Is there anyone there? I read the eyes that stare
Mouths appear numb..must have been struck till dumb?
While media streams, out from foul drains (who cares?)
Who cares? It seems no-one but fools? Who concern with
The mechanic's of rules..There are rapists most righteous.'
Being quoted in readers digests and a religion traced from
Dante's inferno; indeed (not cool,) when will we awaken
Out of slumber? How our forebears would wonder.?
At such slackness and much lauding; of the current
Leadership of incumbent; macro-fools.!
Walking here and there,
Scrounging for messages of Care,
Journalists of the day.
Standing by at door or gate
Spirited, to interrogate the great.
A long-serving microphone,
Miking words from those interviewed,
And an esteemed bagged camcorder on the shoulder;
Always await eventual days
So they’d pace with grace
But, their presentations tremble under status’ feet
Whereto their integrity doth greet.
Their job hence counts slackness of Justice:
That if they are to question a poor fellow,
They’ll do it diligently till he’s zero
But if they are to question a rich man,
Minister or president in particular,
The ‘eye-box’ is covered with red cloth,
Their journals closed,
And their inkers halt;
They’ll compromise till he’s out of any cases.
Sorry
They are!
Turning a blind eye to the rich’s injustices
And giving a bright eye to the poor’s…
Yellow Journalism eke in Africa?
Stupid Penny toys with her button
Biting her bottom lip, Frowning her brow
Misery pulls at her
Loneliness sucks
Fill voids with Mall time
Plastic replete.
Feeling so fulsome; flirting with clothes
Racks upon racks upon shelves upon drawers
Cover your colours up cleverly hide
Futile fickle figures flickering tinkering
Gripping and stirring and numbing and dumbing
Dutifully dip down diving in devilry.
Pens empower punters people pledge revenge
Pondering pointlessly pointing at pendulums
Wasting breath wasting life wasting time
Waste away get wasted get wanted
Get Wankered get wired
Glitching through roundabouts
Loopholing widely
Hold your box tightly its preciousness
Leaks your Lifeline runs swiftly
Through slackness and slime
It’s dirty It’s soiled now
It’s tainted. It’s gone.
11 February 2023
Acquaintance and Neighborhood
Sotto Poet
Your eyes need your first - class care,
Which has to include some yeast
And they shan't Midday Sun dare;
As Sun eyes The West, facing The East,
Lest one turn Prince of Darkness,
Too early feeling one's way
While reading ' Moving Slackness
Coverage of page all day!
In eyes kids pack playful sands:
Madness that turns them crimson;
Lots of filth from wild hands,
They are, each, blinded Samson
Eyes for lasting protection
Dusts saving like a loved Chief
Foreign bodies' detection
For dabbing with handkerchief
Or "Here I come cataract
And one stops to interact
Or real Frightful Glaucoma,
Eyes drifting into coma.
crying out in agony
I growl at the hollow
I'm shivering
arguably
odds aren't in my bias
utter something
seal my orbs
purblindness
testimonials for verse
deny verve's blunt truism
rather not realize
pick a sleight
plagiarize
one abundant
to survive
inhospitableness
Written: March 30, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIER CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived. ( Poem inspired by Poet Brian Strand Form)
To a learned philosopher
Or to a logical thinker
The gesture of this lone lady
Wrapping linens around this tree
Might look like a modern madness
Or drabness rooted on slackness...
Only one with a heart love-filled
Could feel her longing unfulfilled
Bearing children; rearing gladly
Owing barrenness, stilled sadly
She, hence, prays to this banyan tree
Age-old sign of fertility
To make her life absolute whole
And fill with gladness, her sad soul…
31 January 2022
Utterances people could like garments wear,
Except that they look the more naked;
Voiced ideas their hearers could bear
But much like the cruel whip of the wicked,
Their glad receivers betray a 'mental slackness
And are fetched a thickening darkness.
Confidential documents you could file,
Save that file jackets would keep laughing at you
Quite sure you 'd gone a crazy mile
With that which had turned out of the blue.
Lies every patience tries
And arrives away the Truth flies:
Lies are a southern pole to Northern Truth,
Never failing to dovetail into its halves;
To every man unhelpful like an aching tooth
What even a moron hears and violently laughs.
Do possess dedication,
In fulfilling your duty;
Have less talk, have more action,
Sans slackness and perfidy.
