The order of a vitamin
Simply, life, a hair is for fun
Spoken worth, a willing shade to climb?
Into your lap, a wholer smile for any who would innocence
Spare me the details, in a cup of frequent spirits
High as a kite, with a reach to the stars, somewhere over the rainbow
I see your shared shall, if not the coolness of a remembered wit
Silver bells to come, an avidness of a problem we both know....
Toenails?
Simple rhythm of a bliss for ideology to bloom
Sakes without a created pain, to inform my clash with strength
Continue with a silent night, misery, promises to few, with soon
Could ink have an unexpected owe?
Silly accusations of windy deeds I have a saved repose
Lucky as this would seem, I have a question for adding a quiet mouse
Live and let live, or a sweet sincerity I should know, in the smile of a prose
Here goes kiddo...
Smile at the song of a fruity share, in a distant house
Walls of livid kindness, a God of asking a reason of a flower?
Lizards with a wisdom's tooth don't, promise us a spill of cleverness from Gods?
Why not get caught up?
With the everyday chores, I fought,
especially household ones, I thought.
I have gotten old, and the effort came to naught.
Why not start the date scene since I’ve become a widow?
But the loss has made me a hippo.
I am set on my way in my interests and passions, ditto
mindset. I love my space, peace, and quiet, kiddo.
Why not learn to adapt?
Exploring new hobbies for the handicapped.
My phone, a piece of technology, was lost to a woman inapt.
Lost at what buttons to push. A joke—I’m trapped.
Why not seek rhythm and balance
or maintain personal interests of my talents?
With vertigo and a phobia of people, I’m always unbalanced.
I cannot even try to replace and hang a new valance.
Why not? I can go on
a list that goes on and on.
I yawn.
Ditto.
At the pier, waiting for apologies
My little self awaits her mundane reality
Every broken promise, a piece of her heart ripped out
Leaving her dreams behind like she didn't just stay up late practicing that dance choreo,
But I am no time traveler, so how shall I tell her that , little kiddo I am really sorry.
Calling over a blurry video,
As much emotion as static would allow,
Natheless I knew you missed me; your kiddo
I can see it in your eyes and wrinkles now.
Ever since I boarded the plane for distant lands,
Venturing zealously for a better life
Excitement eclipsed the price of my plans;
Repenting now I didn’t kiss goodbye.
Recalling sweat and all the pain endured,
Even as I build another life anew,
This house lacks warmth and I'm insecure-
Underneath it all I long for you.
Rooted to home only in the tongue I hold,
Now I'm counting the debt which I've long owed.
The Widow
At sixteen she is a widow
She is still a kiddo
With a baby in her arm
Life will be no charm
She’s now like her brother
Who has a child without a mother
His wife chose the street
Killed as she was standing beat
But now she must look after herself
Not wanting to sit on the shelve.
Now she has a great need
her baby she must feed
Selling her body for her baby
with her that’s no maybe
Her baby must eat
and that’s a job she’ll meet.
After 2 years on the streets
A member of the gang she meets
Initially they fall for each other
Not knowing he killed his mother
Very soon he starts beating her
She now works for him in fear
He was found in an alley dead
He was shot in the head.
She realises in her life of sorrow
she will remain a widow.
She takes her baby she must feed.
So, she moves back to the street
It's a new month
November 1st
My sister's birthday
Ofejiro Joy Obaroyeregbe
To be specific
A new era, another level.
She's so amiable
Amicable communicator
She does for me what no one does
Very determined and courageous
She's absolutely gorgeous.
I'm wishing you longevity
I pray God bless you
Beyond the imagination of humans
From my heart to you
A masterpiece I writ
In regards of your special day
Happy womb escape day kiddo.
To Atbin.
Another flick, a spark,
Once more awakened the past
Illustrating memories
Are alive and always last.
I recall your visage with
Its veins, its charm, and grace
Some invisible griefs,
Behind of that bony face.
Your tender artistic look,
At a silly Rubik’s parts,
Made your endless affection,
dwell in our empty hearts.
You were our J. Keating of
Weir’s ingenious mind
And that "Remembrance Fest"
That you held: one of a kind.
To our liveliest friend,
We had toasted, and cheered
But I saw a bloody band
On your thin wrist appeared.
You smoked and you spoke,
With your own personal tone:
"A dead soul would never need,
All of these; to be well known,
Look at the living, hey kiddo!
And cherish their real worth.”
I stared at the white band:
Accessible, open source…
I thought it should be a band,
You could have tied it with care
Upon a pretty girl’s
Glowing and blonde hair.
Not as a merciless rope,
Tight around the skinny neck
But just like the sign of love,
Danced by the wind in a lake.
Hey, my friend! don’t frown,
Let me exactly define,
Not a regret for the dead,
But as an amity sign.
There was a time when I was so real
I would speak my heart out with everyone
People would normalise my embarrassments
and say, "Kiddo, that's pretty common".
There was a time when I was so real
I would never hold my tears after feeling hurtful
I would refuse to talk to those who weren't familiar
There wasn't any place for pretence out there.
There was a time when I was so real
Imitating everyone's actions gave a lot of pleasure
but somewhere in the middle, I started lying
and I was given long lectures to never lie in my future....
