Long Well written Poems
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He was my sun, my one and only son,
attired as a cowboy for the day.
And so I handed him a little gun
of fastened random sticks, for him to shoot and play.
Attired as a cowboy for the day
he searched for foes (with bows and arrows made
of fastened random sticks for them) to shoot, and play
the part of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade.
He searched for foes (with bows and arrows made)
well written in his story books before he left for school.
The parts of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
Well writ in history books before he left from school,
the tales (retold of victories that we’d won)
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
The flow of paint was not to staunch when once begun.
From tales retold of victories that we’d won,
he learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the flow of pain, ’twas not to staunch when once begun
and bane to both sides (as he’d later come to know).
He learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the wounds of war were kept unseen (while nigh)
and bane to both sides (as we’d later come to know);
but still he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye.
The wounds of war were kept unseen. While nigh,
the hours boomed, the clock struck 12 at last, his time to leave.
But, still, he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye
to those who’d stay and even those who wouldn’t grieve.
The hours boomed, the clock struck 12 - alas, his time to leave.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died
to those who’d stayed. And even those who wouldn’t grieve
with tears were stiff and masked like wooden boxes meant to hide.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died;
his boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud.
With tears, the stiff were masked in wooden boxes meant to hide
our children from the spilling of their blood.
His boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud;
they said they’d needed him to help defend
our children from the spilling of their blood.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
They said they’d needed him to help defend,
and so they handed him a little gun.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
He was my sun, my one and only son.
A BLOCKBUSTER A POETRY DIVA!
Introduction please::
Through the eyes of a Spiritual Healer, sees Oblivion Dark Sunshine.
Visionary to her purpose, her life dances.
She is in search of the ultimate right; nom de plume is her name.
Her favorite flower is daffodil that blows in the wind.
Effortlessly she speaks without a written cue.
She is a poet and philosopher of the truth.
When prompted, she leaves in confidence that she can provide you
with the needed assistance you requested.
Never a task will she take that she cannot complete.
She is integrity and your virtual reality.
In the mind of her people, she is heard.
Candor is her way of administration.
Her outspokenness is loved by all that know her.
However, her honesty can hurt.
Therefore, she guards her words to be more professional.
Oblivion Dark Sunshine is a versifier, rhymester, bard, well written and there is more not said.
Her wordsmith is published and this is all known well.
We enjoy her through social media.
Her books should be on all shelves.
A Life Poet and Philosopher
A BLOCKBUSTER
Her Psalmist thumb is a gift from God.
She shares this with the world through a poetic verse.
She liberates herself from any form of poverty.
She delineates a world that is free.
Naturally, she writes about anything.
Oblivion is the sunshine to those that life vents darkness.
Strenuous are her themes, insofar as these are topics with universal meanings.
She provides dogma, philosophy of meaning and truths, to communities and neighborhoods .
With candor, she speaks outspokenly to withstand negativity.
Prolific to the cause, her name will be recognized systemically.
She thrives on esteem, truth, and self-worth.
Copiously, she strives to be heard.
Social media is her teeming vehicle.
Oblivion Dark Sunshine is a versifier, rhymester, bard, well written and there is more not said.
Her wordsmith is published and this is all known well.
We enjoy her through public mediums.
Her books are poetic instruments.
Blockbuster
Life Poet and Philosopher
Oblivion Dark Sunshine
Poetry Diva
______________________________________________________|
Verlena S. Walker
UPDATED SEPTEMBER 15, 2014!
The Beast: The smoke is in the opposite direction of me . ..... .. .
When I look at myself in the cracked mirror,
At first glance, I'm hideous as hell on Mount Everest! I’m not looking my best
Enraged out of all control
Sorry for discouraging myself in front of you –
At least I’m not head over heels over myself and my looks, which could crack any mirror that reflects my every revolting feature –
My body, my face, my everything!
The Beauty (Belle): Don’t talk that way, you modest, negative Beast!
The sweet aroma of flower blossoms is heading my direction!
I’m thrilled to have you and I sharing our affection, healing my infection in my heart – you saved me from the guy with a muscular and hairy body by the name of Gaston!
Thanks for allowing me to go the opposite direction!
