Long Senseless Poems
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Mice scurry in senseless circles
Inside the yawning feed trough
Where they’ve entered, finding
They’re trapped without a exit
They hurry, making haste in fussing
Noiseless and anxiously contemplating
Their fate, their doom or fortune
Will the cat capture a taste?
I see them, know their struggle
They’re trapped in a prison
Of their own making and I leave
The cat there, relishing in it’s play
Moments later, they’re small corpses
Only the cat in its gray stripes
Lingers with the cold dead bodies
It’s freed them from their jailhouse
Euphoric, the cat almost smiles through
Lengthy whiskers that seem to say
“I’ve done my duty – I’ve slayed the varmint”
Purring, it goes on its way, hunting pests
Chaotic rain divulges errantly
how can this be God’s poetry
it plunders like a tsunami
the Devil’s masterpiece
How can this be mercy
torrent waters surge
floods creating oceans
inescapable drowning
Each rain drop becomes louder
caught in the line of fire
no escaping the bullets
tranquil peace destroyed
Peaceful melodies are lost
storms reflect unpleasant music
senseless evil heavy metal lyrics
no purpose – shouting and screaming
Doused, drenched, engulfed
suffocating – soaking strain
where is Noah and his Ark?
Will this barricade conclude
The Silent One
Originally written 7 January 2016
Repost: 1 January 2018
It happens everyday
It just made the headlines too many times
When will this end?
When will our lives start to matter
When will it be okay to walk around in your own neighborhood without being afraid
There is nothing blissfull about this topic
Nothing to celebrate
When mothers, sisters, aunts and nieces are being killed like it's a hobby
The city is bleeding
Women are crying
Everyday women are dying
Not even time behind bars
deter these vultures
It angers me
Somewhere down the line
these lives needs to matter
Cause so many heartaches stem from these senseless acts
*dedicated to all the women who lost their lives through violence*
©wilmaneels
©020920191747
Theatrically moved,
dramatically ecstatic
What did not raise me
no doubt of her veracity
She promised to come
to my summer,
apply my herbs, my sun,
to utilize my salts ...
My natural means!
Insensitive and cold,
did not comply with promised...
She preferred to hibernate
in the glacial senseless
of an Austral metropolis,
by means of modern paraphernalia
and artificial products ...
she did not come to me,
and I have not seen her again,
Never... !
They say action speaks louder than words.
Europe proved it.
America proved it.
Yet you still chase them
like lost children chasing shadows.
They told you Europe is Heaven.
A lie wrapped in steel and snow.
A dream sold to the desperate,
priced in humiliation.
You know the truth.
Africans are not wanted there.
They hide it in laws,
in borders,
in silence—
but the hatred is loud.
Do not blame the Europeans
for stealing your money
with their wicked tricks,
their non-refundable fees,
their daylight robbery.
Blame your desperation.
Your hunger for illusions.
Europe was built
on stolen resources.
On your gold.
Your labour.
Your broken backs.
Without Africa,
Europe is an empty museum
with cold hands and colder hearts.
Why do you worship them?
When it is you
who feeds them?
They hate you
because you hate yourselves.
Respect begins at home.
There is nothing divine about Europe.
You can build a Europe in Africa.
You can rise,
if you stop kneeling.
Their visa system is a scam.
A trap for the poor.
A tax on your dignity.
Theft disguised as process.
Policy soaked in contempt.
And you,
African leaders—
senseless, careless,
allowing your people
to run away
from the soil
that could feed them.
Europe is a time bomb.
A land cracking under its own sins.
Yet you flee toward it
as if salvation lives in winter.
Look within.
Love your continent.
Honour your soil.
When Africa awakens,
the slave becomes the master
in the blink of an eye.
They made you hate yourselves.
Because a broken spirit
builds nothing.
Creates nothing.
Demands nothing.
Remember—
Europe came to Africa uninvited.
Not for exploration,
but for survival.
Because poverty lived in their bones.
They come here easily.
But make it impossible
for you to go there.
Only a fool walks into a house
where he is not wanted.
Stay home.
Build home.
Rise at home.
And let Europe knock
for a change.
Only then
will they respect you.
It seems we have been torn
A great distance apart
Yet in the eve of a fair day
You can not resist my art
I envy your every blasphemous sound
Yet a single draft consist of our hearts
On my behalf, my part
I’ll leave no room to anticipate
Like a forgotten mark
With realms of time, I am forced to participate
My age limit gathering dust
Constant decisions, rathering I must
Every attempt to better this hell, wavering a plus
A long with these costly treasures of mine
What pleasures do you exactly have in mind?
A balance of worthiness, measures our time
Seems that with senseless issues, I’ve been stretching my years
Grasping the obvious, the unseen
Fetching what’s in between the clear
I bare no room for fault
In your palms my thoughts were so softly caught
I may seem tired
For I am weathered by scenes of dreams a little higher than fire
Will you walk with me?
Will you sit and shoot the dust
And talk about the myths we’ll grow to be
Living for the gifts we are determined to see
It’s the above wrong that shelters your love song
One year and more if people should die still,
Bombs keep raining, missiles shower red rage,
All seem routine to hearts hardening nigh,
World feels sad as an after-thought on stage.
