They cut the grid
into the mountain,
breathing a poisonous cloud.
A frantic chaos,
Staking a fortune from
beneath the eucalypt,
pulling hollow bones
they did not heed.
They bet on success,
Assuming the heavy,
damp silence of the bush
was a kind of surrender.
But destiny ignores a frantic hand.
It woke not as a tremor,
but a shift.
A slow drag against the iron.
The ancient roots waking
their weight,
a deep,
fluid groan rising
through fragile ground.
And then—
the inescapable alignment.
The ancient land would seal their fate.
The land sheared
like a severed cord,
swallowing their plans
into the dark earth.
Within the bruised shadows
of the collapse,
the twisted steel rests.
An eerie monument to fortune lost.
the earth does not negotiate with fortune.
It simply folds the chaos down,
and settles back into peace.
The scorching sunlight binds me down.
Why is summer so cruel like this?
My friend left for Switzerland.
A letter arrived not long ago:
“It is stained with green meadows here.”
“No one tries to hurt me.”
“There is no such thing as rat poison.”
I should have been the one to go.
“Is my face really that hideous?”
“Oh, what a life of mine. Meow.”
Like hope seeping through the neon lights,
That man approached me.
I am a stray cat.
Yet, no mere wanderer am I.
I am a thinker,
One who deciphers the gaze of humans.
A Rolex watch on his wrist,
A calm leisure lingering in his eyes.
But I already know.
What matters more than food
Is a savior, a victim,
Who will clean up my waste.
“Meow…” My cry was a question.
Could this man truly be my butler?
Could he grant me the peace inside a box?
Could he buy me at least a single cat tower?
Or would he someday,
Fall for a girl, cheat on me,
And abandon me to leave?
I held my breath, hesitating.
Weighing you and me against each other,
At the very moment my heart pounded—
Before I knew it, I was sitting upon his lap.
It was not a chosen favor,
It was a gamble, staking my entire life.
we may pen a poem or we may not
being surprised if the urge arises
hinting we are in habit patterns caught
ego staking claim on dream-birthed prizes
a trap our Self instantly cognises
such are battles we fight daily within
with each breath intake we anew begin
parched buds
in
shriveled sapling
dismally desolate
bloom dreams
of
desiccated dunes
where
aureate sun
masks mirage
chased elusively
by
scorched life
to
opalescent oasis
but
ending up
in
staking recess
of
capricious illusion
where
dreams demolish
in
deranged debris
of
castle of cards
collapsing confounded
in
desert sands
of
destiny adrift
rootless vagabond
wanders in wasteland
of
wrecked aspiration
mentally morphs
subtly shapeshifts
to
clandestinely contour
a lone player
of
puppet recital
showcasing artistically
panorama of life
articulately abstract
performed to perfection
to
delusive dictum
of
stringed freedom
enjoyed intangibly
in
artificial act
persuasively axiomatic
of
lingering life
perfected within
psychic sanctum
of
patience instilled
by
possessed passion
to
perform entranced
in sonata
of
serenading soul
I may do whatever I like, just know-
I won't hurt people's name for mine to grow...
In my journey to be me,
I would rather keep to Thee.
God, fill my wallet hoping for the show!
AMEN!
No glamour here in the South Bay
where function and industry reign
just an occasional seagull is seen
gliding over steel grid power lines.
Daily westerly winds whistle
swaying a small fleet of sailboats
buoys bob along a mariner’s course
as he navigates the currents.
Ships of all shapes and sizes
quietly line the edges of the bay
docked or moored in place
patiently waiting their turn at sea.
An unearthly silence lingers
around the salt flats that arise
staking their claim at the south shore
a monument to the “bitter end”.
It is peaceful here…without pretense
where the hum of traffic is heard
endlessly moving along an offramp
while the random seagull flies above.
parched buds
in shriveled sapling
desolate
bloom dreams
in
desiccated dunes
as the aureate sun
masks the mirage
chased
taking the scorched life
to the opal oasis
but
ending up
in staking retreat
of illusion
where
dreams are lost
in the debris
of
the palace of cards
collapsed
in desert sands
of destiny
adrift
rootless vagabond
wanders
in the wasteland
of
wrecked sandcastle
mentally metamorphosed
shapeshifts
into
a lone player
of puppet show
depicting
the panorama of life
unlived
performing ordained
to the dictum
of stringed freedom
enjoyed
in artificial act
axiomatic
of lingering life
obtuse
perfected within
psychic sanctum
of patience
instilled
sensually by
possessed passion
persistent
to dance
entranced
to the symphony
of
the serenading soul
sublime
In the realm of Telegram's glow,
Where taps and tokens start to flow,
A game named W-Coin was born,
A simple tap, and wealth was sworn.
