the blinders rest with ease—
seams seemingly gaunting;
haunting whispers crunch like teeth,
seekers left to guess
pestering what comes next
be a kiss that is gentle
or bent with tiles filing
finally laying—rather lying;
dying to look you
hook right between the eye
lend the heaven, tongues that speak.
though weepy,
deep and soundly they hide
behind masks clasping dearly
refraining to reclaim their faces
places they’ve felt love.
people they’ve once known—
sewn behind is their truth
and truthfully their pain is plain
written in bold
holding bruises
whether you choose to see it
or be it amiss.
wishing well feels like rope
we can feel it doping us
hoping that our next breath
is the last one to give less.
but living session after session
their weapons once sharp dulling
full hands weaken with tire
and wiry sighs leave the senses
why?
because we weren’t just prizes
disguised to heel blindly
or crawl without first running—
we are not sick and lowly farm animal
simple, dirty, managed to be manageable.
Inspired by Prince Roger Nelson's song : When Doves Cry
Grey clouds hover over my wasteland,
the desert languishes in the heat of craving,
deprived of the tuneful rain,
until you arrive with drizzling breeze.
In your pulsating embrace
my heart’s oasis resounds
with the symphony of desire.
As the pristine patina of radiant roses
flushes your crimson cheeks,
rhapsody of longing wraps
the mesmerized meadow of my mind.
The cadence of your intimate heart
pulsates within mine,
I float in the ether of euphoria.
I fly with open wings in your sky,
a storm from nowhere tears me down.
You don’t care for the injured bird,
I hide my pain within me,
clasping the broken heart
within the collapsed wings
I desperately curl with mournful sigh.
My tear drops roll unseen for you
on the trail of melancholy,
where I hear the enchanting echo
of the songs we sang together once.
The tune now resonates like
when doves cry.
You can’t grasp liberation
With butterfinger hands;
Rather, you must grasp her
With an iron-fist grip;
Clasping her here forever:-
Thus, let us get to being about
Fulfilling and sealing our liberation,
Rather than just rapping about it:-
Rember, liberation is not given,
It is faithfully fought for and won:-
And the best part of the fight is,
It's not with those weapons given us
To freely eradicate ourselves with;
Rather, it’s with the political power weapon
That so many fought and died for us to win
And have, in securing our political liberation:-
The Lord secures my heart through Scriptures’ light
unveiling truths of great virtue and grace
midst consecration showing progress trace
Holy Ghost breathes peaceful worship delight
illumining me of my spirit’s plight
to glow, walking by faith along life race
with Christ’s hand, clasping mine upon hope’s brace
I now ascend toward service-bliss height.
Propelled to obey the Saviour with joy
yielded against selfish vanity pride
as His forgiven child, freed to fulfill
assigned mandate and roles despite sin’s ploy
I trust my God* - the wise, omniscient Guide
Who knows what’s best toward submission hill.
*Psalm 9:10 And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee: for thou, LORD, hast not forsaken them that seek thee.
January 11, 2025
4th place, "Pick-A-Title, Vol 48" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh; judged on 1/16/2025
One last Carolina Wren
jabs and hops
inside a shrinking ring of pale sunlight.
At the white door of a cold season
the wind dresses a scarecrow
with the spiny feathers
of the already dead.
Ice scabs pockmark a creaking earth.
A green legend
sinks deeper with every sunset.
We walk in our pockets
hands clasping at the blood-heat
of secretive shadows.
Boots tread through the sludge.
of an ever-lowering sky.
Ice pinholes vision,
one eye remains veiled,
the other
turns like a lighthouse.
Thresholds slip away
unreached.
Darkness, a clasping press around a heart,
The surreal motions of city life in the rain
Slowly drifting, defenseless as I tear apart
Bothered nonchalance, letting in the pain.
A papercup of coffee, a vice for contemplation
Amidst the pristine smiles which is yet to conceive
The fleeting awareness of the threat of preparation,
Sooner, at least once, one finds a way to leave.
Nothingness is a kind of gift too,
But it can also be cruelly taken away
Everything is true when nothing is true
For those sighs that hurry up to end the day.
Drifting in guardless cautiousness,
Hoping amidst the dire hopelessness.
Dec.17, 2024
"My truths are the shared essence of empathy in the
fabric of universal oneness" - Quote by Poet.
The obsessive free will ostensibly latent,
overpowers the dazed mind with trance of falsehood,
obscures the righteous course God designs, l need to take.
The radiance of heavenly light floods my essence, I discern,
drive away the shadow of ego,
I emerge enlightened from the dismal domain of self conceit.
From the clasping fold of karmic destiny I’m released free,
transcend the limits of time and space, the soul surpasses
from mortal case, merges with the absolute entity.
I feel devout breath flow sincerely
with the current of embracing love, see the divine beauty
in everything God has gracefully created for us to marvel.
Empathy then drips from my heart,
defines my truths that I believe connect us.
