Long By hook or by crook Poems
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Yes, you came last night as I had wished
Normally reader, if you are after it that you desire
Your soul by hook or by crook is going to be the complier
When dear reader, you are lost into nothingness adrift and keep up as such
Be sure what you wished, a part of your mind would, insist on piecing it together.
So, exactly so it happened with me
It was a charming moonlight flooding outside
To my great delight a flower of that soft radiance I saw seated
In my chair in front of my computer table with the room in rhythmic dance
And then the flower shaping into a slim human figure looking a woman in trance
I felt a mild tremor within my anatomy
There were micro waves inside my hemoglobin
It was not the perfumed woman I had been daydreaming
Then came people walking along with the now familiar figure moving leisurely
Very affectionate peaceful slender composed friendly arisen from the moonlight
Initially I felt confused with the easy gait
A soft and serene smile with a little bit of frivolity
The head half-covered with a veil of soft and silky drape, that is, Shari
Sort of gesturing with her beautiful eyes asking me to come close to her side
Then confusion gave way to the joy of a child looking at his mother wide-eyed
I felt exceedingly happy and kept looking at my mom
I felt the hugs the scolding the tears the smiles and the flavours
I wanted to rush towards her and to hug her tight as I did when a child
But the film faded fast as the world was coming back with its dawning sounds mild
I thanked the ruler replacing the desired woman with my mom in the colored void
Amazed I could not settle for a while in the day thanks to the great Sigmund Freud
On the south-western side of the old mission school,
near the corner of First Street, where blackberries grew
a field claimed by youngsters was crosshatched with tracks.
It was riddled by gophers and, nettled with fox-tails
and the children's bare feet had constructed thin trails,
cupping deep paths that were littered with smiles,
deep in the amber of tall weeds and dry grass.
It wasn't too far from the patched wire fence
that hemmed the backyard of my Grandmother's house.
Westerly whirlwinds would rattle the ragweed,
while seeds of the bull-thorns, that prickled our toes,
would spread with the tumbleweeds, now tossed into rows
like last winter's snowmen, worn to the bone
There were traces of honeysuckle mixed with wild rose
from Grandma's old arbor, that loomed in the distance
A rusty old weather vane like a merry-go round
would spin like a top that might never stop
The ivy was overgrown, and a sleepy old hound
would snooze by the clothesline, in shade he had found
But, deep in the field, was a land of our own
A place we called 'Neverland', a loft in this poem
In the yoke of one tree, with the help of our dad
was a fort built of scrap wood, from piles by the shed.
And by hook or by crook, I would take all commands
While my brother's brewed brainstorms, and his black plastic hook,
assigned him the Captain, while I was the crew
of a ramshackle galleon, brought to life from our books
While I dangled in air, from a tired old swing
"Tinker", my name...in this masculine game..
I would push off, while he pulled me, right up to the sky
and into the branches, with leaves in my eyes......
I would fly to the depth's of a steel gray-blue sky
I would grovel, and shovel, to have his approval........
for he was much older, much wiser than me
I would play like a tomboy,.....shove doll-drums away
Such sweet summer days,......while bright splintered rays
of hot summer sun, would spotlight our play.
We would stay until twilight, to watch the sun die
Defying all gravity.......I could see to eternity
Tootsie Pops clung to the tip of our tongues
while the sun of the twilight, dipped over the dunes
and the call of our mother, slipped over the moon
____________________________________________________________
I am that lone wolf
Coming by with that look
My inner mind in a shelf
That horrid stare I took
I must save myself
By hook or by crook
I am that one alien
With an eye for detail
Lost in the Mediterranean
Alive in the form of a male
Boiling the ocean
I would never fail
By hook or by crook
I am that lonely eagle
Waiting for my target
Is it to love or is it to kill?
Some birds accept while some regret
Better keep my wings still
This I would never forget
By hook or by crook
By hook or by crook
I will starve to death
I will leave planet Earth
I will fly from the cove
To the heav’ns above
By hook or by crook
EMI LO KAN (It's My Turn)
What is "Emi lo kan"?
It is a selfish assertion,
It connotes one's right,
the selfishness that makes a man
put himself first before his nation.
To put one's ambition and personal interest
ahead of that of the common good...
It's adherence to individuality
rather than positive collectivity.
Do we take TURNS where power is SHARED?
Emi lo kan (It's my turn).
I am next in line!
Whether credible or not credible,
Whether accepted or not accepted
Whether by hook or by crook
Whether by sweat or by blood
Whether by money or by influence
Whether by threat or by manipulations.
Whether by tricks or gimmicks.
Do we accept SELECTION instead of ELECTION?
Emi lo kan (It's my turn)
Herald the voice of a dictator,
The tone of a tyrant.
The song of an enforcer.
The power of a Political wizard.
The declaration of a looter
The audacity of a principality.
But hell has no fury like a woman(hueman) scorned
And the stance of a frustrated masses.
Why should we accept DAMNATION instead of SALVATION?
Mr Emi Lo Kan, its not your damn turn!!
It's our turn (the people) to possess a new Naija????
