Un-certainty..' Events beyond Biblical..
Being prepared for you.' Fire
For for your desire, a black heat though.?
Coming from just where
( you do not know )
It is intense, with the energy; all the energy
Of lives you have sqandered, including the
Ones that collectivly you self-relinquished
Such will your future be.' The delivery in inevitable..The sender is satan, he in indentured to dispense you wages, this is
( the gift that keeps on giving ) guys..' or gals...? I does not really really ( matter! )
View it as 'gender-indifferent?' Though most malevolent he can't help it by the way ' he is typecast by choice..And i beleive he ( means well?) Well for himself
Anyway..' But he can't cut the mustard.'
his gambit is completely busted, a busy fool is he, gambling on hostage taking.'
Obstinate to the enth; hell, of all degrees.'
Transistors fizz
Electrons bustle
As robots claim
The daily hustle
The hinges creak
The oil of words
Is missing from
The mindless herds
They oft parade
With heads bowed low
Quite frankly,
Nowhere else to go
As hooked in tasks
In ruts with traction
Replace the normal
Human faction
Robots make robots
Or so I'm told
They replicate
The lies they're sold
Perpetuating
All that manic
In ways that seem
Somewhat satanic
The robot wars
Are not to fear
Just realise that they
Are here
Dispense with screen
Release your mind
In un-robotic ways
You'll find
The beauty of
The world around
When eyes you lift
Will soon be found;
Through trees and rain
Bare feet on grass
A world machines
Can ne'er surpass
The pores of life
Should breathe it in
Beguiled no more
By wars of tin.
Season of death
Told to fear
Before bitter cold
Making everyone scream
For some warmth
And loving touch
Stay in touch
After the death
With some warmth
And no fear
Morbid many scream
Awaiting the cold
Decide embrace cold
With forceful touch
Hear the scream
Proclaiming the death
Eyes express fear
Needing some warmth
Getting the warmth
Fighting the cold
And the fear
With caring touch
Defeating ugly death
That creates a scream
Why a scream?
All filled warmth
Body shell death
Purple silver cold
Ghosts need touch
Soothe the Fear
Dispense the fear
Memories laughing scream
Everyone seems touch
Words igniting warmth
Melting the cold
Celebrating the death
Conquering fear death
Instead scream warmth
When touch cold
Dear Moon,
Each syllable of your name sings a melody so serene, I find the scarcity of my own tranquility immersing on the tip of my tongue.
The hum of my profound fragility twirls along the brittle attempts to submerge into the cloud of my thunderous delicacy.
The remnants of my soul crumble into a decaying, dispense of dust, floating through the basins of Earth’s hue.
The scent of you radiates off of the vex of my skin.
An ethereal blend of elegance, silver and the spirit of my distillation.
I find each celestial fragment of my embodiment thickening in the night sky, enveloping itself into the safety of the split space within the stars.
The green of Earth farewells the gleam of my cells.
Each one shines with the shimmering pride of a newfound purpose:
The stillness of perpetuity in lunate.
The hush of eternity in galactic saint.
And the appease of permanency in cosmic quaint.
A final exhale until my excess joins your divine rock of tragical, obscured beauty.
Your gravel brushes against my skin, so calamitously determined to test my devotion, oblivious to the ache my ashes fester for you.
Dear Moon, I call your name.
Behind a pane of vintage
glass he stands,
A silent wizard from a distant
land.
With golden turban and a
paisley vest,
He wakes to life at a coin's
request.
An iron token drops into the
slot,
And gears awaken what the
workshop wrought.
His painted eyes begin to roll
and gleam,
A sudden actor in a neon
dream.
The crystal ball lights up with
shifting fire,
Responding to the circuit
board's desire.
He nods his head and waves
a mechanical hand,
Dispensing secrets from the
desert sand.
"Zoltar Speaks!" his booming
voice declares,
To startled children at the
crowded fairs.
His motorized jaw clicks
open and goes slack,
Demanding that you never
look back.
A whirring motor drops a
paper slip,
Your future written on a
cardboard strip.
The music fades, the blinking
lights grow dim,
And quiet shadows settle
back on him.
He waits alone inside his
wooden box,
A trapped magician under
glass and locks.
“Post Pep Comics”
In this time,
there are no children -
we refer to them as the 'undead'.
The young watch on
while their gods war on, it’s all televised,
committing abominable atrocities, war crimes.
Like ancient souls held in the palms
of the war machine they watch on
like zombies, vacant things
scrolling, weighing their relevance
against those dressed in designer ozempic scales, while worlds away
the third-class child attends their lessons in starvation,
surviving death and bullets
trafficked and war torn, raped and
psychologically taken,
click bait;
bleeding into the small tight margins
of Western comics where the Eagle always wins.
Archie and Jughead dispense their puerile rules,
rating us like commodities, stocks that rise and fall;
it’s all entertainment
after all.
Candide Diderot. ‘26
Always thinking ahead,
as opportunity seldom knocks,
I'm still and always will be
pushing the envelope outside the box.
As what goes up must come down,
if I may have my way and say today,
airlines should sell seats by the pound,
the more you weigh, the more you pay.
History has shown (we've always known),
when American Indians he's among,
all the better to speak out of both sides of mouth,
white man speak with forked tongue.
As stress brings on distress,
employ mind over matter,
and dispense with the former,
to prevent the latter.
If God created mankind in his own image,
as some are straight and others gay,
was God therefore bisexual
or merely dabbling in shades of grey?