She scissored his skin between her teeth
His moan increasing as she increased the pressure
His fingers snaked her back
A shiver of want parkouring itself up her spine
His fingers entwined in the curls of her hair
He pulled her from his shoulder
desperate to taste her lips
His lunge thwarted by the turn of her cheek
Her eyes beamed with cheek
As she forced him deeper
Stopping as fast as she began
Kiss me he begged
Clasping his chest hair she pulled him towards her
There kiss uneven and sloppy
but filled with passions ache
She pushed him back onto the bed
The mattress accepting his shape easily
The soft temperance of moving together to the same end
I feel frozen in place
with a mountain before me
there is no way around,
I must scale it to move forward
Refusing to believe that I CAN”T
I take a step
reaching forward
clasping the impossible
When I have a foothold
and a grip
I continue to move
because moving is winning
Feeling like I will never
conquer the task
will not move me forward
so I advance out of sheer will
Knowing that I will not be free
until I do either succeed
or fail is motivation
to keep moving forward and upward
I have no idea what I am doing
but I am no longer frozen in place
the more that I move forward
peace embraces me
The Lord secures my heart through Scriptures’ light
unveiling truths of great virtue and grace
thus, I see Him despite hurricane's trace
upholding my soul with peaceful delight...
He illumines me, reviving my sight
to glow and walk by faith along life race...
with Christ’s hand, clasping mine upon hope’s brace
I now ascend toward service-bliss height.
Propelled to follow His footsteps with joy
yielded against selfish vanity pride
as His forgiven child, freed to fulfill
assigned mandate and roles despite sin’s ploy
I trust* my God - the wise, omniscient Guide
Who guards me midst storms toward triumph hill.
*Proverbs 3:5-6 Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
Friends follow the fraternal advice of a bosom friend.
The disciples followed each word of Jesus till the end.
As birds and beasts, on divine providence, they did depend
Kingdom's sake, like adventurers, all pains they did transcend
Clasping to their bosoms, with divine love, they healed the sick.
Raising the dead, as though waking the sleeping, was no trick.
Lepers were cleansed. Demons, like leaves in storms, did quickly flick.
God's kingdom, like a classic castle, was built brick by brick.
Like rain from above, they gained well-being and elation.
Freed from mammon's hold, they obtained divine revelation.
Bound in grace, physique, and psyche, attained transformation.
Spun in faith, they realised body-soul integration.
The heaven of existence they found in Jesus alone
Like seeds of spring in fertile fields, graces in them was sown.
I was flying beguiled in my seamless sapphire sky,
surging storm of agony from nowhere slashed me down.
No one ever cared for the injured beleaguered bird
that I hided within me clasping the broken heart.
Rhapsody of rainbow morphed into morose mélange,
bled baroque colors bleached from the twilight cloud.
Rainstorm spread spoilt debris of the splintered spirit,
the sordid shades of grey painted the frayed linen of love.
The requiem of roses resonated in melancholic medley,
the petals pined with dripping tear drops of morose dew.
Desiccated in somber sunshine within the deserted mind,
the faded flowers made the posy of passing passion.
In dissonance encapsulated in the cauldron of mute melody,
disordered symphony got dismantled in the discord waves.
Strained smiles sneered the scarred scenario of split lone life,
songs turned into convoluted noise echoed by the sliced soul.
The lattice of life seen through the languid cynic lens,
magnified into crooked contortion of deformed essence,
forcing me to get disoriented in the waste of wreckage,
as the ruins of strained emotion dissipated building tension.
I and my Father are One:
one broken branch one budding bough.
one love splintered by a stained-glass eye.
One root plants me, unclasping
in a clasping earth.
Candle and blind bible, carriage, and horse,
both ditch and ladder my unburdened labor.
Two faces I have. one turns to a spiral center
where beads count prayers,
the other is as still as stone within a molten mountain.
This shadow in a looking glass
knows my Father's secret, it is a flame
here in my thicket and maze.
With His mouth he Words me,
His ears echo me,
with these crushed words He builds my temple,
empties and fills my vessel.
The room is filled
with sweat and sounds
of heavy breaths,
heaved by shivering lungs.
Every muscle of the body
aches and whimpers
buried in exhaustion,
drowned in sweat.
But where there is a will,
there’s always a way.
This stubborn heart
is strong enough
to carry me up onto the stage.
To carry this trophy
of heavy gold, embedded
with jewels that I could never own.
Clasping tight -
as an eagle with talons -
I spread my wings
high, over the clouds
hovering over sunrise.
Sweating exhilaration
bathed in glory
and my soul reassures,
“You truly deserve it.”
Nearly fifty years ago
His life came to its end
And I lost a much loved
And respected old friend.
Born cruelly disabled,
Paralysed by surgical knife,
A calculated risk in the hope
Of a more normal life.
Enjoy your life
The surgeon had said,
It won’t be for long,
And you’re a long time dead.
A bon viveur and raconteur
He spun many a fine tale
Enthroned in his wheel chair
Clasping his pint of real ale.
At first on foot, taxi or train
Latterly in the car of the day
We wandered and forged
Our merrily desperate way.
A sudden blink of fate
And Old Hawkins was gone
Still only in his thirties
As time, uncaring, moved on.
I cried at his funeral.
His loss twisting like a knife,
Celebrating the memory of
His short but well lived life.
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