August 28
Do you know about him
The little tall man
Living in the brown street
His lips are hard
Like where charcoal is made
He feels high more than alcohol
And always scorn his wild hair
Do you know about the natural leaf
That scorned him
For the first time
He feels his lips
With a sedative herb
And forms a circle in his skin
There are dirts
Waiting to be heaped away
He picks them up by chance
Along with a clipper
He moves with the cloud
Seeing double shadows on the way
Laughing at him
Finally at a waste bin spot
The dirts are abandoned
He picks up the clipper
This is the best place for hair cut
He sits loving the moment
While passersby share laughters
The shy sky sends rumours of a dustfall,
More murmurs of the impending clouds’ brawl.
The least swirls of dust unleashed ceased the light,
It roars for hours from town center with fright,
Staining gowns brown and making dirts dusty.
The morons, like iron, became rusty.
Your hobby is to kill my joy,
Each of the bullet you fire hurts.
But whatever your ploy.
I'll always clear your dirts.
I'm made strong to last.
Try even more hard,
My mind is fast.
Ever on guard.
butterfights
on butterfly'd
stopping goodbyes
without saying
i has a song
not in your garden
long time you spent
washing all the dirts
evidence
"let miss thang be in control"
just as long as she's around
"but the old dead tree!"
what about it?
"it is gonna squish my house"
so your not protected?
"your right i should use my words"
yes i am right
that crooked witch uses the whips
and controls that switch
she the welfare wizards
Now, that the world is getting purer and cleaner
everyday
who clear incoherently harbour dirts and spillage around.
Is it not the hand meant for cleaning and washing
and working out this and some of the other things?.
And the mouth for eating and drinking and talking
and laughing and many ,many, many other wishes
of sort kind?.
And foot and leg for us to reach out the dustbin for
instance?.
The dirt can't be a waste products perse nor the hand
a part of such dilemma nor the skull a kick hell out
of a thing cup? nor what dramatic human right nor
political taboo?.
I have a problem and that is true is quite different
from I have problem and that is true?.
Why then these people pollute nature
when already it's suffers contamination and stagnancy
and spillaging and wasting like quacks and qualms.
They massed on the square,
The army of the masses.
Fists clenched,
Brandishing few swords
And few guns.
Not garbed in combat gears
Chanting war chants.
They advanced upon
The fighting force
Of the deep states
Garbed in full combat gears,
Fist fight ensued.
The fist fight
Turned into a sword fight,
The sword fight
turned into a gun fight.
The fighting force
Of the deep states
Vanquished
The army of the masses,
Melancholy enveloped the land.
Justice and equity
Became prisoners of war,
Accountability became victim of war.
Deprivation
Became companion of the people.
The deep states
Without conscience
Clicked wine glasses
And rode
In siren fitted automobiles.
The roads littered with potholes,
The streets littered with dirts
And emanciated beggars.
Beautiful falls
Seems perfect
The water falls
Like string clouds
Form a hissing sound
I was there looking
Sitting in one of its stone
Relaxing, observing
What do I do more
Than going into knee water
And feel nature in wet form
Life with waterfall
Is cleansing, purifying
From dirts of wordly thoughts
And refreshing to soul-searching
Once rejuvinate back to where
Life begins so on and so forth.
The beach where people
Hangs out to relax, the sea
Exuberant and inviting
Cleanse people dirts
And purify distressing souls
The sand, so white by time
The waves, never ending
Back and forth to the shore
Today, the beach cajolled by
People in walks of life
In beautiful swimsuit and trunks
Adorned with colorful big umbrellas
Medium size tints scattered in the sands
Everyday, the scene is over and over again,
I see no more privacy, it becomes a business
I wonder when the beach become peaceful
Just like before where you can have your own
Contemplation with nature and have a simple
Fishing adventure at the shoreline.
It's just a dream for me right now
No one will tell how it is to be back then.
Love touches the lonely lips
A pure heavely drop ocean keep
The inner tide frankly soar
Abode hearts in coral core
Little takes large in sheer freedom
Truth graced heavenly kingdom
Gentle breeze turns whisper to tale
Whirl in dance saying magical spell
Prestine love you carry the rain
Drive the dirts ,welcome new begin
Thirst you swear to Kindle heart
Torch the mankind blissful apart
Love , the white dove ,needs to fly
Touch hearty horizon bond tie
Lit the eternal light for mortals
As token so deathless angels.
