they can’t make a difference
Our so-called leaders have gotten out of hand
Sadly, many voters will certify rank ignorance.
That significant numbers still support Trump
Amazes me. I can’t grasp this conman’s appeal,
For he tried to overthrow the U.S. government
A free and fair national election, he tried to steal.
He’s still going about the country spreading lies
Always tearing down, a serial criminal, I feel.
Folks, we CAN make a difference, I do believe
We can vote for leaders who prize integrity,
We can do everything we can, tensions to relieve
And vote out the scumbags who have no dignity,
Who speak out of both sides of their mouth,
Who say one thing today and another tomorrow
It doesn’t take a lot of homework, just listen…
Make genuine love for our country quid pro quo.
Yes, we can do it! We can do it come November
Let’s make this election one we’ll long remember.
Written October 15, 2022
I regret having been born
to forlorn in this noxious, wicked world.
I distaste that I was born
in a biased, impovershirished, corrupt society.
I was born to careless; unloving parents.
I am living but unknown,
popular but uncounted.
No birth certificate to certify I am a living human being.
I am invisible to my State,
I am not included when they plan for others.
I regret having been born
in an abusive, malfunctional, disjointed society,
like that in which my mother slept unlettered.
A society where one aims to unnerves one for personal praise.
I curse the day that brought me to this world.
A world where life dictates my lifestyle,
A world where I am a victim of circumstances,
and my wits are buried in oblivion.
Africa is the cradle of mankind
yet her sons and daughters developed foreign lands first,
her children are haunted by these vicious cycles of poverty.
And now leaving Africa has been the African dream!
I wish was not one of these children.
I regret having been born;
To…believe the sky is the limit
when Armstrong’s feet stepped on the moon.
My daughter wrote a poem
“Twenty Dollar bill”
It will have memories of her
That will certify
“Once upon a time in Hollywood.”
We decipher, we digress
Pizza talks, Hot Pizza
Cold Beverages
And we surmise
Because we need to be
Our best selves
In becoming.
DEGRADATION
Degradation in life or character
can never be allowed,
but is to be followed
uplift in each step: That’s the prime factor.
Progress in human civilization
to continue onward
never to push backward.
That is the perfect realization.
On journey, work hard with full devotion.
Must have self- confidence.
Depend on competence
to avoid any defamation.
Evolution in Nature to certify
always for betterment.
Process not to ferment
but on ceaseless trial to rectify.
Upgrade own life on dedication.
Have faith on basic Morals:
Those are Universal.
You must elevate next Generation.
09/30/21
Title chosen 'Degradation'
Fourth Place
'This or That Vol 7.
Contest by Edward Ibeh
Time not only Yesterday changes
But Tomorrow rearranges,
The innocence of unborn babies tainting,
Their celebratory virgin spirit tilting:
A new-born able to screen from passers-by Its nudity
Faster than Adam did after his stupidity.
Time keeps obliging us with coarsened silk
While during us towards a Canaan of sour milk
We’d better we had a dietician justify
And the safety of Its consumption certify…
In the past it was
That Angels would be on Earth for a cause
partly to interact with Mortal Man
And whenever possible drink from his can
But chiefly God’s telegram hand him
Between the very clear and the a-bit-dim,
Fundamentally happy tidings
Or to, Embittered Hagar some bidding…
Then, God’s Seventh Heaven was a bit taller
Than the highest mountains with peaks duller,
Wherefore goose pimples from the heavens broke out,
When the already longish Babel still aimed to thrust out
The prelude to God’s multiplication of tongues
And unleashing of the confusion emanating from lungs.
Forget transition, just certify, "with dangerous to others" he's qualified. Donald Trump you know it's true, this is what Congress needs to do, and they'll be republicans there, just like you. It will be a non-tweeting zone, as they'll probably take your phone. A place away from White House stress, affording our country a much needed rest. Time for you to quietly reflect on this legacy that you've left, and yes they may alter your brain chemistry but you'll still make history. Donald, we've had just enough, so please go quietly before they cuff.
Halt, halt,
Give Lust your hands, but NOT your hearts,
For when they hover around you,
You are an imminent carcass,
Loitering and flapping with the disposition of a butterfly and grasshopper combined.
The sight of her should trigger alarum bell in every wise man,
They waste your time,
They waste your money,
Sup your energy and
get you into trouble.
Like a bubonic plague,
Spreading devastating virus,
As a butterfly, pollinating;
With the juice supped,
They flutter away
Seeking other juicy flowers in the circle of moral doom.
Refrain from the hype of chauvinistic egotism when lust ignites,
For another trial may certify your demise,
No wonder, they are called Women
For many are the woes of most men
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