He said weird, flirtatious things that made me speechless, yet uncomfortable
I'm beautiful now! Thanks for this gift of such a precious dress! I must confess I fell in love with it!
Everything works out in the end, even if I go through obstacles again and again –
You’re always there, my most beloved, furry friend!
Let’s run an errand…shall we do so? I don’t mean to offend!
The Beast: Teach me how to read!
I need to be taught good manners, especially at the table as you saw my poor manners last night at the dinner table!
Teach me to have a good way of living by being a proper, gentle, kindhearted, intelligent, and independent human being like you…
I bet you and I will have a good future spent with each other…
I know I was mean and cruel, but I’ve changed for the better just for your sake!
Can you join me for dinner!
The Beauty (Bell): Sure. Why not?
The Beast: *in his head* I think we’re meant to be with each other forevermore!
The Beauty (Belle): *in her head* You’re the one that I cherish and adore – just like reading a new, enchanting series…I can’t help, but fall victim to your well-spoken words and I’ve read books that were a similar genre to you, however, they weren’t as well-written, wondrous, and wonderful like yours.
Belle: Can you help me with my chores, my darling Beast?
The Beast: Sure! I’ll do anything for you! I’d transform into a human…all for you, sweetheart…..
In a glimpse of darkness it can all slip away .
So perfectly knit,
And so well- written.
A flawless sculpture, a masterpiece in itself.
So beautifully orchestrated, and remarkably simple.
Yet
So deep and complex in a way that perplexed, even the best of them.
Its intricacies reach far beyond from what the eye can see.
So much of your thought, work, sweat and sweet time,
Gone.
All gone, slashed away in a blink of an eye.
Without notice,
My life, now gone. Snatched away
Drapes over my eyes as it's tucked away.
So unfair, how could he/she/them
how could you leave me alone in a desert
So lonely, and cold and moist from my tears.
I’ve accomplished, shattered and renamed all my fears.
All I ever thought about, dreamed about, and wished for,
Seems so irrelevant, undesirable, and disgusting.
Yet all I already had, and never knew,
Seems so much more important and somehow renewed.
As if all of my life I looked for a new, to replace my old
And while I was out a thief in my own house found gold.
I long, I crave, what in longer have.
Why couldn’t it be me---also
Why couldn’t I go---also
you never told me about this-- I hate you.
Its not fair how was I supposed to know?
It came. It came. It came alone.
Ever so quiet and slow.
But did it make its presence be known
Like an unexpected, and random night of snow
And in the morning the earth. White glows
Yes, smooth, sleek as it creeped, but a secret impossible to keep.
My eyes now open to reveal a world,
That evil presides as peace resides.
My eyes now open to reveal the new,
As The old reality slips into vanity.
Now I can truly see,
It seems as if my blind eyes were cleaned, healed by holy water.
But holy water was not what touched my life,
Or else I wouldn’t be here crying and dying inside.
Our lives we waste and lose as we sleep and snooze,
Wake up. I said wake up to reality!
I lost what I had,
I lost my last chance,
We lose our lives.
Thinking were diving to find hidden treasures,
Truly were drowning and all for some pleasures?
I see now for I have hit the bottom of the ocean and the only treasure is up were I jumped from.
Take what you got and live.
And be happy.
Or else it too will be taken and lost and forgotten
(as i wrote this i could not help thinking that more and more it sounded like Bob Dylan
maybe one of the greatest poets of my time. i preferred my first version of this piece but it was just too close to "blowing in the wind". i still think this too is really close in concept and not nearly as well written. still there are words here that never hurt to hear. i will let you be the judge. with all the love in my heart i offer you this modest write)
you don't know more because you're grey
you might as well count your rolls in the hay
i do know now that sometimes it snows in spring
and that not every one respects their wedding ring
but still i wonder just how many more guns do we need
before we can have a lasting peace a real good deed
but still why do people need to curse and yell to be heard
before they try to offer an embrace or just a kind word
and tell me just how much does it really cost today
to rent a week of forest just to watch the wildlife play
also let me know how many billions can one man make
while it's his brothers and sisters that he'll forsake
i know sometimes you have to close your eyes to see
i know you have to strip your ego if you want to be happy
and just how many lovers must one person take
before the time comes when all of it feels fake
i wonder how much liquor can one man drink
before even he can't stand his own stink
and how many wins does anyone need
before the trophies start to feel like greed
how many punches does it take to bring one person down
and how will we learn when it's better to stay on the ground
and when will we learn to let love take the lead
procure a sensible calm slow down our speed
you know it seems like forever since we've been at war
with all our weapons and still nothing but blood and gore
and why do they think it's better to bomb, destroy it all
just so the other side we haven't even identified will fall
they'll never give peace a chance there's always other picks
and you know they would rather compare the size of their...
