Long Lurking Poems
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please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create a lingual Loch Ness
(when hens canst come home to roost
especially, encountering
the following conglomeration
in matthew scott harris patois).
He readily admits writing inventive
attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
and certainly less
to impress.
Gnome hatter intent toward
cogency, fancy ingenuity,
levity, the inevitable
resultant wrought gobbledygook
fascination for Lingua Franca
feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
and splatters Asia Yukon guess.
Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
swimmingly enervated
via erotic laced sentiments
perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
hollering, gesticulating floundering,
(in close proximity to Davey Jones's locker)
to avoid drowning at sea
perchance comprehending passionate influence.
Upon espying a signature poem of mine
forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
tib hush anonymous re:
dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
taking him/her to the brainy
(briny) deep brink
Icon fess
this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
alphabetic wanton soup,
or figurative egg drop bub
bling broth (el) doth brew)
pronouns Sibyl affectation
affliction sans plethora,
where each ladle full adrip with
richly flavor Verdana Font lee
and sincerely textured vocabulary.
Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
(blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
particularly expectorating flashy
hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
vis a vis plagiarize plethora
amidst storied plentiful English droppings.
Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
temptation to bask exultantly,
professed glorious unrequited love
announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.
Form:
THE PIPER He came from nowhere piping. We danced and danced in his trail. Our eyes popped out as elation swayed us. Suddenly, His pipe creaked and cracked. All feet hung as
sky dimmed her lights...
Silhouettes of Gun -shooting Devils everywhere..
Plodding hands of death lurking in the dark, lurking in the open... like hawk, Hawking chicken... Human heads fallen off as of woodcutters in frenzy.
cutting down trees.
Cry, my beloved Country!, Nigeria! how fast you fade, fading into oblivion, like a soviet. Oh Soviet! I bemoan you; once a cathedral's bell, you chimmed for all nations, now a shadow lying beneath history.
And the Piper! Now a prisoner for his people because he said no to a carnibal system, because he said no to a divide and rule system...
Your music is forever replaying to our hearts.
By Akudolu Ignatius
Warrior of Strength
Dealt a hand from the heavens, steeped in shadows’ embrace,
A warrior born from the ashes, a heart marked but not erased.
In the quiet corners of childhood, where innocence fades away,
Lurking specters, familiar faces, stole the light of day.
A father’s absence left echoes, a mother’s love turned cold,
In a world that turned its back, the silence grew bold.
At thirteen, trust shattered like glass underfoot,
Betrayed by hands once held dear, where darkness took root.
Fifteen came with a whisper, a dream turned to dread,
A boyfriend’s breath on my skin, the warmth now a thread.
A god brother's intrusion, steeped in violation,
A cacophony of trauma, a heart’s desperation.
Words like daggers, another fight,
Thirteen years of torment, where love lost its light.
A fragile baby cradled, in hope’s gentle hold,
Flickered and faded, a story untold.
Distance may dull some pains, but deceit’s blade cuts deep,
Manipulation’s shadow looms, even while I sleep.
Yet amidst this tempest, a flicker begins to glow,
A spirit forged in struggle, a strength only few know.
At thirty-seven, the weight still feels grim,
A new label emerges, like a fate turned dim.
But within every battle, every wound borne and faced,
A warrior is rising—each trial embraced.
When will this end? A question so raw,
But love does brew from the chaos we saw.
Through the valleys of sorrow, and the mountains of fear,
There’s a strength intertwined with the pain that brought tears.
So let the world see—the scars are my art,
A testament to resilience, a warrior’s heart.
For every hand dealt poorly, every burden I bear,
I rise from the ashes—I’ve grown stronger, I swear.
In the wreckage of hardships, my spirit reclaims,
The power of voice, the strength in my name.
Through the shadows that linger, through each twisted path,
I’ll wield my own story, embracing my wrath.
For in this new chapter, as I stand head held high,
I’m more than the battles, I’m the strength to defy.
With each breath a reminder, in the face of my plight,
I’m the warrior of strength, born from dark into light.
Inspired by my life so far. Always felt like I was dealt a bad hand but now I know I was dealt the warrior's hand now 38 years old, I now deal with one of the most painful mental disorders when will the pain stop.
