When violets bloom deep in the bush,
Just atop their little push;
When fungus balls puff out spores green,
Where they go is never seen;
When rock exposed to sun and air,
Some to keep and some to share;
When lichen catches glimpse of sun,
The living bell has just been rung;
When baby does her first breath take,
Other senses soon will wake.
When owl’s egg slow nervous hatch,
A glimpse of life ahead may catch;
In filtered air sun moonlight be,
But not to mortal ones as me.
Puff in, puff out
Smoke up, green shouts
Puff pass, pass puff
Fire lit, joint stuffed
Puff this, puff that
Lungs jump, heart laughs
Puff you, puff me
High skies, smooth dreams
Of all the songs
You seem to be
The tuneless one,
Less subtlety.
God's orchestra
Has dealt a hand—
More toneless rasp
Than golden strand.
I wonder if
You long to be
A star
In morning's reverie.
Do tears well up?
Perhaps that's why
You paddle more
Than flit and fly.
And yet…
I see you
Standing proud—
Such confidence
In every crowd.
You waddle round,
For pictures pose—
Such character
Without a nose.
You dress with style,
All brown and green.
There's pride in how
You peck and preen.
You're grounded,
Yet you float and glide.
No treetop nest—
You strut with pride.
So maybe I
Prejudged your tone—
Less violin,
More slide trombone.
In that, the panoply
Of life
Requires such confidence
Amid the strife.
To show us humans
Not to compare—
Just be yourselves,
Be fair and square.
And when life gives you
Orange sauce,
Puff out your chest…
Just stay on course.
but is a Shrike not
stuck to its thorns
just like everything else?
when I turn my
hands back into stones,
when I bare my teeth,
when I puff out my throat,
don't I always end
up the same way?
is guilt just the heart
trying to even the
score
See snow settle on windows.
Chimneys gently, carefully, puff out smoke and I
see irradiated lamp posts linking
cable-lines across the street.
Near a frozen wall of bricks and wires,
I fly over water pipes.
Ich fliege über Wasser, der Himmel zu,
wo ist Frieden, weißt es du?
Gutters pump out sleet
and newspapers wrapped in shiny plastic.
I watch grey watery clouds swell
and thicken in the sky.
The cold air wraps my wings
and butterflies meander with the wind
to hilltops we fly in.
Soon –
my wings will hold
a flower.
SENTRY
Be ever on duty, it is surely best
Never sleep, or even try to rest
Or risk losing some precious zest
No need to puff out your chest
So proud of the regiment’s crest
Yet by its history, not obsessed
But hope it might not be the test
Whether mere monitor or guest
Only if one is correctly dressed
Wishing visitors to be impressed
But on cold nights, the loneliest
We do simple jobs, I do not jest
Yet definitely not the bloodiest
Our desire to be the friendliest
halfhearted dragon could not puff out fire or even smoke
what has happened to our son? He is such a passive bloke
joel never gets interested in anything, he is not a life-long learner
he does not want a job, a family, he cannot turn a pancake turner
perhaps we did too much for him, we never let him take his licks.
we raised a bored, do-nothing unenthusiastic boy said his daddy Ricks
this lead to an argument, beginning of a whole bunch, truly many.
motivation does not come his way, and he is almost twenty!
halfhearted dragon heard them arguing but his head was full of wood.
he had never finished one page of homework, procrastinating good.
parents never let him grow up, but now they wanted him to change?
joel rolled his eyes at their halfhearted efforts, not willing to rearrange.
With just a few short strokes, and the ink of a magical pen.
You can clear the air of pollution, or simply be young again.
Memories once made, can be brought back and given life.
Like grandpa whittling wood, with his favorite pocketknife.
A pen can alter time, and let you travel to and fro.
It can tell you fact or fiction, that the reader may never know.
Happiness can be shared, or you can experience someone’s pain.
It can sometimes cause insomnia and even clog a drain.
Your pen can offer solace to a world that’s stricken with grief.
It can lend a unique perspective on a certain personal belief.
It can be the gateway to one’s soul and a release for your imagination.
Maybe it will bring forth nature’s beauty, or just political frustration.
With a pen you can honor family, or that very special friend.
It can provide a little respite, from a pain that has no end.
Each of us can find a reason, for pairing paper and pen.
You can bring Puff out of his cave and make him soar again.
Whatever your heart can envision with the magic you choose to bring.
May your pen stay full of ink and bring more songs that we can sing.
Your strongest day is standing
just outside your door. Let it in.
Each day the sun comes home to you
it whispers with the wind
calling out your name.
This is no video game.
Life’s a bouquet banquet
made from your reflections.
You do not need directions.
Pick your moments carefully.
Stop and smell the roses,
leave your motor running
for the dangers trust exposes.
Listen to where life comes from
the beating sound of your own drum.
Make the most of music that it brings.
Unraveling all your tangled balls of strings.
