FOLLOW the FIRE
Follow the fire
of soul through life entire
in your own empire,
till last breath, as you expire.
Fire of soul:
Purifier sole!
Burns garbages of mind,
being ruthless unkind.
Soul ignites to glow,
blazes to blow,
glazes in fluorescent flow.
Pure pristine fire of soul to follow.
12/11/22
Follow the Fire
Contest by Mystic Rose Rose
FIRE
fire purifier
burns garbages makes mind clear-
blazing mind fights fear,
igniting dormant desires-
strengthens soul, puts head higher -
11/29/22
MECHANICAL
The lion of Africa is mechanical
A knock down engine
Left to rust
Producing garbages
Break down to the apex
From one mechanic to another
They always promise to fix it
Get paid and extort us in return
Inflicts more damages
Heaps the faults on previous mechanics
The lion of Africa is mechanical
With quack mechanics
Stealing our tools and equipments
Always seeing a complex fault
At the end of each day
Pleading to fix it if given a second chance
But repeats the same error
When their repair tenure is over
They bring in their kinsmen
To make promises too
Tools and equipments unaccounted for
Where's the employment carburetor?
The infrastructural radiator
The nut of unity
The scale of Justice
The gear for separation of powers
All you political mechanics.
©Kporho Vwede Daniel
07067333949
(IG: General Ali Official)
All rights reserved
Your sweet lips,
Kissed the glass,
The lucky wine fell within,
The calamine pink lipstick imprinted,
For the drink touched your skin and chin,
You threw the glass away,
May be a garbage but not for me,
I caught in hands and placed in my heart,
For my loved one lipstick imprinted.
I saved my girl,
For years and years,
A museum was my room,
For all your used garbages,
A wonder gift for me to tweet,
My pumping heart at your feet,
Never you thought,
Taught a thought - love is only for elite,
May be not a place in your heart,
But why you threw me as a dirty rot,
For the roadside cleaners to sweep my heart,
As garbage in the dustbin.
15 July,2016
Garbage poetry contest
Beneath the fuschia painted sky of the setting sun,
war torn houses still burning,
razed into rubbles along the river banks of rio hondo,
with walls devastated by bombs' explosions,
and one by one the ceilings began to fly.
The river's shallow but crystal clear water,
with green sea weeds,mussels and oysters,
once our childhoods' undisturbed playground,
instantly became the unholy graveyard of the
slain MNLF fighters,
decaying cadavers scattered everywhere
like worthless pieces of garbages,
worst than dead animals,
arms detached and eaten by the dogs displaced
by the war they had created,
brains splattered by bullets on mangrooves' roots,
and face swollen with worms appeared beyond recognition.
While the river that once flowed with
the rhythm of neo-gothicism,
singing with the sweet harmonies from the
birds under the falling rain,
but the chords suddenly went out of tune,
disturbed by the torrential beat of a
violent human upheaval,
the orchestra of war bombs,cannons, and guns raised
the flags of war concerts,
and the water ran wild with the musical
note of destruction,
hysterically dancing along the melodies of blood,
a tragic symphony of death.
Fame
feeds in sugar
left from the horses
race
and makes sausages
perfectly the same
grows in garbages
of another planet
plastic Venus
that never pees
in a public toilette
dresses like a hooker
and spends in Vegas
every weekend...
Talking about fame
it's like kicking
an empty
soup can
or getting a kick
on your butt
from the blind horse
next door...