No comfort for the stickler, sticking literary fixtures depicting conflicting inklings to their minds as perfect pictures.
With one stroke of my pen the standards rose again and damned be lesser men.
As the pros of prose impose and profess, chaos needs redress.
For I, who's distress you must address, now cower and cleanse this mess, confess my prowess only serves to impress all reason to, "stop the press".
Anachronistic the measure of their metric, imperialistic so the eccentric can spiral in tantric concentric circlejerks.
Central to themselves, it works.
The stench of sh!t, a rose by any other name, smeared with effluent smirks.
With all due respect you may cling to the historic.
If you wish to press/play, I will lay waste.
I'm not here to copy/paste.
The past won't be replaced, though clearly trampled and retraced.
Finding you're fittingly faced with chagrin laden grimace feeding bitter distaste.
Thou is to doth o'er and o'er, as men of the cloth in unrestrained glory.
Touting the gospel loudly and poorly, wholly unaware it's a fairytale story.
Fields of scarlet rose
Tossing winds
Warming the soul
Floating free
A dream forseen
Leaning onward
gracefully
Along the river
Far and wide
A posy
Flutter
Along the side
Where blue sand
Twirl
A dreamy maze
Searching questions
Inkling retraced
Alone I sail
Searching deep
Of wind blow pages
A longing need
To set my mind
A future dream
Hopeful yearnings
Set me free
A key of gold
To turn the lock
To open a door
To find what's sought
Floating onward
Leading on
The word of God
Plays my song
Shadow Games
While my back was turned, you slipped into the store,
Went to the washroom, then out once more.
You could’ve retraced your steps, stayed out of sight,
But you leapt the chain—made sure I’d catch the sight.
You lingered at the door, a ghostly trace,
A fading whisper with a hollow face.
What brought you here to haunt my day?
A question that simply won’t fade away.
You played your part, a fleeting flame,
Four months of warmth then cold with blame.
Your caring ways was merely a disguise,
Before you cut me down with an icy goodbye.
You turned to ink, your spite set free,
Penned your poison for all to see.
An “OLEFOWL from Penal,” you bitterly said,
Twisting words, calling me ugly instead.
You mocked my name, spoke of wood,
Called me mad—just as you would.
You whispered lies about me to my relative
using venomous word dripping with fear.
You’ll read these lines, I know you will,
Clinging to your shattered thrill.
Your fractured mind deflects your pain—
Blaming me while chaos still remains.
written by mjm 2025/march
The anguish of separation scars our heart,
yet the cause of pain is retraced to ego,
which believes from existence we stand apart,
so the definitive truth we need to know,
is who we are, so our inquiry we start,
by choosing cessation and making thoughts slow,
whence we realise, upon coming undone,
that God dwells in all hearts and thus all are one.
The divine immersion with which we were graced
softened attention and enlivened the heart,
as steps toward heaven we slowly retraced,
held in God’s warm embrace, adding love to cart.
Hollow mind-body shell fully magnetised,
transmutation of form saw truth realised,
whereupon nothing here remains to be done,
recognising God and soul were always one.
Short Poem
Morning Thoughts On Past
Miracle Man
6/15/2024
A persons past can never be altered or erased,
But it can be our headmaster as we move ahead.
It can prevent past footprints from being retraced,
providing good decision making for us to embed.
Your tepid favour not really warming to the thought.
There's no alchemy with which to distil a retort.
Comfort is a stretch, lack the agility to contort.
Best I seem to manage is a tireless distraught.
I'm lonely, saves me being an affliction.
My discomfort puts others in an awkward position.
How timely, seemed an effortless decision.
Left me having trouble remedying this condition.
This bitter flavour, sick having to savour such rancid after-taste.
Try to draw conclusions from the mess I have retraced.
Pointless seeking why it's this position I've been placed.
Now all I'll be to you a gap in memory, erased.
Forty percent was the chance it would rain,
Which is what my phone app was predicting.
I went for my walk with my eye to the sky,
But the darkening clouds were conflicting.
I had an umbrella which fits in the bag
Where I carry my water for drinking,
So I ambled on, getting further away
And I wondered just what I was thinking.
For, after a mile, rain came barreling down,
Without one little drop as a warning.
My umbrella unfurled, I retraced all my steps,
Cutting short my full exercise morning.
Though my sneakers were dripping, as well as my socks,
I got home with just minimal stressin’
But I have to remember my phone often lies,
Which is really a valuable lesson.
"Wettened by the morning dew
Closely spaced where rows of roses grew
Footprints stained the cobblestone
Where my love and I had walked, alone"
We retraced those steps again
Melded hearts singing passion refrain
Where the scent of roses swirl
We strolled with our little boy and girl
He’d returned on an impulse to the city
Slipped through that Eastern Gateway
Consciously retraced those steps
Of that years earlier leaving day.