It was another beautiful morning in the city , Workers looking radiant as always
People strolling , Cars horning as pedestrians throttled along the Zebra crossing
The subway was crowded with the smell of early morning rush and sweat
Little did they know that there was a shadow lurking behind the bright sun
The announcer’s voice towered over sound of luggage’s being dragged
Flight attendants smartly dressed hurried towards the boarding gates
Passengers sat patiently at the lounge, awaiting the call of the day
How could they have known that today will change their very lives
Nineteen bearded men dressed in polo shirts scattered amidst the crowd
Each missing the silky feel of their long white robes and heavily woven turban
As they try to fit in with their newly bought Jeans and Sky blue snickers
They knew what was about to happen, their lives was fading as the clock ticked
People going about their work and children being dragged to school
It was the ninth hour of the Mane , The plane heading for a wrong land
Passengers struggled for their lives, calling their loved ones for the last time
They saw the rage lurking in their eyes, the clothing couldn’t hide the evil
A Woman standing in the office, talking to her fiancé on the phone
As she stared out the spotless white glass, she saw it heading her way
She couldn’t mutter a word as her fiancé called out on the other end
Not a step could she take as the wall crashed on her, it was clearly too late
Buildings tumbling down the great heights, fire flying through the sky
Bodies rolling through the sky like the brutal fall of strong rain in spring
Oh what a sorry sight for a blind man, oh what a poison for the soul
Some watched with great tears, they could do nothing to save a life
Deadly cry of babies filled everywhere, smell of blood saturating the air
Heads missing the body buried under the crumbs of the fallen bricks
Some puffing out the last breath in them, hanging on for the very last time
Thunders of sadness roared everywhere, Mourning voices everywhere
So many lives were lost along with Nineteen men who thought it as fate
Not a year passes that we do not weep, for the lost souls of this day
The brave hearts that left us , even at the face of death some struggled
They linger forever in our hearts, as their thoughts dwell within us.
Sherri Mitchell invites us all
to gather more cooperatively in our search to avoid
once again in this Fifth Extinction MultiGeneration,
the entitled
privileged
win/lose colonizing
leftbrain dominant potential patriarchal terrorist
lurking within
our climate darkening ego identity.
How do I sabotage my more benignly intending self
repeatedly into predative win/lose games-manship?
How do I hate my lose/lose mortal degenerating nature/spirit Body,
And reject my own physical/mental
ego-natural/eco-spiritual
fragment/interdependent
universal/unitarian bicameral individuation?
A lifetime process of co-acclimation within EarthTribe
secular metamorphic transmutation
of sacred transubstantiating spirits
of win/win
left/right
dipolar co-arising
inform/exflow binomial correlation;
creative appositions
We all,
Mitchell responds to her own question
strangely
prophetically before she asks it,
following an Industrial leftbrain-dominant Revolution
leading away from rightbrain win/win
more organically compassionate moments,
In which we, more domestically together,
possess harmonic left/right States
of cooperative understanding
climate YangLight
and YinDarkness
infant/womb nondual potential fecundity
ego/eco-co-acclimating inside/outside attachment
primal connectivity
ego-interdependent win/wins overpowering win/lose detachments,
from our co-creative
re-creating win/win cooperative health development
caregiving/receiving communal green ego/ecological abilities.
Our metaphysical question,
Why me; Everything ZeroSum,
and not just nihilistic Zero-NothingCore?
Is not just why growing healthy consumers
developed robust competitive EarthMarkets,
but also how we co-productively show up
most powerfully to meet this depleting nutritional time
in which we lose to climate monoculturalism
We are most egotistically invested in
when not interdependently win/win
bicamerally conscious internal DNA multi-regenerational cultures
resisting win/lose predative climate-death trends.
How do we invite cooperative dialogue
rather than trigger competitive debate,
mere empty theoretical words?
Devoid of heartfelt rightbrain compelling experience
deeply learning through our win/win mutually co-invested actions
not of win/lose leftbrain entitlement
but of win/win interdependent engagement.
O souls of the Island,
I have silently
heard through
tropical torrents
and surpassed
a million miles
of the milky seas,
away from
mint-marine
silhouettes of my
utopian wonderland,
as strawberry
ripples and
coconut-scented
musings called
upon my
flamboyant spirit,
to explore those
ebony-emeralds
of universe and
envelop my hope in
creamy pink shells.
I have soaked in
sepia impressions,
ebbing as
crepe currents
on splitting shores
and windsurfed
through the
hibiscus rays
of life by forbidding
heartache hymns
of yesteryears,
from lurking in
jewelled hours
of today
and built a
kryptonite kayak
to sail in the
turquoise times
of tomorrow.
For, now I know
that the
opalescent ocean
has chosen me,
to return the
riveting spirit
of sage-rufescent
rivulets back to
the 'Heart of
Humanity's Cosmos',
shaped in
soft serenades
of seraphim.
When the
whispers of a
mauve french-rose,
blooming within,
will uncurl their
farthest wish
in silken twinkles,
my eyes will always
remember these
watercolor heights
splashing crayon dusks
and revealing
silver moon truths,
for there's more
beyond the
neon networks
of syzygy pearl skies
and chestnut reefs,
yearning to be
cherished by the
blonde alchemy of love.
