Avoiding the girl-scouts
I hasten out of the store
trying hard not to see the people
huddled in their thin coats
as they wait for an infrequent bus.
This ice-chilled evening
with its stark revelations
is like the nag of an irregular heartbeat
sheathed like a thorn in my shoe.
Later, by a warm fire
sitting in an upholstered armchair,
a despondency chews at my breastbone,
it is a reaction hard to pin down,
to objectify,
a lingering presence.
My mind shifts through a symbolic iconography
effigies depicting:
a lost and hungry dog,
an ill-treated child,
a stranger I refuse to call brother,
places long deserted,
places found far too late.
A love unpicked from a now withering vine.
That same presence
sets a table and chair before me
that I may write, try to explain
this tumbleweed of unnamable sorrows,
a phantom, that even in happier times,
I recognize it as a coarse impression
akin to a grating scar
beneath a tender tongue.
Tomorrow may emerge as a frail old lady,
struggling with full shopping bags,
head bent to a cold uncaring wind.
Many might offer her a lift
but in my present brittle mood
I probably would frighten her,
so,
I don’t.
A poodle lived in her shadow,
it was not ill-treated, just ignored,
its matted form
wandered around the house
looking to be noticed.
The living room
was littered with her underwear,
discarded bras, panties, garters and negligee.
I had no idea
why these things all came to rest here,
scattered around her like that.
I was an occasional pal of her son.
Once she fed a pink baby
from her own white flesh
as if not even noticing us boys.
The soft upholstery of the sittee
settled around her
proclaiming her sovereign presence.
The poodle hesitated to enter the room,
knowing, as we did,
we would never be part of her kingdom.
A poodle lived in her shadow,
it was not ill-treated, just ignored,
its matted form
wandered around the house
looking to be noticed.
The living room
was littered with her underwear,
discarded bras, panties, garters and negligee.
I had no idea
why these things all came to rest here,
scattered around her like that.
I was an occasional pal of her son.
Once she fed a pink baby
from her own white flesh
as if not even noticing us boys.
The soft upholstery of the sittee
settled around her
proclaiming her sovereign presence.
The poodle hesitated to enter the room,
knowing, as we did,
we would never be part of her kingdom.
Life has a meaning if you wake up from stupor
Procrastination will not help you achieve goal
days pass, years waste away, making you a loser
wake up before time takes a worst turn, death bells toll
When there was nothing there was God who created
A beautiful and pristine world for man to live
Be a vicegerent and protect the ill-treated
To be kind towards all to forget and forgive
Work to live, live to work is a motto well served
Stupor belongs to the Devil, fans his ego
Some rest after a day's hard work is well-deserved
Work without required sleep results in vertigo
So, wake up from ever deadly stupor my friend
Take up unfinished tasks to give meaning to life
It's never too late for an evil soul to mend
If not, words of evil and slander will be rife
When I remember some
advices of my mother.
I always say
in my heart,
" Live
Long
my Heroine"
She told me one day,
"my son,
don't ever believe people
than God,
as it is always easy
for some folks to sing,
' I will never forget a person
Who contributed to my success.'"
Haaahah
Haahah ,
she laughed and
continue to speak
" Many people spoke that,
Then ill-treated those
who helped them
in hard time,
and supported those
who were blocking them
to their destinies.
They wished to be with those
who were laughing at them
in their hard journeys."
I always call her
" Wise woman."
As she taught me the World
Before I could face it.
" Living love is better than prophecying love "
Quote by poet
Why loving them?
loving them more
comfort them
As they have generational fear.
Always think about the revenge
Of the good people they ill-treated for centuries.
President Cyril Ramaphosa once said in Senegal,"
We are here today because of our goodhearts
and respect that we showed majority westerners."
South African President spoke the truth
in front of thousands of senegalese youths.
It is difficult for majority Africans
to oppose their Ubuntu spirituality
( which is standing on true love )
because of some strangers
who invaded African territories.
Continue Loving some ( racists ) discriminators,
They will change one day.
September 01/2023
When I am old
Sadly to say
I found many wrinkles
And senile plaques
Scattered on my body
But suddenly
To my delight and astonishment
I saw two scars
Two childhood scars are fading away
They have been ugly spots
To be covered with long sleeves or pants
One was bitten by a dog
One was hurt by falling into a drain
Each one carried a strange story
And a childhood memory
But now I have gathered
Some scars in my heart
Which cannot be overelooked
During my career and marriage life
I was bullied by some colleagues
I was ill-treated by my sister-in-law
Scars in the heart
Though cannot be seen
Will not fade away
While scars in history
Can be read in books
Easily forgotten
And sufferings continue
Pity the young generations
And our loved ones
My heart is within layers inside of my soul and sometimes it seems my heart is on the outside inviting the inevitable to break it, deceive it, use it for someone’s connivence, No! I’m taking my heart back as I unsubscribed to these thoughts placed on my hard copy. I refuse to be be ill treated dealing with Someone else’s insecurities injected to my mind, body and soul.
The wind blows softly over the lonely,
The suffering think of themselves only.
