Short Slums Poems

By the Gulshan lake
The slum's children play cricket
On a tiny land!...

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In congested homes of slums
The poor people live –
No one listens to their grief!...

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Mother Teresa of Calcutta,
Was a bit of a nutter,
She upset the slums, 
When playing the drums....

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Neither princess plum nor slave slums.
Keen high hearted savana teardrops.
Betrayal vandal taker....

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Nurse my feelings
I'm a child of the slums
The self hatred
I'm trapped in the slums
Bless the finger that writes...

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Black elephant in the sun
As the biblical tower of Babel
Hordes of twisted tongues
Infest width, breadth
From Ajegunle slums
To the plateaus of Jos!...

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I'm all right Jack:
   as the wretched live in shacks,
   in the slums out the back,
   by the place with Big Mac’s, 
   of the price that they lack....

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Waitresses are the only people
Who are nice to the uncongenial
You know the ones
From the city slums
Who think they're extremely superior...

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Waitresses are the only people
Who are nice to the uncongenial
You know the ones
From the city slums
These a-holes think they're so superior...

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Why are most animals born without thumbs
Most can hum, most have eardrums and bums
They're essential
Increases the potential
For a stress-free life away from the slums...

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I dreamt
                      from slums to skies.
                In the garbage pushed into,
                  I wept and hardly noticed
                 the emerging delicate wings....

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Love is
my new drug
it
seeped inside
my blood
and
permeated
my lungs
now
I'm all
thumbs
and 
can't feel
my tounge 
Should
I be
catching doves
or
running through 
the slums
alit 
and all abuzz?

(Work in progress)...

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My favorite Christmas present
a bunch of lilies white as a milky crescent
by street children who reside in the slums
came to meet me to offer them some alms

I saw almighty residing in their eyes
a gleam of joy enshrined in my heart in arise...

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Welcome to the city of Morphine where it rains acid and you feel no pain
A city where everyone is numb to the world
Where people dwell in the slums of misery
Shattered lives and shattered glass cover the streets of Morphine
fiends wander down the alleys of agony

Written Keith Edward Baucum...

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Burn the buns,

date the chums,

range rants and take the gums,

summon the slums...

Stake-out for intimacies~
awaiting the chimes jumping infinities,

languish lore-

the entanglements roar!

Richer than  tryin' in the doors,

silk'd as saddlin',

tricky as the mind we're in....

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You promised me the world, but only gave me the slums.

You promised me the moon and stars, but only gave me ashes.

You promised me happiness, but only gave me heartache.

You promised me love, but only gave me pain.

And when you promised to always be true,
I didn't realize it was only to you....

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Sacredness, suspended clown.
Some wearing golden crowns.
Happy songs jump and twirl.
Spin and hop, pleated swirls.

Color mixture flowing blend.
Tumble sault, flowing silence sends.
Painted frown from skidmore.
Laced slums, funny lore.

Playful red cotton ball.
Candy wonder, canvas falls.
Whistle blows in center ring.
Six new clowns to sing.

from my poem book - DREAMS...

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life takes many forms
many shapes and sizes
choose the one fits you the best
make this judgement not in 
haste
whether in slums
or in palace
whether in BMW 
or in auto
whether your clothes are 
branded
or not
matters a trifle.

if you born poor
not your mistake
if you die poor, 
certainly
your mistake.

life has twists and turns
nothing back returns
thus prison your precious life
in an autobiography....

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BEGINNING…
xxxxxxxxxxx

gray moon eating black,
sparrows flush red coughing rain
slums of streets decay

CONTINUING…
xxxxxxxxxxx

drenched women bleeding
broken spills of spines, alms… alms
devil torrent tears

ENDING…
xxxxxxxxxxx

spikes of bones splattered
drowned by screeching sounds silenced…
rain begets mud tombs


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

(( for SKAT's  "Dark Rain" Contest" --Haiku ))...

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The Pale Mariachi
by FD F.D. Ravenskraft
He plays and delays
and he obeys the tunes that command
His ways. To lust only for it.
the guitars need attention
as the player mentions
that I dedicate his life to it 
to only die alone in the slums of misery
without the pity of the world
my guitar is what you heard
singing with the songs of birds
I broke my mentality
in the smoke of mirrors
 The Mariachi of a Pale Reflection...

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Love had a chance, 
Sold her feelings to his fans.
Made money out of her dance. 
Everyone enjoys her at jams, 
specially when she shows a prance.
Her owners thought she was in a safe hands.
After  they took a glance,
They've now folded their arms.
Now Love stays in a crance,
And they've lost in slums.
The story is not just a stance,
but who got the charms,
To reorient the nature of love,
For that's what her owners can have....

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Working, renewal in the city of Delhi,
Humayun's to the signature development everywhere,
A phase never has seen,
Money forced poor and Halcyon life,
The lilt in a polluted atmosphere
Dirty-minded carbons moving in slums,
Strong tin doors in the slum, In terror.
A whole day on street, for half an hour meal
Rich faces are in dream whole night,
Dusty faces with beautiful minds.
Below to the poverty line,
But above the lifeline....

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To all women who have contributed  to the growth of humanity, through their relentless sacrifices, commitments,  dedications, endurance, courageous deeds, and resilience. 
From the ones that would marry, conceive, or  birthed in the slums and trenches and downtowns , to the streets of the highwalls in the cities across the globe. You're  our heroes and we celebrate  your existence today and always. 
Happy mother's day  to you all.

Oloye Olufemi...

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This season, the Easter Bunny was running late.
He made a bad decision that sealed his fate.
Nobody can say that his choice was good.
He took a shortcut through a low-income neighborhood.
Some young hood carrying a switchblade knife,
put an end to the fabled Easter Bunny’s life.
That was very tragic and not at all funny.
He was hopping through the slums without any money.
That was the tragic end of the poor Easter Bunny.

February 28, 2013
...

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Who owns
These faces
I see in this
Crowded bus?
Our Lagos
Squires or slums?

Hopeful eyes
Squint as smews!
Scarfed
Capped
Bald
Bared
Heads flow
On mobile necks.

Yes!
Dry joy squats
Lifeless
On these faces
As elephant husks.

Arrayed in apparels
Shabby as pigs
Tho’ some gorgeous
Neat as eagles
These beings
Headed towards
Mile Two
O, Mile Two
Of all places!

But where exactly
Are we coming from?
And where exactly
Are we going to?...

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