SEEING is believing for most of us
EYESORES are not always physical
NOSES smell both the stink and the sweet
SIN is often given birth from sights
EVERY 'i' of the alphabet needs a dot
SITUATION ethics is not a good option
SEEING is believing for most of us
EYESORES are not only physical
NOSES smell many sweet aromas
SIN is often born from sights
EVERY alphabet 'i' needs a dot
SEX before marriage is still sin
No embellishment or adornment
can do justice to your perfection of form
and inherent , innate beauty.
What are baubles beside your perfect ear?
Your slender neck
would put Nefertiti's nefer beads to shame.
Diamond studded nose rings or wristlets
touching your smooth satiny skin
would be mere eyesores
bereft of substance
or worth.
You are perfect,
my love,
my heart,
my pretty
little one.
We'll reserve
the trinkets
for when
you lose
your innocence.
~11 Jul 2016~
Born in a perennial sand storm
Baddies tweet humble extremism
The dove of peace shot down
The white flag glowing crimson
The sand blinds red eyes to the truth
Chronically digging for the anointed oil beneath
To evoke spirituality atop a sharp spear
To mimic the men in drench coats we fear
Compassion as desolate as their desert home
As black and volatile as crude oil aflame
Void of love, confusion like blank dice
Bitter as coarse salt in the Dead sea
Thirsty for knowledge in the sandy ice
Zigzagging targets like tearful bull’s eye
Wink on a weaponised Quran
Chaos high on a flipped brain
An agenda dripping bloody ink
Advancing like an armoured tank
The landscape flattened to Arabia
The exorcist resurrected Hitler
And his offspring seek to avenge
Father and farther into the stone age
dubbed trash by the many &
revered by the few,
sitting on the street curbs &
nesting on the steps
so if ya don’t like what you see
you better
rub em’ till’ they bleed &
waiting on the piggies
strolling long the sidewalk
washing up the storefronts
of all the kids of the future
sick of the present
with skateboards in hand
cigarettes drooping &
a look of fresh new rage
peeling out from their own eyeballs &
we’re on the other side of the street
lighting up the wicks
we got the molotovs blazing &
you know it should’ve been this way
years ago
why we waited oh so long
we’ll never really know
it’s been little by little
day by day
we’ve been walking with our baby steps
gaining momentum like a rolling ball of clay
picking up the dust & the dirt & the scum
i’d rather be down in the sewer any day with the rats
than one minute with the glamourglitz
rolling in a lump sum
because this is where we rumble, ****s,
this-z where we lay it down
we’ve got our wits sharp & our fists ready
our steel toed boots are kicking
towing intel neath’ the underground
reading writing on the walls
setting fire to everything we can
waiting for it to fall.
On the streets, mothers grilled guttersnipes,
Not to squeeze runny nose and runaway,
Perchance met by chance,
Sangfroid song is sang by heart,
Just an air breath of dare devil juvenile hector,
A furious broom, soaked inside grub of soil,
And chased until bedaub with blessed syrup,
On the contrary, likely dumped the grim green on the
street,
While keeping odourful astonishment long after,
Some swore that ground should open.
May not tell if lives in a hovel or cave,
A scary terror fleet flit streets stinking bum of the
underworld,
Possessor of all waste, his living chamber are painted
With umber dung with dumber grey and dummy dawn,
Shower rumble and wet sickening dapple flower,
Crawling vine holdsway and stranglehold,
Blood sucking vampire pods looking unhealthy,
And bobbing Piranhas in his muddy crystal ball
aquarium,
Fed soft wobbly creatures with no nose, nonsense and
eyesores,
While Dung Beetles are the beloved pets.
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