Anybody could teach kindergarten my husband said
Why don’t you try it suggested his wife, Mrs. Ned.
So he signed up to sub, and went running in.
Pretty soon he had kindergarteners pulling on his chin.
Stop that! He yelped. That is my beard, and it hurts.
The urchins giggled and pinched him and threw on him dirts.
He ran out screaming and brought the principal back in.
Don’t expect me to help you, he told him. They tickle my chin.
The two men together sat in the corner bawling away.
As the happy kindergarteners danced around them that day.
The good news is that Mr. Ned never again did say
“Go to school, honey, where all you do is play.”
’ve been in dirts and seen the downs
I’ve continually been a verb and no noun
Refuse to help said lotus blooms in mud
But they scrunched me only in the bud
Fell down when stand apart from the row
Crippled me want you to let me grow
I’ve had a dream to visit the mountains
But they broke my sticks left eyes in pain
Plight of eyes got worse when it rained
When my velveteen clay bed turned quicksands
I lost my voice crying for help
And I started to wait for a slow death
That night only me got fortunate
I saw the horrible view of pseudo humanity
Flooded away my pride, conscience
Later but my broken sticks at prime
Here am going to get lucky lad
Another crippled will kick the mean world
Enjoying slowly dying to live peacefully
And elevated without sticks to get wings
Once couldn’t walk under the weight of miseries
It was a nightmare of me, they need not be sorry
Can’t see you with this height, today i got wings to fly
To be honest am blessed they did let me die.
I am 58
I was forced to three wives
That always feed on hate.
My offspring are millions of lives
Only united in sharing my cakes.
I am 58
I can't feed my children at my age
No, their elected elders won't let me to
Despite the plenty, they are left with little.
I am 58
Once a pride now a disgrace
Greed of few turn my honour to shame
Oh, my offsprings are disowning me everyday
From their quest for greener pastures, they return to me in chains.
I am 58
Every first of October they gather to celebrate me
Then abandon my dirts to beautify my competitors'
At my age, I am still a dumping ground; a land of generators.
Street of maple,
Long and dark,
Full of trees with its maple,
Different colour with its different size,
Autumn monsoon fell off the dry maple,
Mess all the places,
Come a girl quoting the dry leaves,
Clean the whole area,
Her hands and leg full of dirts,
Fill the dirts in the plastic waste bags,
Alone here and there,
Spotted due to mud,
No one helps or guide her,
All the way alone in the street of maple,
The street of maple lots of maple tree that never been cleaned,
Once cleaned, will be dissappeared by Unknown mysterious thing.
Street of maple,
Long and dark,
Full of trees with its maple,
Different colour with its different size,
Autumn monsoon fell off the dry maple,
Mess all the places,
Come a girl quoting the dry leaves,
Clean the whole area,
Her hands and leg full of dirts,
Fill the dirts in the plastic waste bags,
Alone here and there,
Spotted due to mud,
No one helps or guide her,
All the way alone in the street of maple,
The street of maple lots of maple tree that never been cleaned,
Once cleaned, will be dissappeared by Unknown mysterious thing.
?Beards and Evil
There is a shallow pit dug under my arms
Covered with grasses that bear the colour of night
There is a fertile pasture on my head
I carry the beautiful strands everywhere I go.
Inbetween my thighs is a soft stretch of skin
Of silky, shinning and healthy hair.
I am the symbol of perfection.
If you see any man with hair on his cheek
patterned down to his chin, and jaw
He is the work of dark angels-
a creature made to defy the laws of beauty.
Beard is another way to wear attery thorns
and carry an abode of evil all around.
Do not touch a man with beards; do not touch evil.
I do not evolve from the apes
For there are no dark furs on my face.
If you see a neighbour grow beards
Buy him a blade so he may scrape the dirts
and become a beautiful creature in God's image.
If your brothers are men with beards.
Then there is evil in everything you see, and touch.
Micheal Ace
#magicalpoetry
©ACEworld
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