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©? 1st March, 2023.
When you plan something spur of the moment,
At first you feel proud and in charge,
But the longer you think,
It will end in a blink;
Then the doubts stumble in and loom large.
I need time to mull over my choices,
Possibilities I can assess,
Weighing good points and bad,
What will make me feel glad
And eliminate what might cause stress.
Sometimes, though, I can’t make a decision
And the plans do not ever get made,
So perhaps if I pounce
I might get to renounce
Hesitations that make me afraid.
If the scale tips one way or another,
Either method can end up with doubt,
But at least if you book,
Then by hook or by crook,
An adventure you won’t do without.
Have you ever seen the satanic snake?
A fierce cheetah hunting with no mistake
A bloodthirsty wolf in the black sheep's clothes
How would it be if you find all in close?
Richard the third, the most villainous Duke
Known as a treacherous and selfish kook
Holds the status of the Duke of Gloucester
A saboteur, schemes as an imposter
Possess an ugly build with a hunchback
Hides his flaws as a professional flack
Feels menial for his deformity
Handles things with extreme enormity
A power monger and it's very clear
Cares not even to kill his near and dear
Strategically waits for chance and grabs
With his honeyed words, he always backstabs
By hook or by crook, wants to seize the throne
Cheats Lady Anne with his convincing tone
Spreads rumours to showcase the heirs unfit
Executes those who thwart with his outwit
When the battle at Bosworth in full swing
Stanley takes a U-turn and quits the ring
Unhorsed Richard cries out losing the source
'A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse"
A ruthless tyrant with no repentance
For him, there isn't any moral sentence
The Bard's 'wicked uncle' gets the title role
Invites the crowds' interest on the whole
Joyful rainy night, rhythmic outside of the solo mind,
Drunkard glass on the table of grey-eyed stars and
I’m looking for the rising poetry to row moonlight
The moon on the dark candle fire, a moth flying to the
Death of splendid sadness, colorful the timely life
Invites the expiration date of the cycling breath line
Line by line, slowly I realize that the empty stomach
Human lives in one problem but in full of this machine
Thousands of problems alert dogmas in earthly rhyme
Rhymes produce some truths within mighty-power
Is the power truth or truth the power?- who knows
But, all-mighty always becomes truth on this earth
So, what the truth is- no need to know its inside fact
Be mighty by hook or by crook to sell “I’m Truth” tact
31.08.2020 Chattogram
***Note***
What’s the truth of life, belief, death- I do not know
But since the birth of my understanding I’ve got that mighty is the truth!
Almighty is the truth because of all undefeatable power! OR
Truth is all-mighty though sometimes beatable on the earth!
A meeting of the quorum
We’re takin’ this place by storm
Got to get back to the farm
By hook or by crook
We’re young, free and insane
Clothes all creased and stained
Our attitudes inane
And we don’t read books
Into the hive we go
And that’s where we’ll stay
Got a feeling we’re gonna
Get something done today
You wave this and I’ll wave that
Complain at the drop of a hat
Think I saw a diplomat –
Let’s follow his car
Hey, got any Depressions or wars?
Like the people who came before
Need to hook up with some righteous cause
To know who we are
So into the hive we go
And that’s where we’ll stay
Got a feeling we’re gonna
Get something done today
A moment right now is at hand
What it means, we don’t understand
Maybe let’s invite the whole band
Play songs by Free
Image is everything
It’s better than any brass ring
So plan our unmasking
On MSNBC
And into the hive we will go…
I came to walk and sit beside a gentle babbling brook.
Every nook and cranny deserves a closer prod and look.
It was uncanny where secrets hid unseen from the naked eye.
Until a gentle nudge uncovered treasures waiting nearby.
I probed to look far beyond the smooth stone faces.
Into the spaces between the cobbles, into their hidden places.
For canny people know that gold is found where fractures part.
They follow the cracks that lead onward to a broken heart.
So, by hook or by crook, every crack deserves its chance.
Every flaw needs far more than a quick sideways glance.
For gold dust never gathers in the nook of a perfect thing.
It waits until brokenness, finds its voice, and learns to sing.
The crannies and cracks let the daylight gleam through.
They ask to not be hidden away, nor discarded from view.
With patient hands, each fracture is traced with gold—
Until the cracked and broken become precious and bold.
"I'm not afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship." — Louisa May Alcott.
The rain and sleet mingle together.
Wayward winds weigh me down,
Wetting my poor old clothes thoroughly.
I walk alone through deep pools,
How can I not be shivering in the storm?
The wraithlike winds increase the wetness of my face,
Water seeps down my tattered clothes.
I curse the closed shops and unsheltered houses.
How can I survive this miserable downpour?
Dark Cimmerian clouds cover the whole city.
The forces of weather mingle thoroughly.
I find no respite in such a mingle of a cyclone.
Let thunder wreak havoc in the hurricane,
I’ll find my strength by hook or by crook.
I’ve learned there is a shelter I’ll find,
A change of clothes, a purge of soul:
A mingle of hope, survival, and resilience
That somehow will cleanse my heart and teach it love.
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