Oppresses Poems

A grin in the snow 01-03-25

Winter snow oppresses stark branches
as the last of autumn deciduousness
slips silently to the ground.
Thud!
Snowflakes spring into life
like summer dandelions frolicking in the biting cold-
There at the heart of the frozen world lies my dog,
grinning.

Persecuted Petals

In a province exploited 
by prejudiced seasons,
a minority ebony rose 
is taunted by prominent 
i v o r y            l i l i e s.
Biased blossoms ridiculing 
tones of its charcoal petals,
yet blooming in the same 
quilt of soil as each other.

Soothing raindrops 
never discriminate though,
as scents of petrichor 
fuse with floret elegance,
nor does the sun only shine
for the privileged,
as all flora sunbathes in
the passions of its rays,
refreshed by the same 
migrating gentle breeze.

Scarlet beetles 
munch upon lily leaves,
whilst aphids suck 
upon rose sepals.
Creepy crawlies 
unconcerned with 
a p p e a r a n c e,
massacre and spread 
like an epidemic.
Until the arrival of 
feathered immigrants,
who feast upon an 
assortment of morsels.

In any garden, 
birds care not for 
whom they sing.
They defecate on all flowers, 
aware all will wilt eventually.
Winter frost oppresses 
regardless of culture, 
so birds flee.
But, when roses crumble, 
they re-emerge 
fresher and brighter,
as their red thorns remain 
protecting their right
to flourish freely under 
fresh blue skies..
F O R E V E R

A New Home Concluded

In Heaven
You're in a better home. 
There are no vicious attacks there 
but beautiful angels sing.

Assured by the florist.
Roses have no thorns,
sorrow is always banished,
discomfort exists not more.
The weather is always mild
and butterflies abound,
flowers produce perfume,
pollen clogs no lungs.

Down here the thunder rumbles
the storm distorts the roads.
Birds hide in their wobbly nests,
fog oppresses our chests.
Still we leave some flowers
beside your cold memorial stone.
Then we tramp back home 
across the snowy moor.
Sad but consoled.

Anti Hijab Protest

Mahsa Amini,Ghazale Chelavi,Hanane Kia were shot by Iranian morality Police in the protests.The women and men protesting in Iran at the moment are not against Islam.They are against the unjust attitude of the patriarchal system that oppresses women by implementing rules on what they choose to wear..If all Iranian women wanted to wear hijab,they would all wear it.They were being MADE to and that is what's wrong with the system.Someone rightly pointed out, women fighting against the forced imposition of hijab are as brave as the women fighting for their right to wear it in India.Religious People need to take their religious goggles off and acknowledge that women are suppressed everywhere.Irani people are as fed up with their government and their Police and judicial system as we are with ours.I wouldn't trust what the government or the police say so easily...

Commentary - Tsunami 2004

Though it’s man who makes war 
And who murders his kind,
Who oppresses and rapes and enslaves,
The question of guilt’s not so clearly defined
As the dead wash ashore with the waves;
And I’m cold and I’m weary and worn to the core
As I struggle to search for the light,
And I think to myself as the waters recede,
Maybe God needs forgiveness tonight.

Empirical

Rare forms blare 
into the empirical hot sun.

Each traced in fire,
each outlined by the crystal 
shimmer of the son.

Haloed in glamour
A play of color.

Of One.

Layers of imagery in rare forms
Dare to stare, brilliant! 

Into the heliosphere 
crystalline forms 
of pure white energy, 
rare oblique symmetry. 
Flare! 

Infernal waves of Thermal…
Radiates, detonates, 
compress the empirical sum!

White light oppresses… 

The haloed sun stretches, its flares tracing 
a burning thermal holocaust!
 
…objects blaze here and there listening! 

To the aftermath, as the sun 
sets into nightmare…

Running From

Creep of extremism leaches in bloodstream, numbing
Route of innate thought unpenetrated, retains nothing
Sacred to the self, - stiff agendas pose as omniscient
Obscures own findings, carves our fragile opalescent 


Ignores the phosphor we all hold, outlooks pertinent 
Absorbs with proffer of doctrines contract penchant 
Squashed compulsion, thwarted inside tight quarter
Squeezes dry the yearn for a gyrated circuit's quaver


Penance is a method administered by axiom rations
Ranks routinely recant individual's intuition ravishing
Shrouded rigmarole causes comprehension to shrivel
Oppresses pirouette quick swing of our mind's swivel 



          
              6th March 
            Trip the Trap

In Remembrance of George Floyd

The strength of [our] color will prevail: white,
     black, yellow, or red make no difference
     in the racist threat against existence
that oppresses by might but is not right!
In numbers, unity explodes like night  
     afire with flames, like a deliverance
     about to split apart Intolerance,
the racist's bark, and the vile bigot's bite.
It is right; and takes the appearance of
     strong, marching Youth that reform the old view,  
and shine a vision of a world suffused with love,
     grace, justice, and rightness in hearts anew:
our tribes can live in peace and soar above
     as One, when our colors become one hue.

Wondrous Victory

I aim for wondrous victory*
Thru my very best by God’s might
In pleasing Him with faith-lit sight!

Midst struggle-fueled misery
I yield to my soul’s Conqueror
Who safeguards me from fear’s terror!

