Nigeria our beloved country
Diverse in tongue and tribe
United by a loosely held shoe string
Accentuated differences in culture
and tradition.
Nigeria united by force majuere
Divisive force than a blending force
The unity daily lies in a scale balance
Skewed to the north or to the south
By a major crisis or an act of debacle
Nigerians and Nigeria seating on shoe
string.
(Written 17th March, 2017)
Without our Betty Grace
a seamstress of Fashion and lace
once upon a time she lit up a room,
a starlight a beauty, a movie in your room
As time has rolled, meandered on the bridge of Toll governed by politicians , divisions , conqering for the good of all .
Betty Grace RIP
She lived on a shoe string living in poverty
Living on a meal called pasta salt pepper and butter spaghetti
bills to pay
one meal a day
no heating to warm her elderly bones
she sat all alone.
Betty Grace is her name
Our forgotten hero x
A lock of hair
A torn shoe string
A rocking chair
A wedding ring
A dial phone
A worn headband
A xylophone
An old night stand
A broken piece, a little bit
of what has passed
No longer fits
~ Their memories last
The tunnel seems long
Everything you have seems wrong
The darkness never ending
Your life balancing on a shoe string
But out of the darkness a light
The brightest and most gorgeous daylight
Appears at the end of the tunnel
Your coming to the end of your struggle
At the end of the day you are a survivor
Your family is your main driver
Your strength is what keeps you going
That keeps your blood flowing
Times ahead will be hard and tiresome
But you are capable of equating the entire sum
The survivor in you will come through
Onwards and upwards to pastures new
Always remember this one line
“Nothing ever stops for time”
Enjoy every moment as I’m sure you will
You won’t always be traveling uphill…
Poison onion rings
Bunion on a sling
Rustic carriage bolts
Shoe string eating antelopes
Cankered bison crying wolf
While dancing under the heated son
No one comes this is the dawn
Poison onion rings;
Bunion on a sling;
Rustic carriage bolts;
Shoe string eating, antelopes;
what's the matter
what's the matter
whose ya mad at, son;
what's the matter;
what's the matter;
whose ya mad at, son;
when it all settles, when the feet hit the dust;(this ole earth)
and the horizon falls from the skies. . .
it's on, it's on it's all a matter of
it's all a matter of dawn;
the Matters of dawn
Cankered bison crying;
While dancing under the heated son;
My cousin from Missouri says he's only seen black squirrels in Nebraska;
No one comes this town in the dawn;
Catch phrase of the 1970's was, What's going on, going on;
and the horizon falls from the skies...
it's on, it's on it's all the matter of
it's on, it's on it's all a matter of
it's all the matter of dawn;
the Matters of dawn
what's the matter;
whose the matter;
what's the matter;
whose ya mad at son;
what's the matter;
don't be a hater;
lift up your arms, your hands, your head up to the skies;
rejoice in the creator, for He made ya;
and for this ya need to be grateful;'
it's all
yes! YA
it's all matters of the dawn
My shoes are the strong silent type in that
they rarely throw fits about the weather
as flip-flops do nor demand tit-for-tat
consideration when worn together
with socks. It should come as little surprise
then that they’re white and grey, underemployed
running shoes, meaning long strolls at sunrise
are just what they sound like: footsteps devoid
the prerequisite urgency to shift
directions as deemed necessary by
either myself or my feet when adrift
through trance-like stables of the butterfly
where train engineers mimic the station
of glacier-laced shoe-string transformation.
Tonight's episode...
When rumor meets reality,
what truth shall shake loose
as your body surrenders
to temptation rising?
Resolved to perform
interrogations and coercions
that land on agreeable moments.
Snapping like orchestrated jazz
and toe taps.
Your body produces a rhythm
that vibrates a zip code
so imagine how it feels next to you.
You bring out Q and Ray in me.
I'll be as good or as bad
as you need me to be.
Resist if you must, but don't deny
the third yes.
Surpass glass ceiling type heights,
I insist on it.
Make angels pay attention
as I keep you uplifted.
Proclamations of emancipated thrills,
yield to a hero's will, and I'll save you.
I promise I will. If not this time,
then next episode, somehow,
someway, even if it takes bubblegum,
paperclips, and a shoe string
I got you.
A sweet disorder in the dress kindles
In clothes a wantonness; a stole about
The shoulders thrown, a fine distraction; an
ErrIng Lace, which here and there enthralls the
Crimson Vest; a cuff neglectful, ribbons
Flow confusedly: a winning wave (note)
In the tempestuous petticoat: a
Careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a
Wild civility: does more bewitch me,
Than Art when too precise in ev'ry part.
In a cat's life.We get a rubber mouse,
a shoe string, or a butterfly to play with.
In a cat's life.We get names like Sylvester,
Felix, Tom And Jerry, Morris, and Garfield.
In a cat's life.We chase hamsters, mice, and
rats, anything loose, with a string attached.
In a cat's life.We like a big bowl of warm milk.
Crunchy cat food nuggets.All filled with love.
We like tuna oil, and tuna fish, and goldfish.
Straight from the living room fish tank.In a
cat's life.We like to curl up next to our master,
like a fluffy pillow, weeping willow on a sofa
bed.In a cat's life.We take off our mittens and
booties.As we leave our paw prints in the
muddy soil.In a cat's life.
Cat's Life Poetry By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2011,2014..
All rights reserved
You are ...
The knot in my shoe string
I can't untie!
The thread that unravels
When I am dressed to a "T"!
The piece of lint
That always clings to my dark blue suit!
The last drop of water
That makes my cup overflow!
You!
The knot in the shoe string
I can't untie...
The piece of lint that struck
To my dark blue suit...
The thread that unraveled
When I was dressed to a "T"...
The last drop of water
That made my cup overflow!
Cynthia
isee the shoes
its bad newa
they could trip
or dip
shoes that or wide
need to be tided
to fall is a pain
so tighing your
SHOE STRINGS
Does It matter if the color of my skin black or white I should be judged upon, or is
it just the thought that my ancestors once a slave; me growing up a black child.
Should you look beyond this skin they call “Chocolate” but made within us brown,
the texture of our skin can not only come as a color but a heritage once long ago.
You May not like the way we look, the way we stare, or the way we eat, its what us
as black children were brought up as.
Don’t call us a slave just because our clothes tend to fall off, or a shoe string may
not be tide.
If your skin would be made the same color as mine, would you still have hate for
me?
Or would you not say anything at all, because we were equal?
Do we deserve to be treated like animals, or like dirt rather say? Or is it just
because you hate the color of our skin.
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