Gathering fantasies over here
Warm holiday books feat setting near
Stomping crimson red grapes
Imagining romantic fate
Characters dreaming of cupid's spear
working in the fields, picking cotton, and given food that is mouldy and rotten
Sweating in this heat with nothing to drink clothes ripped and dirty, and they are beginning to stink.
Chains around our ankles so that they cannot run, dropping exhausted in the blazing sun
Women were being raped, abused, and they went through hell
Made to have babies for their masters to sell
locked in at night, in wooden shacks, with welts from the whipping and the blood running down their backs
If they tried escape, hobbling would be done. Our masters would break their ankles so they could not run
So they did what they had to do in order to survive.
Bowing their heads to the masters just to stay alive
And if they were to die there would be an unmarked grave
No one cared who was buried there, just a worthless slave.
Those dark days are gone now; not slaves, they are now free
Able to live as equals, that is how it should always be.
Now go to the grave with no name to see
And say to them thank you for setting us free
SETTING BACKGROUNDS-:-
writing
inner
thoughts
appearing
alongside
now slipping from MEMORY
thriving
faint
images
signature
types
of SUPERLATIVES
outlined
uncertainties
regarding
visionary
ideas
This is a non-traditional Tanka
may's setting sun
seen through purple coneflower petals....
God' amazing grace
memories flood mind of husband
he planted them last year
Go fikelela marung,
Oikemisetsa tsa godimo.
To reach the clouds,
set your sights above.
Go tswa mo go se tsebego,
o tsoma ditsela tse mpsha,
Step from the dark to find new paths,
O rotogela godimo,
o koba mellwane,
o dula gare mellwane.
And rise,
rewriting limits,
Living on the edge.
Amogela bophelo ka mo go lego ka gona.
Embrace existence exactly as it is
Ke tsoma tseo di sa tsebehego,
ke kgotsofetse tseo di tsebegego.
I chase the mysteries,
content with what is clear
Go fikelela marung,
Oikemisetsa tsa godimo.
To reach the clouds,
set your sights above.
Go tswa mo go se tsebego,
o tsoma ditsela tse mpsha,
Step from the dark to find new paths,
O rotogela godimo,
o koba mellwane,
o dula gare mellwane.
And rise,
rewriting limits,
Living on the edge.
Amogela bophelo ka mo go lego ka gona.
Embrace existence exactly as it is
Ke tsoma tseo di sa tsebehego,
ke kgotsofetse tseo di tsebegego.
I chase the mysteries,
content with what is clear
They say time heals
They say it will turn into a passing memory.
But instead, it's a festering wound.
Her body can barely keep up with the whiplash.
Holding on to years' worth of baggage that grows heavier with each passing year.
She was slowly suffocating
Every breath was a task.
It was time to put down what she carried.
It was time to start breathing for the first time since she could remember.
No longer held together with fake smiles and forced laughter.
No longer running until she was wasting away.
Healing took hitting rock bottom.
Healing took her blood, sweat, and tears.
Healing took years of her sitting, undoing knots.
Some days the past leaks in like a thick smoke that you have to wait for it to pass before continuing.
And other days it's just a thin mist, light enough to walk through.
Healing is not just minutes, hours, days, or months.
Healing is continuous.
Sun's old rusty orb
Now molten - see?
Fizzed round of it, my still warm feet.
Shored oppositely.
A stream, searching its limits, laps the bank.
Water falls gently over a small dam.
Fish nip at flotsam in usual prank,
And find protein at weight less than a gram.
All's well and calm in this country setting
A whiff of wind shuffles a nearby tree,
Yet the shallow banks soon will be letting
Gallons of overflow to be set free.
Soft water's whispers now shriek in a scream.
A precipice grips the liquid off-guard.
It spills its mass in a powerful stream
Down to twirling whirlpool's cold disregard.
So, as the Crazy Train hits the last stop
down that long Randy Rhode,
let's gather in the dining car,
put a fork in the War Pig,
and feast on bat heads.
RIP Prince of Darkness.
What killed the Cat was not ‘Curiosity’
~ ‘Twas the ferocity of the Rat
A crimson sky breaks the distant shore,
The village Elder telling a story of folklore,
The children laugh and play joyfully,
Their laughs echoing happily,
The mothers hold their babies close,
Families sitting by the fire, with the ones they love most,
Nearby owls listen in a tree,
“Cloaked by the night, they’re not scared, they’re free”,
A distant howl, travels to their ears,
They ought to be frightened, but they haven’t in years,
They know they are safe, they respect the wildlife,
They no longer sharpen the blades of their knife,
The moon is high in the sky,
The feast is over for that night,
The villagers have a smile upon their face,
Excited for the next gathering in a few days.
Long ago, there were the halcyon days
we once knew when we were young -
gone like dollar matinees
when from tree branches we swung.
I remembered the dire words of song,
that said changes in the weather
are often known to come on strong,
as I watched the dark clouds gather.
You tell me that this storm has passed,
but should this howling wind prevail,
a martyr, I won't be miscast -
watch a battered heart set sail.
Professor: Setting is inducing trust that as a writer you are not volatile, nor giving lesser detailed thought about those knick knack, mundane also. can you give me an example Johny?
Johny: Certainly , can I ask the narrator type?
professor: say, camera setting...
Johny : genre?
professor : prose poem, light hearted or serious, both will do.
Johny : here you go....I bought floss and Hydrogen per oxide from the nearby pharmacy. I wanted to pick up my medicine too, but they were reluctant, altogether, seemingly so. I had to bypass.
professor : why so?
Johny: the only audible sound was a song..."when you say nothing at all."
Surely , verily a cranky setting! tired too!
As the counseling session was declaring, they begin as a parent asleep, raise them up asleep and send them to school asleep. Dreams ahoy!
The sun setting in horizon
Is like a deep sunken eyes
Looking beyond the sight grazing
As its rays too many lining
Penetrating the farthest outreach
Only to find its beauty fading
Like the beauty of woman waning
As age also waning its chances
Too gone are days of youngness
So sun setting is life's ending.
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