So, I abandon
those sooty
regrets that snorkel
with their fragile fins in
kohl-lily gulfs
and observe these
constellations
of intuitions, formed
by the star-kissed
manta rays and
sketch sagacious
saudades laced
with hope, as a
halo around the
lilac Pole Star.
In this mortal
seascape of
the seventh heaven,
every orphan
of darkness
shimmers as
the beacon
of lustrous
sugar-scintilla that
shapes this world,
in ivory-smitten
spheres of
magically
diaphanous helix,
waltzing in whispers
of wind and water.
Every lava-skinned,
feminine flame
of doleful daffodils
was once a glittered
cherry-red gardenia,
laced with
cardinal buds,
who nurtured
velvet seeds
in the womb of
celeste compassion
and edenic empathy.
And like myself,
every sea-maiden of
sequined lush ruminations,
crowned with
purple plumerias,
is a whimsical wayfinder,
wishing for ~
white bells of serenity
and blue-star petals of peace.
Mother told a story yesterday
of how poets die in black penury
she said I won't be a pretty poet
as my dreams dance on my ink
"Poets are mirror of deceit and pain
craving beyond the debris of life
over my dead body will you be one!"
she pulled down the heaven on me!
a woman is a country of many colours
the hearts of men are far country
we are all students of life, learning
even the masquerade has a date,
a date to join their ancestors beyond
hold your tongue to your bosom
fate knows whose palm wealth will
be planted sooner or later by nature.
You will be raped by darned darkness
fed by junks of insanity lurking by...
a teary gland shall emerge, right in
the bosom of your myopic despair shall
you live by your sorrow like an oiled
orchestral stammerer down the street
father raged holding my LLB firmly
like pixels collection from a twisted
camera abandoned by a loner.
writers are mirrors connected to reflect
this world filled with broken stanzas
if my fears are not for my brothers and
my sisters and for Nigerians chains...
I will leave my hope dashed in the air
tilt this morning with the eyes of the night,
we will dice this moon for hand
on the paupers animated series of life.
Aduke birthed venoms last year for you
Chioma made your tears red images
words are like Sunbeams, the more they
are condensed the deeper they burn!
demise of a poet, no one seem to notice
in your domain,you don't expect praises
if a kingdom falls,there are several others
to replace it while you rot calmly.
Poetry pays but its a business of the Elites,
a trade not meant for children!
Shakespeare name is still carved on the
body of the sky, his head still seen today.
what is penny without a route in life?
Poets are pauper to their testy tongue!
Father, leave me to my dreams to perish
alone, even if evil calls for good,
I will stand as one poet and always will.
let the traces of a saint be kept in peace
let the shining armor of a poet glitter
becoming another star is not a sacrilege
Poets are not broken and shattered dust
this musing muse is only our spirits;
a spiritual elixirs to the clay world
we are crops, the worldcover, ladders
let the ways of poets be kept, we are
not paupers on the street begging for meat.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
If I was to take a word, say focus,
Stand it on its head,
And ask with growing sense of dread,
Why my friend did you just now,
Fly upon this particular
Moment’s verbal locus?
Torture I might answer, like waterboarding,
Might explain a thing or two.
Indeed the stakes are dear,
And the coast far from clear-
For foggy shores clarity prevents,
The utter contingency of cluttered events.
Focus is the mine shaft of the mind,
Magnifying that which falls
Into categories of significance:
Signs of a trance, a mental dance,
By which thinking signifies
The magnificent follies
Of a man upside down
In a world of lies.
No subtlety there,
Poet banging hair chest bare,
The mental frequency hertz,
Screeching, scratching, snatching,
Lose bits of hurt out of the air.
The mathematics of falling
Made clear by Newton,
His numbers uncovering
What was
Always there:
A god already in free fall,
The Fall, the autumn of our birth,
The forsaken garden,
Two dummies hand in hand,
An undulating snake,
A world of entanglement,
All fleeing into a desert dream.
For what? To where? And why?
The three double jews of the trinity
Which Law forbade no One to ask,
Yet no body did
Put focus to task.
She reappears all the time.
The rabbit hole stood for what was to come,
The worms therein what was done.
The trip down was fun,
Getting out gave more than the sum.
The prism diffracted the invisible
Beams of light,
An assortment of possibilities followed,
The world explained, the mind contained,
A boundless infinite void of space,
Surrounding us,
Disgracing us,
For we had to face,
The borders of our place.
Trapped inside
We looked the other way,
Attic floors, token doors,
A distilled virtue, forgeries for another day.
The sky was not the limit, we were.