Chance seeing that shooting star, death by brilliant light.
Interpreting dreams, from the day or the night.
Chasing rainbows, it’s treasure foretold.
Facing the mirror, lines drawn, time is so cruel, just getting old.
A wish from adolescence, so fleeting, soon gone,
Finding it, losing it, then, the will to go on.
Fish in the ocean, songs soulful and sad.
Movie star glances, playing well written lines.
Maybe for 7 years, perhaps 10 if you are lucky.
It’s all gone so quiet, time to do it again?
Change for the better, could be sublime.
Forget the life of the past, move on in time.
Or live with the niggles, the mundane and the sour,
A fresh face, a smile, a feeling empowered.
What should you do, how will it end,
Seek advice from a stranger or support of a friend.
The truth is in there, somewhere, but it’s a gamble of trust.
Old for the new, the passion or lust
It’s a question asked over again, driving us to despair, as we
Wrestle with our head and our heart, with neither so clear.
To stay with the familiar, or infatuation so sweet.
In a throwaway society, where quality and value should last,
But a new toy is shinier than the comfort of a past.
An old barn burns the fastest; it’s always been the same,
From Maggie V and onwards, in a broken dream.
It has destroyed me, ne’er mind the cost
Of hearts sold and broken, it all falls into dust.
Water it, nurture it, see it grow and sustain,
So easy to turn it from the glow to mundane.
We are surrounded by it, with its passion and desire,
It’s too small a word, which we can always shift blame,
Yet we let it run amok with our emotions and mind.
We need to learn to be honest with it, to use other words of desire,
Fascination, drawn, enamoured, stimulated or lust
The feeling of tenderness, that electrifying touch.
A life for a life, a time for a time,
You get older, perhaps wiser; you seek solace, something quite unreal,
So why is it too easy to fall in love?
The parched sycamore leaf
Walked across the patio
Past the portal of my dwelling
The alder slab was immobilized
By a decorative door stopper
Arranged to let the warm
November day work its way in
I snapped out of the life I was leading
Amongst the absorbing pages
Of a well written book
With my space saved and novel snapped shut
I arose to meet the weary traveler
At the threshold of my hut
There before me was an empty meadow
It's vastness leading to my oppressor's home
I live here
I am my own oppressor
I burden myself with
Great weights of unjustified restraints
I use unused corners
To keep my quiet complaints
I am well aware of my inabilities
To cut myself some slack
I speak poorly of myself
Behind my own back
Never the less I yell
Demanding a presence to be shown
After several minutes filled with
Absolutely nothing at all
A second weary traveler crinkles
As it somersaults by my feet
Tricked by a tumbling leaf
There is no one out here for me to meet
The melted basil plants
Have returned to the ground
From which they have came
Once formidable weeds
Are now all laying lame
Once fruitful tomato vines
Are now blackened with
Nobody but the frost to blame
The land is ripe for winter to claim
There is no one out here
Nobody but my oppressor
Who demands I retreat inside
I revisit the position
I held in my large armed chair
Easily returning to where I left off
With no acknowledgment
To the bookmarks job well done
No appreciation to it's
Silent steadfast work
Trapped through the ages
A life pressed between the pages
It is here I will remain
Free from the steady glare
Of my all consuming oppressor
Free from time restraints
Free from reality
Free from idiosyncrasies
Free from the world
In which my position is unclear
It is here I will remain
Till my eyes fall heavy
The last page is turned
Or I'm disturbed by my next imaginary guest
3/5/18
The Writer
Solemn and quietly, they sit in their place of their own choosing
Deepest within their thoughts of both amusing and confusing
What phrase works, how does this sentence flow infusing
Such a gift, making the words dance can be so amusing
An eternity staring at a blank screen, watching the curser’s beat
Searching, researching for their next inspiration to complete
Immutable inner thoughts keeping so very indiscreet
Allowing their thought and emotions to compete
There are many forms of writing, and the genre is their domain
Be it a such wonderful story they tell and how they entertain
Subjects that excite you, involve you, erase the mundane
Taking you places, some magical, some causing pain
Writers of wonderful songs, lyrics and music that magically flow
There are writers, storytellers and teachers of what they know