A well-balanced world would be bereft,
it can't be all right as nothing would be left,
and almost lost in obscurity,
its axial tilt of 23.44°,
is also known as 'obliquity'.
It forever holds its flavor
One is all you’ll ever need
One can savor it for later
Or share it with a lover
Your brother if you’re onto that
A friend who’s a bestie
Or a stranger who’s in need
I’ve repurposed a pill box
To dispense my favorite flavor of the day
It will never disintegrate
And is guaranteed
Or your money back
If this gum just happened
To fall into the ocean
It would surely float
Be gobbled up by some random fish
Or get caught up
In the net of a fishing boat
And the Captain will surely gloat,
“Yum, cherry apple red.”
But like most trash
Gum ends up in the dump
Where it remains forever flavorful
For the ants and bums
Who rummage for just one
Life changes in a twinkle of an eye;
Naira notes of low value seems high.
One billion naira in bank-: thousand birds in bush,
One thousand naira at hand-: billion get caught with a push.
It doesn't matter the FLOAT in your account,
What matters is the available handy amount.
It doesn't matter how much,
But the little one and its touch.
It doesn't matter if charges are bearable,
What such pains speak are unbearable.
It doesn't matter if you last five hours on queue-
What UNABLE TO DISPENSE cum turn subdue!
POS attendants are seen growing wings,
But they can't fly with MONEY PURCHASED stings.
Bankers hands are off the cause of scarcity,
Opposite CBN directives to circulate off adversity.
Blame should be on who for this loud whistle?
What's on everyone's wrists more than an epistle.
To traders selling cash to POS attendants,
Thanks for been such good assistants.
Living in the world of OPPOSITE at the moment...
Should not make the wrong people an atonement¡
2023 mad
It’s time, by now, we did away with nations.
I tell you, hand on heart beneath the flag,
This jingo jag has now become a drag.
Those puerile patriotic palpitations
had meaning only when we lived in tribes.
Today our people mix and mingle freely –
so can’t we now dispense with Horace Greeley,
and wetbacks, wops and wogs, and all those jibes?
Since nations never have a sense of humour,
it’s little wonder why we have these wars.
We need a change of heart. Embrace the cause:
don’t split us into gooks or spooks or squaws,
or hicks or micks or spicks, or baby-boomers.
One nation under God, we’re all consumers.
Angola Silence (Renku)
In a silent mood
Await the pure white horses
To draw the carriage
Someday comes my turn
Laid amidst the other graves
Angola will reign
Carry a brother
Dispense final dignity
In this place of pain
Who was only one inch tall,
raised in a lab since he was, well...small,
doped on phenobarbital,
escaping o'er his prison wall.
Tell me friend, can you recall
King Mouse?
Who lived in a tidy little hole,
knew when the cat was on patrol?
Though cheese and crumbs he stole,
he never lived on the dole.
Let's sing praise and extoll
King Mouse!
Who was diminutive in size,
told the truth and never lied,
had big ears but never spied,
nor squealed, just squeaked and sighed?
All expectations he defied -
King Mouse!
His body small, his soul immense,
big ears heard every offence,
and you, who wanted to dispense,
are now awash with penitence,
as you consider recompense
for King Mouse.
Who knew the secrets that we kept,
never told, just cried and wept,
before he laid on the floor and slept?
At discretion he was adept.
You struck him with the broom while you swept -
King Mouse.
The coo of a mournful mourning dove
reminds us of the guy in the sky above
who we wouldn't touch without a glove.
But now as push comes to shove,
we realize we really love
King Mouse!
The sick and the injured had been his whole life
He’d never found time to ensnare a good wife
He’d slept with a patient and soon was arrested
“It just happened once,” to the court he attested
He’ll run no more x-rays, he’ll set no more bones
He’d made the mistake that no jury condones
No more operations, no drugs to dispense
The judge said, “The public demands recompense.”
“Your claim that it happened just once was complacent,
There is no excuse to lie down with a patient.
A long prison sentence is what you will get
Such a shame… for I hear you were quite a good vet.”
Motherly Love and Frowns
Treading down the memory lane streams to my mind
memories from far yet near, some sweet, some sour,
memories preciously shelved in the precincts of my inner sanctum;
so sweet were the mindful motherly hugs of love
like the embrace of a divine angel
so serene soft and self-assuring her smiles
like the spring selfless sunshine
so delicious her warm kisses on the forehead
that no other feel can replace,
yet interspersed at times with some harsh words
for playing hide and seek on the sideway street;
so soft was the caress of her hands on the cheeks
that not even a beloved can bestow
so cool and compassionate her cuddly care
no considerate nurse can dispense
so pleasing to rest on her merciful knees
more so after a hectic day`s fatigue,
yet interposed often times with some scowls
for dusting my clothing or getting home late after cycle rides;
In afterthought, her love and frowns have made me the man I am.
I will constantly try to raise the bar.
Strive for greatness; that's certainly in me.
Destined to be a noble superstar.
Break through rusted chains that will set me free.
My gateway is Christ, it's all biblical.
Feelings trap me within endless struggles.
All the pain I've endured is minimal.
He gives me my strength, all of my muscles.
Dispense my hope to those who are deprived.
As I'm not on this battlefield alone.
My compassionate solace they derived.
Attacks turn from immense boulders to stones.
The fear of losing hope invades my mind.
But still, a spark of faith keeps me aligned.
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