The atoms of the mind mere reflections
Of our best guessing games.
There though, lay our best hope.
After the bloodshed
She reappeared again.
But only after.
Choices like Templars into the night,
Distracted the courtesies of a harmonious cosmos,
God had blood and died,
Men embraced humiliation and cried,
Change, the abomination of free will,
Altered the fabric of time.
Focus put by for a rainy day.
Distraction, the play thing
Of an unruly monster lurking in the shadows of thought,
Vomiting a pile of disassociations.
One winter eve I walked out with my dog,
The way was dark, unlit by moon and stars,
My flickering torchlight failing in the fog,
To pick out tree roots,crevices and rocks,
To cause a stumble, and a muffled curse.
Whatever else was lurking in the trees,
Silent and still, in my mind grew worse,
As an unfolding midnight dream turned sour.
I knew the the path. We trod it every day,
So filled with pleasure and delight 'til now.
My step quickened. I could not shrug away
A feeling of disquiet and unease,
Palpable amidst the encircling gloom.
Nocturnal creatures scarcely made a sound
But it was magnified, a crack of doom,
A falling twig, or rustling dried-up leaves,
Predators unseen, darkly eyeing prey,
Their evil presence almost within touch,
Waiting the chance to carry me away,
To drag me to some foul and putrid nest,
Never again to see the light of day.
With tensions high and senses all alert,
Out of the dark, a touch upon my leg.
Startled and fearing, a step back I lurched,
And then relief. It had been but a nudge
From Ross. Perhaps he sensed and shared
My fright, but then, from out the stillness of the night,
A fearsome roar. My feet turned into stone.
Blood curdling, heart stopping, the monstrous sound
Echoed around us. Frozen to the spot,
My breathing stopped. I could not turn around
To flee. And then again it came, so close, it seemed
To set the very trees a-quivering.
What beast was this, what wild and hellish fiend ?
More furious bellowing, on and on
And on, and still I could not see the source.
Turning to run, the path had disappeared.
Crashing through entangled briars, ditches,
Fallen trees, scratched and bleeding, soon I feared,
Mud-soaked and stumbling now, that i was lost.
Still I heard the creature, somewhere behind,
Roaring, bellowing, angry with the night.
I fell into a muddy ditch, half blind,
And scrambled through the slime, hoping I might
Emerge at the wood's edge, so close to home
But, helpless, I was sucked into the mire,
Down,down and deeper down, now filled with fear,
Breathing in mud, heart pounding, lungs on fire.
No hope, no light ahead, my end was near.
I reached the bottom. Now let truth be said.
What did I find? I'd fallen out of bed !
And that, dear reader, though I am not one to brag,
Was my encounter with the rutting Lyth Hill stag !
Intellectual progress with thee
beyond this, that, here or even there
of matter within what color, shape, size, weight, etc
All in all, we started with for example if you were to use a pencil or a pen, marker, etc. Indefinitely once that utensil is put to a piece of paper.
It begins within a point to draw a line or many lines or a circle, etc
Either way, the lines connect to another and another and another
Since the beginning of time LOVE backward is EVOL, hence vice versa
Did it all start with a point, a dot?
I think I'm tryna prove a point
Not for you, her, him or even them
It's beyond and above all this evil
Living in different people
A born autistic bipolar schizophrenic
But yet I think I know my limits
I'm in a learning process
Yet EVIL backward is LIVE
learn to live without all that evil
Voices never go away yet I try to be civil, I've been at war with myself since birth, I'm so confused with everything but I do know about Love yet I've never been in true Love, Unconditional Love since birth
every day kinda feels cursed
I struggle with what u can't imagine
my voices go from 5 to 100 at once
even famous celebrities voices
Trains, Bangs, Screams daily above all things, I struggle daily yet I need to be here for these kids. I try hard to control my own lurking evil trying to come out for I'm a born psychopath
I'm insane, not crazy, it sometimes drives me crazy but I don't let it come out, my kids need me, what's real and unreal bring me to tears, every day is a struggle I try to stay calm, I don't wanna lose it, I'll blackout and wipe
out an entire house, even a little mouse, some people are just not worth it, I gotta live for my kids. not for all this evil. I gotta break some type of cycle. but I'm on my own, with a million voices every day I struggle with suicidal thoughts but then it goes with a different face, I can't help it but I try, I STILL KNOW HOW TO FORGIVE AND LOVE, if I can do it you can do it. Evil and love don't sound right, but every day. live and evolve, live and love, evil and live don't really belong together but backward is more sensible. I could lose my mind any dam time, Dementia is in my future, Blessed to be alive this long, then again I'm barely learning to live without so much evil yet I'm filled with so much love I gotta move and move to spread more love