With patience Iron out each peace,
holding tight to all you love
with nails and teeth.
Now put your stubby thumbs
through their tiny holster loops
and pull your britches up.
Hitch them high,
and puff out your chest !!
You’ve always been ready for this.
This is not a test.
This is your life.
Jellied eels and pie n mash.
East London Fair, and that’s a fact.
The Dockers hands, and the pearly kings.
Their romance gone, the truth it stings.
The Bow Bells ring, they sound out loud.
Cockney chests, they puff out proud.
Not much left of old world London town.
Inside office blocks our city drowns.
The rhyming slang, used to confound.
It hid the truth, of lies abound.
The gifted few, they understood.
They kept those coppers under hood.
Up the Apples and pears, mind your plates of meat.
Meant up the stairs and watch your feet.
The law never knew, they couldn’t make it out.
We watched their faces and saw their doubt.
The slang we used was not just for fun.
It kept us on our toes, not on the run.
Old London's gone it has changed its face.
For better or worse it's now a different place.
We've had the rough. We've had the smooth.
This place has changed, with times it's moved.
Like or not this is London Town.
The times have changed, but she'll not let you down.
She'll take you in, she'll hold you tight.
Embrace her heart, enjoy the light.
My thought reek of bloopers
All I see is blue birds
Ever since you left me
Maybe I deserve it
A southpaw has to be used to this
Sleeping in the mud
Reminiscing the dirty games I played
Staring at the dice
you flipped on me
I hate how the tables turned
Used to mishandle the lighter
look at how I got burned
Flames of anger
puff out of the words I breathe
I was stupid for thinking winners never lose
I've learnt the best lesson in the worst way
I know my stars were cursed
for how I kept many in the dark
Cloud of lies
Crazy how I rained promises on them
Only to let ignorant fairies drown in disappointment
Spare me the regrets
I deserve this stunt
The wrongs I did hid in my shadow
The future looks uncertain
Still feeling reluctant to change
from those ways
Honestly
Breezes from my past don't feel good
The maybes will probably fade
If I start being true to myself
and the few in my world
I pray the earth helps me now
Or it will be forced to hold me down in the end
There are so many
beautiful teenagers
that laugh
and joke
and make you feel bad about yourself.
And we know, okay,
we’re sorry.
We’re just so confused
about why it’s so easy to push
someone down when we’re already on the ground.
Please empathize with us
when we are home alone
and admit to ourselves:
Every exhale feels like
a scream for help.
But we puff out air instead of sound
because words feel too heavy
and we know our mouths
are meant for loving,
not for screaming.
I mean, how do you tell someone
that your heart feels like it’s bleeding.
And so do your eyes.
And your ears.
How do you say “ I don’t want to breathe anymore”?
Moon-she, I long to behold you again,
That mouth watering lady I grew around;
I long to see your embeamed and painted face again.
To see those women squat publicly to urinate,
To see those teenagers puff out smoke happily,
To touch the honey skirt ladies that
Entangle a lust lost eyes into ruin while still living.
O moon-she, my love! You are not a moon-chain,
Mushin is never good for your kind but moon-she
As mother throw praises to your honeyed body.
I have your skyscraping bungalow in my eyes,
I have the hustling and hush movement clothed my legs.
I have known the fragrance of your body,
That old dame body odour that makes me joyful.
Your shoes have I worn about Lagos streets and
I felt accepted among the titans around town.
Oh moon-she,you are not a mushin but moon-she.
I still remember the taste of your breast milk;
That milk that is not channeled in one direction.
I know mother Eko, I know you moon-she.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
"Full on prison reforms he says"
He means ,we wanna lock up more
With smoke and mirrors they mean to confuse us
When enslaving peoples the family business
They feed on sorrow, and on hate
They've got the keys,they'll build the gates
Unhappily living in a cell of their making
Don't want us having fun and procreating
As long as we're this side,and they on that
On total misery they will grow fat
Cause even though it makes men worse
They'll throw more in, they'll use more force
Freedoms not a word in their vocabulary
Wouldn't want us taking control of our own destiny
As free men can learn to sail the oceans of their soul s
To Map the stars,reach far away goals
And as criminals they know ,that they can make more
Along with their profits ,they love to keep score!
So they can hide behind mirrors, and puff out more smoke
But we gonna live with our love and our hope
And those with their BS can F off an choke!
Why is it that they always want to fight.
They puff out their chests and all say I'm right.
We were taught when young to play nice with others.
Something taught to us all by our loving mothers.
What a much better place that this world would be.
If they let all the mothers run the country.
If they'd get out of hand they'd get a time out.
Could you see all the leaders sent to the corner to pout.
But all joking aside this is getting out of hand.
Sending our loved ones to fight all over the land.
If we could just call a truce and start over anew.
I think that the whole world wouldn't know what to do.
We could live our lives normal with out all the fear.
It's the wish that I have for bringing in the new year.
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