Make me man as soon as my youngster
knowingly receives their very last coddle.
The unconditional love curdles from
your loving mother’s teat.
Make it matter despite what you moo to cattle.
Prod the brittle; the previously dilly-dallied say,
“Tagalongs, hogtied stowaway freeloaders with
the trade inside loading and shipping containers.”
Longtime division produced its remainders.
A cove far off the oceans cost.
A cove in a periwinkle sea,
frothing with a bacterial foam
whipping up these sweet
whipped creamed treats
and other delights.
A fondant atop it all
till the klutz ruination
curses cause clusters of
curse wordings together,
finding their bindings.
Shame soaks the rag that wiped away
a distressed and disastrous look upon face.
Words impact with a continuous compound fracture
under the masterful tongue's dismantling of the
peace talks upheld on the other hand.
I have a second home,
A treehouse of our own.
My friends and I would laugh and play,
Even if they came just for a day.
It felt as bright as finding gold,
A little world we got to hold.
But slowly then, our energy died,
All the lights just flickered, sighed.
We couldn't fix what had gone wrong,
The fun had didn't last that long.
But that's okay, we still had fun,
Sitting together, sharing a bun.
Note :
Hey! I appreciate everyone who reads poem that I wrote 9 years ago when I was 10 years old. I wasn't fluent in English back then (as you can see from my grammar and wordings made no sense ????) and I don't even remember why I posted that poem. I accidently stumbled upon it and decided to make a "remastered" version just for fun. I hope that you can enjoy my poems that literally doesn't make any sense (because I decided to stick with the content and only fix my grammar) and have a nice day!
The Journals find their way,
easy, inspired self delusional displays,
one or two ,
written most every day,
but as the months now years begin their exit call,
the words flow more fluidly
than time alone can recall,
written down along line and page
the secret refuge of mind sway
left to random flutterings and utterings
the missing points of this aging sage,
hide in the accumulated books
shelved on dusty nooks
of private enterprise without lie
the wordings not for you.
Trapped between the lines of love's sweet plight,
The weddings that never came to be,
The chances seized, yet lost in fading light,
A whispered dream, you set my spirit free.
For pieces set aside, both shattered and untouched,
A heart laid bare, vulnerable and raw,
I gaze at you, and suddenly so much,
The wordings of my heart begin to thaw.
You make me come alive, even when I'm away,
A constant presence, a guiding star above,
So I decided to embrace my truest way,
And in your love, discover perfect love.
In science, it's always two, a simple sum,
But in the art of love, our worlds entwine,
A masterpiece of passion has begun,
And you, more beautiful than any goddess, are mine.
My words are to those who mock people and think others they can out smart. It seems that their ego has far wondered, and their thoughts have drifted apart.
You may find wisdom in a fools wordings, or even in the words of the insane. And you may find ignorance in the words of scholars, even though knowledge they have gained.
Some people have had no schooling, but from scrap create pieces of art. And some others possess vast knowledge, but can’t even fix a cart. Some drunks are wise with words and some sober can’t find their way.
No matter how good you are at something, there is always someone who will supersede. It is wise to be modest to others, with arrogance you don’t need to compete.
In each one of us there is talent and each other we do complete. How can your life be of value? if your heart does not have a beat. Do good and be kind to people, because one day soon you may be obsolete.
Saleh Ben Saleh
I fear to tell you how much of your love
that has drown me into your lake—
I'm a body under water.
Each time i walk on the street
my body, a drumsticks playing itself
would feel the rise of sensual excesses
tingling the weak layers of my cells.
Should I tell you why I come out each morning to see you?
because my heartbeats recites in elocution
at the wordings of your songs
& I'll try not to escape the ligature of music
you keep preparing for me.
You devour my heart
I'm afraid to tell you.
I've wanted my diction to appease you, smoulder every ashes infusing your mind like coal to the pot,
but it keeps infusing francophone rhythm, broken vowels clusters & brittle brittle voice.
I don't know how I'll feel
If I thaw the instant gaze frosting
under the radiances of your countenance.
Maybe I'll sink into loneliness all day long;
why I travel to the dark house every night.
Do not frown at this poem I've become, obianuju
I'll no longer lurk privily like Cobra.
I've fortify my heart to harm you via my love
where we could get hitched in the wedlock of the church
reciting poems from song of songs
that spew out from the bosom of Solomon.
Veritas Vincit
the elusive goddess of the mind and soul couplet
a revelation of who we are, what we believe,
all that we imagine is or should be conceived;
born on the rising of the sun
holding moon glow in its captivity run
a complex menagerie of starlight within the cosmos dominion,
universal relinquishing of fictionalized wordings and opinions,
a hope, desirous dream, endless entity of fact from fiction
formalized false narratives of time and space interval diction;
it struggles, writhes in the turning and tossing window
foaming ocean waves of misinformation, lie, innuendo
there is no escape of twist or twitch spoof
squirming, wriggling the pathways of lie and truth
obsessive view in the eye of the beholder's solidarity,
is there hope, is there the possibility of a new reality
it truly is, as it really exists in a hidden state?
in the end, history will write what we dictate
someone's vision, another's reality
the hope and dreams of a future giving life and liberty
and freedom will take sail
only if
the truth prevails.