There was a time when I was so real
'Eat, Sleep and Play' felt so practical
Playing with friends wasn't a special treat back then
Screaming, Laughing, and scribbling on walls wasn't a great deal....
Yeah, that was the time when I was real
I wasn't supposed to please everyone with a fake smile
I wasn't even considered boring if I was hurt and kept quiet
Why can't one be real and mature at the same time?
Those soft tendrils of skin grazing my being
Taking in my form whole
Accepting me as I was
Using me as I was
When did love turn to deceit and lies
When did my body turn into a medium of use
I'm nothing but my body, my parts, my abilities
That's all you ever wanted from me, wasn't it?
You felt me, but you didn't see me.
Now I lay in bed every night
Feeling the pound of you inside and out
A rhythmic motion, nonconsensual, debilitating
I'm frozen in time, pinned to a bed with no escape
My bed, your bed, Lake Arrowhead
It's all the same, as my no's and pleads fall apart
My consent never mattered, did it?
Coercion is a funny thing
Gaslighting of the self
"Is this what love is?" my 16 year old self asks.
"No, kiddo, not even close" my current self replies.
I was a spiraling light through an inner-eye.
It felt that the top of my head, my skull
was opening out, blooming.
I thought: ‘this is it kiddo,
time for you to see if your beliefs will be revealed
in that new place for your eternal mind,
or just slip unnoticed into the no-name dark,
the endless forgetting of all things.’
When I spoke of this,
my wife blamed a bad pickle;
it had earlier given her diarrhea.
Funny thing,
Last night I dreamt of eating pickles.
A sign?
A squeezy sensation followed that thought.
I had to use the restroom
to think things over once more.
I am your dreams
Curled up in a ball.
Napping vicious dreams,
Crouched against the wall.
Oh the stoic stares at dovetailing dreams.
Throw your fryer in the briar.
May the mist tear your eyes.
You haven't cried in months.
Bleep out all dull colors,
Let the celluloid solitude remain a-drip.
You are your heart's keeper.
Tend to your first original light.
The all-possible pulsar of our lives.
I hear
A weeping quarantined widow
I peer
Through my sealed window
I fear
The unattended corpse below
A tear
Slips out in limbo
The atmosphere
Hurling my emotions akimbo
This year
Death’s started to winnow!
My career?
The lockdown let it go
I’m now a cashier
With no cash flow
A spear
Deprived of a throw
It’s clear
The life you know
My dear
Can deteriorate into zero
Be Mr. Shakespeare
Or just a bimbo
Oh dear son,
Wonder where’s science?
Science sense
Has fled into a maze of inexistence
But pray and have confidence
In this social distance
It’s a mutual response
To this traumatic circumstance
Of course I miss you
More than you do kiddo
But still when I’m near
Give your cuddle to your pillow
If we don’t make it this year
At least we’ll be called heroes
By generation that will survive
This remorseless woe
How do I drown out
The dimwitted stupidity
Of your foolhardy rants
The halfwitted folly of your absurdity
The madness of your lunacy
Who in heaven’s name
Do you think you’re fooling
You’re so generous with disparaging remarks
What have you ever accomplished
How dare you pretend to sit up on a throne
While having the audacity to dismantle
To nitpick what others have achieved
Only losers don’t accomplish a thing
because they’re too busy ranting
Don’t you know
Grownups
Don’t do that
Please
It’s not too late
Grow up, kiddo
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
He keeps trying his barrage
of raging vitriol, but it's a blunt knife
on his target's alligator skin
A predictable high school bully
with the same ol' lines of attack.
His target always sees them coming...
and the invectives inflict no pain!
The bully sharpens the blade
with each try, then slashes and stabs
in rapid succession...
but the knife never breaks his victim's skin,
and the funny thing about it is...
the bully seems to be the one bleeding!
One fine day, the boy
bravely stands up for himself
with this unvarnished truth...
"You repeatedly try to cut me open,
yet you lacerate yourself each time
you fail to break me; and you'll keep
failing, so choose your next victim!"
Bravo, kiddo, bravo!
Submitted for...
Strand Select 12,Any Form ,Any Theme Poetry Contest (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 01/15/2020
Date written: 01/12/2020
Is it I or is it me?
I’m a little confused you see!
I can be part of us, or they,
Or we, who’s to say?
I can be referred to as one,
Not much fun!
What about thee?
Is that still me?
Then again, thou,
Not right somehow.
Some refer to I as dude,
That’s just crude
Or even mate,
Not great.
If you’re a girl then it’s gal,
For a boy it’s pal.
In certain cases, Miss or Mister,
That could just be sinister!
Some say, ‘hey you,’
Luckily only a few.
For some it’s ‘what’s a name’?
Such a shame.
Some terms are not so nice,
Might come at a price!
Some say darling or love,
Heaven’s above.
Worse still chuck,
That’s bad luck.
I’ve even heard blue or slim,
Blimey that’s grim.
If it’s kiddo,
Then you’ve yet to grow.
Some say he or she,
That’s obviously not me.
I it has to be,
Then for sure I know it’s me.
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