A world of chaos, racism, and turmoil,
Utmost egomanias spoil our toil.
An old man groans, no decent place to live,
Are there relatives? No comfort to give?
Blow softly oh lonely wind, they care not,
They are comfortable, and all forgot.
Somewhere a child is crying his heart out,
Can anyone guess what it's all about?
Is the child hungry, lost, or cast aside?
Much abused, ill-treated, or love denied?
There are millions of cries heard on the wind,
Alas no one bothers: is man unkind?
A poodle lives like a shadow.
It is not ill-treated, just ignored,
so it moves from room to room
but stays away from her couch.
The place is littered with her underclothes,
discarded bras, panties, garters and negligee.
I had no idea
why these things all came to rest here
scattered around her like that.
To me, she seemed to rule them all;
displaying them
as a kind of sovereign insignia.
I was an occasional pal of her son.
Once she fed a newborn from her own white flesh.
The soft upholstery seemed to settle around her,
closing its wide mouth about them both,
including all the discarded clothing.
The poodle wandered away,
perhaps sensing it would could never be
part of her regalia.
Sustained by the frequent spring showers
Adorned by rosettes of dark green
They burst into dense yellow flowers
The florets parading their sheen.
They sway to sensations of pleasure
The rhythmic allure of the breeze
Then rest in the evening at leisure,
Appear every day to increase.
But soon comes the time for reversal
The petals are destined to dry,
Then globules of seeds for dispersal
To nature’s intentions comply.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This poem merits to win for the simple reason that
dandelions are ill-treated and spoken of badly by
many people, little realizing the beauty and good points
which they have to share with us.
Placed 3rd in Richard Lamoureux's contest
© 12th April 2019
Amnesia, we have grown to acknowledge the
Absurd canvas splash painted by the elites and
November turned our Black Christmas craft
Sadly we been ill-treated alike bees after its
Sweet nectar we were poised betwixt crowns
About the proficient past and tatty retention
All disapprove the deeds by the elites in plays
No longer felt acclaimed to the first republican
Spawn swell his pockets yet too I get a penny
Secret services he sort to call his corrupt deed
Amend, we no longer long to chant Nehanda's
Aspirations from her grave,dust as haile spin
Now the paper gut to wet in drips of honesty
Spin the coin topflip and let virtues reign over
Spirited vices the brothers has been cementing
African pride be blaze in the freedom touch too
Again the glorious House of stones be mazed...
Nhamodzenyika's gallery be torned into shreds
Santa to bring forth fruits of liberty, equality
Savages of a lifetime to be apprehended in slab
When Thy Heart And Soul Have Both Been Fleeced
When thy heart and soul have both been fleeced
world shattered, thy hidden demons released,
canyons of whirling circles in night dreams
dark rules, no saving light left that redeems.
Life raped, your sanctuary invaded,
joy for epic pains were thus dark-traded
truth is, Hope has yet to be defeated,
shall not be, if Love is not ill-treated.
Look up! Bright sun still shines upon thy head
Spring is golden, gleaming roses are red,
world kicked hard but races on as before
lift thy head, open eyes, walk through that door.
When all is said and done, know this reward
greater that gift when life faced was so hard.
Robert J. Lindley, 9-15- 1979
Sonnet, ( Tough Nut To Crack, When Has Been Fire Tested)
In Little Whinging, Privet Drive,
around the bend at Number Four
is sighted, strikingly alive,
a tabby cat not seen before.
Her interests vary from her kind’s -
she does not mind the scuttling rat
Behind a battered bin she finds
some shade. (They think she just gets fat).
But
After dark a cat’s a tiger -
this one’s waiting for a boy
not to pounce on - far from her
intentions. This child gives her joy.
No one spots a vanished cat. -
from where her bracing figure lay
a lady rose in robe and hat,
looked up and gestured, walked away.
She swore to guard his life and name
from all things dark and horrible
This silent storm left as she came
She went by name McGonagall.
--------------------------------------------------------
Tribute to Professor McGonagall of Hogwarts from Harry Potter. She was a cat Animagus - so literally a Cat Lady
This is when she waits for Hagrid to bring infant Harry to his aunt's family home after the death of his parents, where he is ill-treated and will stay until 11.
THE TRANSFIGURATION: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oP3MKL5XBIY -The relevant part begins at 0:50
Emotional scars tend to stay,
I can't take your past hurts away.
And though love holds no guarantee:
I ask that you believe in me.
Failing to reconcile old fears,
you associate love with tears.
And erect emotional walls,
ignoring the truth when it calls.
Doubt dominates your every move:
as if love has something to prove.
And as rage denigrates your mood,
acting insane, you get unglued.
You scream you're being ill-treated,
convincing yourself: I've cheated.
And sounding completely deranged:
insults get angrily exchanged.
You don't give love; only receive:
and in truth, constantly deceive.
And you play the wounded hero,
nursing your battered, bruised ego.
When will you trust in me again,
put yours aside, and feel my pain?
For feigning feelings of regret,
you're not showing any respect.
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