Sparked by Margarita Lilico's Latin Lessons
1/10/2022
I'm not a real poet
just as Pinocchio wasn't a real boy
but for our hearts and faith
we live life in full awareness coy
a revelation of ourselves in bold deploy;
with this arsenal of dreams and hopes
we yield a rendition beyond simple idea copes,
and we merge and blend inner secret expression
of who we truly are within our own egressions
living on the edge of time and space intervention;
so let us have our dreams
mindful enterprise and thriving schemes
as we purloin the words and phrases
pretending we contain the wisdom of the sages
in a sequence of interactive rhyme assuages;
so here it lay,
a poetic urge openly on display
that poetry lives in each and every one of us,
it's just a question of appreciation and trust
in the wordings that we say.
Here wood-shedding in the cave,
my mind seems to have gone into
an eerie state of suspended animation;
leaving words sitting around and chatting
as if they were in an induced drunken stupor.
When aroused, they seem to rise up
and hop onto a lexical merry-go-round;
or just sit there screaming as if in a dangling
seat of a stalled fairish wheel jammed in mid-air.
Being poetically comatose is
a revelation of the vacuous nature
of spiritless weaving of words void of
purpose—whorl pooling emptiness sinking
deeper into illusionary nothingness.
Pregnant poetic minds do not just exist;
rather, they are living realities of the fertilization
of fertile wordings anchored in endometrial
contemplative cognitive growth.
The poem is not merely a mental ejaculation;
rather, it’s the result of spiritual incubation in
the mind’s womb and when the Supreme Creator
deems so, it is delivered:
the she-shed and man-cave are mere waiting rooms.
She wails over the clasped corpse,
the sound ricocheting across the classroom
entwining with other morose voices,
baking the atmosphere in melancholy,
and immersing the cacophony of wails and squealing.
into shouts and screams of aghast lads and lasses.
Mothers, brought in haste by news of woe
and Witnessing Barbarity in first ordeal;
for such was the scene on that campus,
and astir was the town.
Rocking to and fro was the nation
With breathes, held in fright and trepidation.
The left wing said 'Nay".
The right wing said "Nay."
Speculations clashed on streets
as who could be this bloody
For the Kids in neutrality
now repose in butchery.
From the town, some took to their heels
just to alight back months later
and be mocked by same wordings:
"welcome to Kumba".
Hitherto, a mystery it remains,
but the pains still lingers
and all what remains
is the mounds of Earth,
that separates they, from us.
© Temajung Michael T.
The manager waltzes to a song
The dance trend didn’t take long
People started to waltz
And so did his boss
To a song whose wordings was strong
JUST FOR YOU, GREETINGS
Bright blessings bloom
Rich rapture rooms
Lavish love lives
Grand glimpse gives
Prize precious pace
See sacred space
Joy jumpstarts jazz
Face feeling fest
Peace ponders poise
Charm clever choice
Glimpse greeting good
Mind meeting mood
Wise wordings will
Frame feisty feel
Leon Enriquez
13 February 2021
Singapore, CNY Day #2
Poetry is the freedom of expression.
Poetry is expressed through feelings, emotions and or experiences and can also be expressed from sound, vision or thoughts. There should not be a limitation on poetry. Being able to express yourself to the fullest does not have to be about money. The poet should be able to use however many necessary wordings needed to get the message across. A poet should not have to feel the need to "say less," nor should they have to shorten or limit their gift of writing.
Poetry is stepping into the mind of the poet. However, it may not reach every reader the same, meaning, the same poem is read by two people, but both have different perspectives of what they believe the poet is saying. Poetry is not debatable, to the readers it may be, but to the poet it is not, because at the end of the day, the poet said what they said.
This is the age,
the mismanagement of time
when history becomes merely a fiduciary page
reveling the news to find
in someone else's view these times.
The Hannities and Carlson worlds
are indulgent foxy polar opposites proporting
of Coumos and Lemon tarts hurled
each bending and distorting
the democratic republican factions cavorting.
Barely factual or truth thiefs
misdirection misconstrued
bent and prone in adoration and belief
of focused wordings born due
from partial and half truths embued.
Who can you believe or imbibe
if you listen to both sides
bend your ears and see the hearts fried
of a republic crying opened wide
while truth and lie are far too easily denied.
i don't write poems like poets
or rap like rappers
i flow boats like rowers
talk what matters
wasn't raised on council estates
still a victim to down force weight
gravity pulls seeds from trees
it's a vertical growth without no treats
see how poetic wordings breathe
evading me in the verse and beat
as i rap beneath the expectations
a difference without explanations
tap my toes to extrication
set up camp an extra station
stuck with pens and pencils
this stationary cupboard ain't for me
won't buckle when standing tall
rising vegetation will reach the breeze
above and free
the highest tree
you be you and i'll be me
an artist of originality
harvesting brutality
I'll teach myself and I'll be me
and if you're you and true to thee
I'll see you and you'll see me
we'll be our own unlike the rest
and we'll be we, we'll be our best
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