There are writers of poetry, invoking emotions they bestow
How their talent emerges, of this we do not know
The mesmerizing effect of what music can bring in our everyday life
The songwriter reaches you, knows how you struggle with strife
The music, the band and guitar riffs that cut like a knife
Giving you such wonderful memories all your life
A wonderful tale that can take you to some far away places
Perhaps a crime story is your liking, some unsolved cases
Your vivid imagination flourishes as your heart races
Sending you into a fantasy, imagining their faces
Losing yourself in some well written poetry, touching your soul
Words flowing magically, consuming your emotions whole
As if the writer was writing to you, your heart they stole
Leaving you with such memories for only you to extol
The many formats to express deepest thoughts and emotions
We the reader, immersed within our deepest devotions
Mesmerized by the messages, in all their notions
A good read can be like some magical potions
My heart longs for dialogue
I don’t know the answer to my question for love is involved
Dear sweetheart let me engage you in love for ours is the way we desire
Your body feels my warmth of heart as they edge you closer to me
My dear purity this distance of heart makes me feel lonely
Yet we have a path of love between us
I should be weeping for love gone sour
But the real value to my sadness is your denial of my presence in your life
The journey is tough ahead
However the love I got for you is well written in a heart of fresh
I want to see you happy and to enjoy my own happiness
Yes I will never deny the sexual service we have shared and maybe partake again in the act
But it’s your wield sense of guilt towards me that makes me wonder
What did you feel for me for our hearts were well united
Today I will be lonely but tomorrow is in God’s hand
Today I will beg you but one day you will remember me
On that day you will long for my arms to engulf you but I will be gone from your life
You will now comfort yourself with your boyfriend
But your heart desire is burning for my touch
You will deny this
But I will not bend a straight lead anymore
You know my value in your life
Yet you don’t engage me as I do deserve
My heart is bleeding for you so is yours as well
I will comfort myself in your presence and pray you remain happy with your boyfriend
I can’t deny his existence but neither can I deny your presence
One day is all I pray for
When you will miss my text or my message
A day when you will miss my lips touching yours
But it will be too late
But you will not embrace me in your arms for your coldness made me walk away
Finally may God bless you abundantly for your love to me is God sent
I will put a full stop here but remember
I will always treasure you always
#made from Africa
#chuimunga the poet
2nd April 2021
My special room:
My special room.
A room where I don't need a mask to hide my feelings. In my special room I have special friends.
These walls.
These walls see my pain, my secrets.
Boy if they could talk.
In my special room,
there is my pillow.
Oh how much I can depend on my pillow.
To muffle my crying.
My screaming.
To hold my salty tears.
In my special room.
I have a special pen.
Silver, cold as it writes upon the blank spaces of my not quite finished story.
In my special room.
I have this special shirt.
This shirt holds the warm thick substances that drips off of my neatly written paper.
In my special room I have this special door. A door that separates me from the cold world.
In my special room.
I entertain my special friends with my well written work of art. But my special walls have gone dull of my stories.
And my pillows have grown weary of my not so juicy rumors.
Until one day I performed a special performance they'll never forget.
My special friends are all connected and quite acquainted with each other.
There sat my silver friend waiting to be picked up to be used to finish it's not so quite finished story.
I reached at my special silver friend.
As the wall, my door, and my pillow watched while my silver friend waited in anticipation as my hand hovered over him.
I quickly reached for my new friend.
My new friend had other friends.
Little goldfish friends. 6 of em tucked in the each slot, waiting for the little trigger to be pulled back.
All I needed was one.
One would quickly do the job.
One will finally finish my unwritten story.
I picked up my new friend and held him to my temple.
"this will be a story you'll never forget." my last words. *BANG*
Oh well, I've always had the urge to decorate my walls in brains and blood.