Mingled with the market crowds
He felt his eyes slowly range
Across each familiar feature,
Noting every single change.
He watched her from a distance
Three children at her side;
Watched her across a narrow street
Just a million mile wide.
He sent a stream of air kisses
Each to its appointed place
On the coveted beauty
Of that so familiar face.
A new world was calling
At Galaxy’s other side
And tomorrow he started
That adventurous long ride.
One last long loving look
To imprint her in his mind
Now a more mature beauty
On which years had been kind
.
Back at the Eastern Gate,
Mission fulfilled and content,
One last long look at his city
Then into the future he went.
The morning stroll from room to room
Photos and paintings adorn the walls
Smile and stop, family groups, happy and sad
The camera captures good and bad
My laughter rings out, memories surface
Weddings and celebrations captured on film
Moments in time, thoughts drift elsewhere
Faces so lifelike include those no longer here
Say a greeting then move on
Study paintings, such amazing detailed scenery
The early morning stillness of an empty house
Climb the stairs, upstairs awaits its turn
Photos of older members of the family
All acknowledged with utmost respect
Sounds of breathing, realised it is your own
The stairs are a challenge, you should have known
The end of a pathway reached for today
Retraced steps, ready for daily frays
Stand at the front door as I have many times before
Listening to the house waking from its slumber
Creaks and groans, a breeze from who knows where
My laughter erupts, memories of loved ones
Stop, listen, enjoy sounds we usually do not hear
Life’s hustle and bustle awaits, onward and upward
Today I unraveled a sweater
I erased the words of a book
I retraced the lines on the map
Of the journey I never took
I untied the lace of my sneaker
I pulled down the zipper of my coat
I removed my X from the ballot
For I never casted my vote
I forgot all the things that I never did
And the dreams that weren't a success
I deleted all of the repetitive thoughts
Of the sentiments I would never express
I pushed back the hands of forever
To a time that I never yet knew
I erased all the time I'd spend trying
Forever and a day to find you
The child Seraphine was three
With Mary Grace unfailingly
Devoted to her daughter's care
But now a shell of one so fair
Her laugh was not so deep and free
And she would sleep so painfully
That Seraphine was known to cry
Or plead for help from passersby
Eventually, no empty stares
Could rectify her daughter's cares
And Mary Grace resolved to face
Another time, another place
The summer sun was boiling hot
Like butter boiling in a pot
As Mary Grace retraced the path
That once replaced her mother’s wrath
Though Mary Grace was wont to cry
Before a sad but scathing sky
She sang a song of sweet repose
To bring her life a peaceful close
The scarlet sun was sinking still
Before a twilight's fading frill
When Mary Grace went down the walk
That once disgraced a shady block
They sat beside a garden gate
Where beauty matters more than fate
And flowers bloom but never sigh
Except for those who hurry by
Now Mary held her daughter tight
Which helped them both to sit upright
And with a deep, determined strength
She found the words to speak at length
A group of three set out on a mountain trek
Beyond the known borders into regions strange
Climbing up steep and rocky paths
Daringly they moved forward
Engrossed by the beauty of the mountains
Flaunting their towering summits
Governed by an instinctive urge for adventure
Headed to the vast stretch of sands
In no hurry were they but in a relaxed mood.
Just a mile away stood the tall mountain peaks
Kissing the seams of the heavens
Lovesome was the evening and clear was the sky
Mild and pleasant was the climate
Never knew any fatigue
Oblivious of time speeding by
Passed across the vast stretch of sands
Quarter to a mile, the trek went haywire
Rapid was the arrival of the night
Sun had gone down in the west
Tedious was the journey in dim light
Unable to travel any further
Vanquished they felt, like defeated soldiers
Watchful they were of hindrances on the way like;
Xerophytes with thorns and humpy sand dunes
Yearning for safety, they retraced their steps,
Zooming through engulfing darkness…..
May.25.2022
Abecedarian Poetry Form Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
At the top of my heart realm's mountain
I look far beyond my eyes could reach
Thinking if I could go to the earth's fountain
And seek how waters couldn't leach
Mother earth is full of water
Yet, seen everywhere but restricted
If man hasn't travel miles on wisdom's alter
We would relax on all God earlier constructed
Crying birds have their uniqueness right
Each voice sings differently both day and night
Make me blossom on earth
That history retreats my prints after death
I don't care if my pen goes pink
As far as it continues blinking
Retraced faded inks won't sink
And its effects shall keep inking...
Let my peace be so still
That agony deals with emptiness
Let inks climb the highest hill
To grace cure to all riskiness
© 2020
® Olábòsóyè Wèmímó Oláolúwá
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