The hapless darkened hours approach,
The storm came from the backdoor.
The first cold drops of rain arrive,
Let’s seek shelter once more.
Why should we be afraid?
Ref Just hold my hand, Luv,
Just hold my hand.
I ask for nothing more, luv,
Just hold my hand,
As tight as you need.
I’m not askin’ anything bright,
I’m not asking for more.
You gave me what we deemed is right,
I ask for nothin’ more.
Still, I’m afraid we’ll get wet.
Ref Just hold my hand, Luv,
Just hold my hand.
I ask for nothing more, luv,
Just hold my hand,
As tight as you need.
Oh that the blessed calm would return,
You might ask for some more,
I’ll give you back what you deem right,
Whatever that may be,
I am afraid no more.
Ref Just hold my hand, Luv,
Just hold my hand.
I ask for nothing more, luv,
Just hold my hand,
As tight as you need.
Proud poets parade playful wordy wit,
Their careful craft becomes just diddly s..t.
No matter how hard we may try
Can’t outdo IQ of AI.
Shall we hoist the white flag and run with it?!
Digital era deemed undignified,
As bright grey matter becomes atrophied.
Before the mindset goes awry,
We shall eschew diddly AI -
Its fatuous facade is dead inside!
BONDED STIFF
Our love knows no swiftness;
Its tied and bowed in stiffness:-
Our life of love, is no played game;
Rather, it's an everlasting bond attained:-
May our love always be like a royal evening ball;
A loving affair desired and wished for, by one and all:-
May this precious bond between you and me, ever be,
A God-granted blessed bonding, deemed for eternity:-
stacks and stacks of books
filling up Aunt Edith’s home library
the nephews and nieces laugh at them
They are old-fashioned, antiquated, useless
Some of these missives were read over and over
Cherished like an old friend with each reading
Others never made it past page two
Boring and dull, deemed useless, put back on the shelf
Upon Aunt Edith’s death these books are stacked.
Ready for an enormous bonfire. The relatives sing while they burn.
Edith watched them enjoying her books from her seat in heaven.
Too bad they never looked through them where she hid her money.
Training to hear
what cannot be seen
Training to feel
what cannot be deemed
Training to say
what cannot be read
Training to mime
what cannot be said
Training to free
what cannot be caught
Training to know
— what cannot be thought
(Dreamsleep: September, 2025)
promise backtracked at the eleventh hour
creates no ripple in our glowing heart
we have no desire for grapes sweet or sour
for all we feel is bliss ignition start
breath by breath adding magnetism to cart
each moment flowing in time deemed sublime
the song of our soul mirrors bliss beat’s chime
“This heat clearly
has me beat,'
she said, 'it nearly
knocks me off my feet, and,”
then paused for a rest
long enough I deemed
for what seemed
an eternity
sufficient to warrant at best
a pregnancy
if not paternity test
which put me off my stride
as unable to read
the space between the lines
and in a quandary
not wishing to strain
the body and brain
or neurons scatter
within the grey matter
yet knowing who the boss is
decided to cut my losses
and as discretion
is the better part of valour
to make a confession
I gave up my place plus my seat
picked up the pace
and made a somewhat hasty retreat
Two of us on a sixties hippie trip
to see if our gears would slip or mesh
innocent but wary yet wide-eyed
to the Imperial city of Marrakech
she perfumed with patchouli
me I traveled totally tie-dyed
all around was peace and love
we teamed to a tee and seemed
a fit the perfect hand in glove
but not long later it was deemed
as it was commonplace to see
in the medina not strapped for cash
kif from the Rif sellers
in the souk smoking hash
the country lacked law and order
no sooner said than escorted
back to Ceuta across the border
funny now in retrospect but not then
how when we blew out on the Sirocco
tho' we hadn't gone so far as the kasbah or bazaar
were deported without ceremony from Morocco
Winnie the Pooh now is uncool
The Cat in the Hat worse than that
Charlie Brown found to be unsound
Bugs Bunny deemed not funny
The woke is wack
Get your sanity back
Dedicated to George Stinney Jr
The mind of a child
Is one supposed to be filled with innocence
But his was clouded with fear
Barely out of the womb
And already he would be buried in a tomb
He barely had time to start life
Barely had time to love and be loved
He barely had time to be a son