With every press, the coins accrue,
A world of crypto starts to brew,
Ethereum, Solana bright,
Or TON, each path a different light.
Fifty thousand strong at start,
A growing game, a beating heart,
Ten million soon, or so they claim,
Yet bots might play this numbers game.
Invite your friends, the tokens rain,
Referral bonuses to gain,
With each new friend, the levels climb,
Rewards increase with passing time.
Tasks and staking, boosters too,
Ways to earn and gather through,
Retweets, join, and play with glee,
Unlocking rewards, climbing the tree.
Stake your coins, let them rest,
Earnings grow, you'll be impressed,
Reinvest to tap with might,
Workers toil throughout the night.
In this game, the taps are gold,
A simple joy that never old,
W-Coin's world, a click away,
Where tapping leads to wealth each day.
The whispers of The Mailman come staking you at night.
The whispers of The Mailman will steal from your delight.
The whispers of The Mailman will scare you half to death,
But read the letters of The Mailman? You'll hear your final breath.
"cubistic nude reclining"
i PAINt pain
staking
ly
eye Si
her mOUTh
OHpenning as
if sHE wanTS
too c'est SO
meTHING
butt
it is
knot
a whore I
zon but
1 of
HEr ver
tickle
S
miles
In the final week they still swept their floors.
A gate was mended on the third last day -
the people in the village so stuck in their way,
that some, in leaving, even locked their doors
as if to keep back the dam tide -
frail wooden levees that will not hold.
They die hard: the habits of old,
and cannot be casually cast aside.
There is a nephilim here, in the leafy dark,
staking his plants and pulling out weeds,
though the distant coffer dam is broken.
As in the days of Noah and his ark,
the gardener labours in vain for vain needs,
ignoring the government prophecy spoken.
A word which first takes the mind straight to sin
And as soon to evil one could not win:
Always remember ‘spiritual exam’
For what you and I weigh in Divine Gram…
You can guess the examiner: Satan,
Sometimes, choosing an uncaring Nathan:
The too-good-at-cracking-the-harshest joke
And you could not but his face in blood soak…
In the world of lust a kiss made a must
And she’s another’s wife, not counted cost;
In the game of cards staking a Million
One had borrowed from a bank’s strict bullion…
In the field of writing, plagiarism,
No thought about its sure cataclysm
I could argue: behind many murders
By killers sure they’d still see their mothers:
More broadly, taking the risky for safe,
Then, realizing that it does hard skin chafe…
That which we could escape its penalty
But this takes not to a finality…
The silver birch
presides over the scree
A caravan of love
proceeds duly eastwards
I'm staking my faith in you
The wind whistles past
We are on the road again
to magic lands where the gypsy queen shows
the world her love
where you find
butterflies and buttercups
smiling in the rain,
and hope waiting for time
our faith connected to the earth
uncorrupted
Men are dangerous, unkind, they come to kill, not to live.
They eliminated my entire tribe. I am the only survivor.
It is up to me to live for my mother, my father, my sisters.
I move from hut to hut, staking out new gardens, a step ahead
of the enemy.
I speak to no one; my friends and relatives are gone.
These others are different than me. I fear them, so I carve my
death sticks, and I wait, listening in the dark for their breathing.
They are treacherous and dangerous. I stay to myself, seeking out
no company from these foreign devils.
I need no communication or help, and I give them no trouble.
If they come for me, they are going to get a surprise. I am ready.
I know how to defend myself; and I am armed and dangerous.
Some have yelled at me in foreign tongues. I am silent, waiting,
watching, listening, but not in fear. Ready to combat.
I am no newcomer to violence. They annulated my entire tribe.
I wait in my slumber nest, above the trees, with my ears open
even when my eyes are sleeping. Men are dangerous, unkind.
They come to kill, not live.
N1,000.00 for a mad beggar;
The rare spectacle would make you stagger:
Nation’s Top Bank Note on palms of pure dirt!
I had to yield to Strongest Suspicion
And out fish Giver’s Concealed Decision;
A need to criminalize Donors
Or they don’t taste what resembles honors:
Prayers for The Truly Charitable
While citing Pious Men: Veritable…
“This might be just Enchanted Money,
Whose taker would not at all find funny;
instant withdrawal of releasing hand
making The Very Giving less grand;
The Mad to be Twenty Thousand Times so,
The Sane fully cease to sensibly flow:
Receiver inheriting Givers Woes,
Start absorbing ill-Luck and its sad blows.
One should not in Life try to Charity
With Propriety place on parity:
Indeed, Begging is a risky venture:
A Boxer staking some tooth or denture.
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