By God’s grace and for His glory
I vanquish guilt that oppresses
And seek peace from Him Who blesses.

While sharing Gospel story
Truth I assert with all my heart
Never from His purpose depart!

To win lives from evil’s fury
I trust my Lord, the change-Doer
Since He can with His great power!

I aim for wondrous victory
Midst struggle-fueled misery
By God’s grace and for His glory
While sharing Gospel story
To win lives from evil’s fury.

*1Corinthians 15:57 But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

June 14, 2018
15th place, "New Constanza Poems" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet; judged on 7/16/2018.

Beastly Burdens In My Life

Beastly burdens of life
Millstones round my neck
Not that I malign my wife
For in my eyes beastly burdens of life emulate a sneaking snake

Writhing on the hard road
Through life I travel
On my head perching an abnormal load
Of which I never cease to marvel

Although pressure my neck oppresses
Enjoying a free ride
As twinges of pain pressure stresses
With unabashed pride

Driven to extremes
That hurt, hurt and hurt
So sharply they satirize dames
To whom sweet nothings I blurt

Not that to me it matters or flatters
Whether dames don long or short
In gild letters that decry fetters
As they snort

Raising my ire
With candour
Warmed on a cold night by the fire
Fanned by the parallax of pain odour

A neurotransmitter smells
Telling me I’m lying
When burden spells and scales
Confirm I’m sighing and flying

Despite averse appearances
That on the grapevine seem to glorify and aggrandize gossip
Inferences on my circumstances
Which in a vacuum peep, weep and fall asleep.

Hit Or Miss

From their splendid new homes unto my brush
The cascades of colors come
To  celebrate vines, fruit, healthy branches
For four and five hours' meditation
On John's Gospel (Chapter 15)

Meanwhile back at the ranch
Folks love the cross - as jewellery - not on canvas
Was I too loud, in your face, with my pretty trellis?
After all vines are most productive on trellises,
Or hidden crosses. Aren't they supposed to bear fruit?

Those who buy my acrylic crosses on Psalm 23
Or the more ubiquitous John 15, are few
They are wonderful Christmas & Thanksgiving gifts
(That pleased a dying Bill Diles in Athens, Ohio, years ago)
Yet any words of encouragement are welcome
For the four and five hours each canvas takes on days
When time oppresses with threats to excite with sins
That were usual in my youth, sex and such boring things,
So these meditations are welcome, LORD, for they say
You are changing my heart and renewing my mind
In my art, am I a little David, a man after Thy own heart?

Baluba Love

A perfect plain in the Sub Sahara

Discerning screens, Japanese Madara

Your frame formidable despite design

Why shan't I sing aloud about your shine?

Your songs of praises serenades females

A wrecking train that never derails

Conquered jealousies try to bite your style

They lost teeth from treading your field of mines

You oppose disruptive dictatorship

A might that oppresses oppressors' grip

A real lion, the rest just copycat

Your tales get people wild like bank alerts

Your burning desire defies flame tests

But your heart I treasure here in my chest!

©2016.
Kunta.
Birth name: Olaoluwa Ola-Williams.

Note: Olaoluwa Ola-Williams is a resident of the Nnamdi Azikiwe Hall (also known as The Baluba  Republic), University of Ibadan, Nigeria. Though not a pure sonnet, Kunta borrows some styles to make it seem like one. The poem is a tribute to the legendary hall of residence.

Little Light

Little Light 
Am laying here in this dark room dreaming of my bright future From where I am,
the light is Deem to shine throughout the night skies
It sees my closed eye illusion
Little light, little light in the dark, let me shine Little light, 
little light in the sky for you know who am I 
I see in private what ought to be 
But my existence oppresses me 
Little light, little light among the black you are white 
I enlightened my thoughts with knowledge of the wise 
But yet Little light, little light extract me from the blind 
I was engulfed by darkness for I had no sight 
Little light, little light you gave me power to fight 
Little light, little light you were the hope in me that never died.

Heart Prison

Unprison your heart
From invisible chains by
Opening the lock
That restrains and oppresses
You as an unseen fortress











Nayda Ivette
1-7-2016

The Alone

(No Hope)


The alone...
oppresses me.
She settles inside of
the life she has stole,
leaving the shell of me,
as cold as stone.
Oblivion so close
I can feel it's low groan.
For my sadness and sin
you now make me atone.
I can't bear the weight
of the cost of your toll.
It presses me down,
my body left prone.
I try and I try
to escape my hellhole,
but scream as I might
no one will come.
My courage betrays me
and I'm chilled to the bone.
I fear deep inside me
I can never go home,
like leaves on a breeze
my hope has now flown.

The alone...
surrounds me.
She beckons me,
emptying my soul.
Her darkness engulfs me,
everything gone.
The nothing inside of me,
but dark seeds you have sewn.
The sorrow so thick
I can't breath on my own.
I wade through the mud
of memories you control.
My heart has withdrawn,
lost in the unknown.
Deeper and deeper
drowning in this hole,
I scratch at this pit
till my fingers are numb.
My story but a book
of indifferent monotone.
No escape can I find
from this perilous tome,
as my spirit lies dying
beneath this tombstone.



12/18/15

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