He would make history
Just not how he would've imagined
He would become the youngest person on death row
Youngest person to be executed on death row
A black boy who never got to be a boy
His last thoughts were a prayer
To be saved, to be seen, to be given a chance
'Are you there God, its me george'
Unfortunately God's grace doesn't extend to his black 'children'
Unfortunately his life was cut short
Unfortunately he wouldn't get to grow old
Apparently he wasn't deemed worthy enough for 'God's love'
Justice was never served
Even after 81 years
Yes ma, I am a boy and I don't like the lack of favour which I had been offered so I wont sit with the others and this is because I am a tainted boy, who found what love was on the tint of my phone, blocking out the camera with my thumb in case it records because although I was young I had already known what it meant to be seen, just like on the silver of my screen which had reflected my face in a way that I had deemed as inappropriate, I'd rather not associate with my features, specifically the brown in which I wear or my tainted hair, it coils. What is love? I am a boy with my hands on my phone but I would rather have spent those days held by you ma and although I'm young I'd have sown what love is, like how I could tear open the ducts on my face, yes I sometimes cry when you are not there. I am sad all the time Ma, kanti izandla zami ezani?(what are my hands for)
I want to be loved.
I know you can groove
but I wanna see you
dance
i wanna see you dance
I wanna see you dance
Dance
Dance
Dance for me.....
---------------------------------------
It all depends
and those who
so evers
and whats going on
and who's deemed clever
taken in account to
the calender
your plans and mine
and to what
each prefers
it al depends
it all depends
Giving consideration
to your cumstance
I'm opened to agreeing
dancers need preparation
lyrics need beleiving
it all depends
how the music takes it's
groove
whether they wanna shuck
and jive
or the people wanna
party and groove
it all depends
it just all depends
shoo be doo whop bop
skit doo be dooy
ah uh ooh we
doo be do be
shoo be doo woop woop
ah doo we doo we
ah doo we do ah
ah shoo be doo we
It all depends
in such consideration
what are we doing
what are saying
what's the rules
to what obligations
it all depends
it just all depends
Seems plagiarism, isn’t a crime
Let’s copy lines we deem sublime
Perhaps from Shakespeare
Or wit Edward Lear
And poet’s deceased a long time
It's pointless alerting admin
Cos stealing work’s not deemed a sin
It’s really not fair
To steal works out there
It happened much to our chagrin
Known clichés which are now passé
Just copy them and post away
Then act with denial
Sit tight, even smile
And perhaps, get Poem of the Day!
When it came to iambic pentameter
Alexander Pope was no dumb amateur.
In his strict use of it he achieved a skill
often with a monotonous overkill –
a danger every poet should not commit
unless he likes his thoughts in a straitjacket,
and the flow so turgid and mechanical
the line will cease to sound natural –
more strident, unmellifluous and harsh
like a stomping, goose-stepping march.
Now here’s a fast and easy suggestion
to unclog a line’s bumpy congestion
which Pope and other poets used to great
effect when they deemed it appropriate :
they added an extra syllable or stress
which opened it and gave it smoothness.
These little extras acted like a breach
and made the line read like spoken speech.
It may not work even with a first try
and take it from me, it’s not a lie.
In fact, you may require a new line or couplet
to be rewritten with a little extra sweat.
But, hey, think back to when you started writing
how many drafts required no editing?
When the mind faltered
Alternate timelines were born
Lines of realities blurred
Rifts of possibilities torn
Truth fading into the abyss
Chained to the unknown
Silently waiting for life's kiss
To shatter this stone cold throne
Provoking thy swarming thoughts
Clawing and scratching for the one
Blinded by hopes deemed naught
Until one's dreams are none
Walls shaking and quaking
Slashing and ripping
Sharpening newfound wings
Clutches of chaos beating
Sealing thy soul out of light
A chrysalis to preserve us
Away with our own blights
Evolving and growing, thus
Cage of ice and fire crumbled
Exile the grasping darkness, fabled
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