But so had people died of Covid scare,
They’d died alone, though buried in same grave,
Becoming just a number so lonely,
When threshold of pain goes up man gets brave.
All suffer, even continents apart,
Not merchants and brokers of war machine—
Business that hardly has a feeling heart,
What with Shylock’s sharp mind ever so keen.
World markets learn to adjust with the time,
Deficit, surplus seek levels anew,
And people’s life gets attuned to new rhyme,
They only suffer—the suffering few.
Alas, today’s wars can go on and on,
Putin putting up an ever grave face,
His rival, far from a chameleon,
His country getting the maximum mace.
Nations now spend bigger bangs on defence,
Merchants of war sole beneficiary,
Defence a pseudonym for an offence,
A way to boost dormant demand from ranks.
Who the gain and who gets pain, hard to say,
Humanity has lost a few rungs more,
West’s happy to harm, shy enough to bleed,
To US of A one more proxy war.
Like enmity do wars on their own breed,
The motion kept alive oh to save face,
Unwillingly as with its handbrakes on,
As if to prove who ahead is in race.
What if heads roll in this senseless charade?
False prestige must go on a starless stage,
What if the stands are all but deserted,
It matters not, shallow gets when the rage.
The price paid has now turned statistical,
Selling bible to atheists in mirth,
Leaving in limbo issues ethical,
In last throe seems UN, Oh since its birth!
_____________________________________
Happenings | 07.02.2023 | war
Poet’s note: Call it an outright aggression or a lingering war. Forget who’s right and who’s wrong, leave all pros and cons. The conflict goes on even after one excruciating long year. No one is the winner, all world a net loser. It just goes on as if it is a routine, international trade. All else have learned to adjust, not Ukraine which is bleeding heavily, but still no less keen to wound, if not win. Is all this war-mongering of any worth? This narrative in quatrains wonders.
We Are Having
The deafening stillness she made of the unspoken, as another example of my roaring disclosure, passes.
As I look at her back of perpetual moving lips, I observe from following trying to learn of the unmentioned.
As I maintain my diligence, conversations stretch in every direction, than the one I anticipated.
I follow closely for my moment to spring into action, but not yet, as the senseless ramblings went onward, then silence--that happened at flank speed that I was only able to utter the word "What...", when she had told me a set of twins, then she concluded by admonishing me for missing the appointment because of an unscheduled conference at the corporate headquarters,
...and pardoned me while I remained in hysteria.
2019 August 24
*2nd Place*
If only you knew
~~Silent One
Yes indeed, I am maestro and mistress of Hare-Brained Town.
I can probably out-absurd you backwards and upside down.
My fatuous foolishness is deemed crazy by some, possibly most.
This will be taught to you in fury, as I am your elaborate host.
What was senseless and silly a second or two in your life,
Will make you dance a happy coal-fire-dance on top of a knife.
I will open your dendrites, get them to slide up and laugh.
Leave your tired ideas at home with your dull stuffed giraffe.
I am not good with posers, so lend me your dreams and your heart.
Sharing your most cleverly hidden secrets, will be the best place to start.
You can be mayor, queen, or puma mascot of Hare-brained Town.
We will start with whack-a-doodle-spinning until we both fall down.
Mired in muck. Appendageless.
Sinking in shadowy whispers.
Surviving is senseless.
Eternity is a marathon with no bathrooms, no water, no finish.
I pray for light, Satan pulls the shades
No hope, no truth, no tomorrow.
I need a friend to throw me a lifeline
But they are all busy avoiding the muck.
Spinning on their cotton candy bridges.
They spew their words gilded with silk and honey
Dripping from forked tongues.
It's not until the subtle meanings catch the wind and scatter that the honey turns dark,
And thick, and makes their teeth black and their hearts dull.
I wait for the splash as another like me has had her life's bridge eaten by the acid of jealousy and fear.
She screams, "THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE!"
And the muck bubbles and shifts exultant
As it silences her cries and extinguishes her fire.
Laughter falls like shards of glass from above,
Because they know the truth but never speak it.
An unwritten oath that all jail keepers vow.
Lock the truth away like a bird in a cage until its colors fade, its feathers fall, and music is only a memory.
A man dangles from a swinging cord
Halfway between the mockers and the muck.
His white collar hurts our eyes
Smooth words of redemption that almost awaken my sleeping emotions.
But then the cord breaks, and faced with the truth of our existence
The man flees back to the bridge
Our heads his stepping stones as he escapes to the sterility above.
His collar stays white,
His hands clean.
His memory is short -- he doesn't even remember why he came.
Or who sent him. He is the lucky one.
Memory haunts me. I long to forget:
How to love
How to hurt
How to breathe.
My cocoon of woe promises no future flight
It's a straight jacket of hate
And my prayers just bounce off the padded walls.
I need a knight; I get only night.
I need a hand; I get a slap.
I need understanding; I get overstepping.
I know three things:
1. Nothing will ever be the same.
2. I will never trust again.
3. You cannot will a heart to stop beating.
Sleep is my only friend, death my only goal.
That is the truth that will set me free.