TO PAIN I MUST ABIDE
When the sun is up to her best
My hope is to have my scars justified
And when darkness arrives in haste
My hope is to thrust the pain aside
But if all that I confide in fail to provide the tide way
When I am floating with tide,
My zeal becomes stultified
And I realize to pain;
I MUST ABIDE
I bite the bullet every time my scars get wide
And I strive to pryde
The misery from my inside
But in agony column I ride
Yet every time I try to wrest the pain from every side
I collide with the truth that to pain;
I MUST ABIDE
Mbabazi Stellah
Categories:
stultified, anxiety, body, fate, hope,
Form: Rhyme
Inhale
my heartbeat slows,
blood sluggish
through stenotic vessels
unwilling to expand,
to breathe
to let blood flow
untenable, this suffocation
this dampening
it speaks of tired eyes,
of stolid limbs,
of stultified need
torpid blood,
when will you give up
your self-imposed stricture,
your closely guarded fear,
your wariness
and inhale
Categories:
stultified, body, confusion, depression,
Form: Free verse
an archway
an archway opens onto a soporific plaza
which pours outwardly in colorful asymmetric
displays that once incited the bones of an organic past
steeped in a rich broth, an ancestral heaving stew,
quietly simmering to a point of boil.
the humble ones, once, alive to the core, move to and fro,
cornered and stultified by conventions, babbling broken mantras,
they attempt to sooth the spirits daunting deadly pricks
the lipstick girls of the labial folds, who exist beyond the pale
of a refracting sun’s light, hover between ghostly spheres
of a lost sacerdotal history;
wet with gloss, they yearningly enchant youthful acolytes,
who, painted in salacious priestly pastels,
patterned up to placate the Ones,
are fully endowed and exuding in virginal carnality,
fall willingly into their own demise, caressed by the
spreading tongs, in the act of sacrificial obligation.
an archway opens out to a thriving and heaving plaza.
Categories:
stultified, dark, gothic, mystery, mythology,
Form: Free verse
The astrolabe – how it depresses me!
The thing’s too perfect, no room left to grow.
Repeat, refine, reduce – a legacy
from which no vital spring can ever flow.
The thing’s too perfect! No room left to grow,
no seas to sail. The time is out of joint.
We made it our religion just to know,
but failed to think we’d reached this nadir-point.
No seas to sail. The time is out of joint!
We once sought distant moons and unknown suns,
but failed. To think – we’ve reached this nadir-point!
The Sultan’s poet plays around with puns.
We once sought distant moons and unknown suns,
while shallowness possessed us, unawares.
The Sultan’s poet plays around with puns,
as modern aesthetes shape the harem stairs.
While shallowness possessed us, unawares,
Venetian warships anchored off the coast.
As modern aesthetes shape the harem stairs,
the fortune-tellers fail to spot, engrossed,
the palace guards, abandoning their post.
Repeat, refine, reduce – a legacy
that stultified a people. Yet we boast
the astrolabe. How it depresses me!
Categories:
stultified, society,
Form: Pantoum
Time ticks by there's no time to cry
You can only turn a blind eye
The world is ready to horrify
And I wont stick around to say goodbye
While I solidify
You try to justify these actions that terrify
It will petrify and mummify
They wont mystify or mollify
As you just stand there stultified
3/15/2017
Categories:
stultified, humanity,
Form: Monorhyme
With arms spread wide like Ibiza
With my Brighton rock stuck in my throat
And throbbing with a pulse
For all that glitters as it slithers into serpentine
The darker recesses, we waltzed
Feeling common as anachronism
London, meet me there
With my whirlwind of Netherlands
We dine upon the night
As a whore twice would
But more the class as we starve
And dining out upon it for a century
Of smiles and a million degrades
Not too much for a pen fodder in these latter days
Completely stultified
Categories:
stultified,
Form: Free verse