Let the commitment be right
There inside your heart and mind;
Do your work with all your might,
Success is not far behind.
Let loyalty bring or give
Recipe to glorious goal;
Allow attachment to live
In your spirit, in your soul.
The systematic approach
Carries progressive outcome;
Results are beyond reproach,
The employer ups his thumb.
Be a devoted servant
Of God who knows everything;
Let your life be triumphant,
Whether it's winter or spring.
Form: Tanaga
Faced with daily multi-tasks’ pressure
we need God’s help of divine measure
making us fulfill each chore as great treasure
turning work-rigor into labour-pleasure.
Gripped by varied assignment strain
we seek Christ’s strength of productiveness gain
toward caring and sharing engagement terrain
though afflicted with impediment's pain.
Conquering futility of slothfulness' attack
through the Saviour’s power with His mercy-pack
we strive for achievement thoroughness of blessings' sack
against indolence slackness, making stewardship vigour lack.
Triumphing over procrastination blight
seizing championship in today’s functionality fight
we cling to God Who enables* by His might
thanking Him for today's accomplishments midst faith delight.
*1Timothy 1:12 And I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who hath enabled me, for that he counted me faithful, putting me into the ministry.
July 4, 2019
Honorable Mention, "STRAND CHOICE H, any form, any theme" Poetry Contest; Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 3/17/2020.
In those ,
learning never ends
In whom ,
The earning of knowledge is ever and
Continuously continues
In whose endeavor,
Disparity disappears
With whose effort,
Impossibles are made as Incredibles
In whose avenue,
the revenue of teaching endeavor
never stops
With whose act ,
the useful goodness is imbibed
With whose alertness ,
the slackness is eliminated
With whose reaction ,
the gracefulness is embedded
They are none other than the TEACHERS
They are the only one ,
Who Teaches to each to bring
in cheers in an individual,
in group in present and future.
Teachers' Teaching is above all.
It's the commitment.
It's the Willful Wish
It's the Wishful Will
It's the Way of dealing and
leading lively and lovely Life.
First of all in regard to this verse
God here is speaking to His elect
for He names them lovingly His beloved
such love so pure believers willingly detect
God brings many a promise to His own
He's not at all slow for them to fulfil
despite how some think wait too long
for all His acts are spot on in His will
The Lord is full of divine patience
waiting and seeking for His very own
by His holy spirit in His effectual draw
pointing to Calvary their sin He did atone
To fulfil the demands of the saviour
God grants His own the gift of repentance
then they come in a spirit of humility
bowing in homage at His dependence
This election is not for all of the world
again God's showing this for those He chose
from before the world began marking them out
for Christ died only for them this God knows
("The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.") 2 Peter 3: 9 (KJV)
I feel my skin crack and split
as I watch dust seep from my old wounds
in puffs of smoke.
The gore that encrusted my skin long ago
dried up and flaked off.
I have to reach up with my left hand
and wrench my shoulder back into place
but I barely grunt
and that only because I know it should hurt,
although my nerves ceased to exist long ago.
I put my hand to my back
and start to pull
the multiple daggers protruding from it free
letting them clatter to the floor
with hunks of dried flesh
stuck to them.
There is a slackness to my jaw
and I can't make it move
nor do I wish to.
I get fully to my feet
and take a few steps,
then as if I was struck by lightening
I come crashing to my knees.
My body actually feels
like it's on fire and I feel it rehydrate,
blood pouring from open sores
the discarded blades
come hurtling back at me,
plunging deep into my spine
and ribs of my back.
As my sight
begins to darken
my mind blurts out
"Such a viscous cycle."
and I collapse in a heap on the ground.
Waiting to quench thirst
Drying every single day
Withered by slackness
A cactus in the desert
Until one day blooms again
2-15-2016
When a body dies there is a split second slackness
and softening in the eyes as the soul leaves the shell
a mutual acceptance by body and that which is beyond
that the partnership has ended
when the soul dies before the body
that which remains is consumed
in anger betrayal confusion loss and abandonment
On my knees looking up through eyes filled with
blood and dirt and the refuse of animals
digging hands clawing the earth like a wounded dog
trying to bury its own heart
I see Him
Death stares smiling back from across a field
of broken harvested silent bamboo stumps
He knows his new pupil will not rest
until he has extracted his heavy toll
I seek I now hunt for my revenge