When I learned how sick you became, I knew I had to pray.
If you hadn't died, we'd be celebrating your 77th birthday.
You are the reason why I exist.
You certainly have been missed.
You were born on the side of the road because the ambulance broke down.
You were my mother and I would be happier if you were still around.
You died and there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening.
You were always a terrific mother and I'm proud to be your offspring.
I had to accept your death but I wish you were still alive.
You had an abdominal aneurysm and you didn't survive.
The surgeon couldn't save your life even though he tried.
Today would've been your 77th birthday if you hadn't died.
[Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013]
Why promote wrecking-ball malice
Behind the wall of a palace?
This callous man sick
Acts like a big dick
To cover up his small phallus
"Busni ya maaly el basha ya baba ya ostaz."
"Busat ya habibti, ya amoura ya ostaza."
"Shokran awi ya habibi." I said with a red blushing face.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.S E L F I E S*
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Oskar loved Alma's feminine charms
painted himself entwined in her arms
He entitled it 'Bride of the Wind'*
Mahler/Kokoschka talents twinned.
the sun sets maroon
around eight o’clock
it mixes elegantly
with the electric streetlights
in the parking lot.
I take out my pen
& add cranberry /
orange juice to the list
Beneath your feet, what lies there still,
A thorn of love's lost tenderness,
Or shadow longing for slumber's chill?
Oh, my love, star of shining grace,
Your light illuminates my way,
A journey from death to life's embrace.
In this misadventure of heart and love,
Which life does not endure and tend?
Our fractured feelings, spent and shoved.
Soothe me, love, with your loving heart,
Let gracious winds sweep us up and away,
Over, above, and unto heavens' part.
And amidst these ghosts of our past,
We shall rise, love, strong and steadfast.
:: 03-24-2014 ::
Without being able to see his face,
I most certainly could hear his low voice;
He was beckoning me to come to him,
this vampire was the farthest thing from grim;
To look upon him you would never guess
a killer lurked behind all the kindness;
‘Oh miss Inalem you look so hungry .
I bet I can help.’ He whispered to me;
‘Just call it a quick game of blood roulette,
we could use a woman of your talent.
In exchange for a taste from our blood bank
give us a customer per show to take.’
I looked at him froze at the idea,
‘My name’s Chance, Welcome to the mafia.’
Centered around ephemeral shapes,
Now—shapeless now—flailing—
Yellows, blues, oranges and reds,
Heat eating what surrounds it till it Can no more—eyes—in the fire. . .
The way life moves toward danger,
And eyes watch closely,
Growing and slackening,
Distant singing and laughter. . .
The fires that hear stories of the ancient ways,
Tarrying through the tales,
The coldness of the wild behind their backs,
Smoke reaching toward starlit wonderlands. . .
I hear resilience in the horror—
And in the unison of kinship,
Bodies moving closer to one another,
As the eyes at last close against the coals
2.13.20
Note: I wanted to play with a little fire today.
I wanted to write "Smoke reaching toward starlit wonderlands" but didn't feel I had room... however, I wanted to make it clear that the smoke hasn't made it there to that starlit wonderland...just like we reach toward the stars but don't quite get there sometimes. I hope that makes an ounce of sense, and I don't know why that makes me emotional and that it's so important to me, but I felt the need to share...
Anyway, sending love to all and extra warmth today, wherever you may be.
Love, Laura
love is not a plague - punctured plumes:
hoisted hooey, disaster's hood
quack qualities dripping nectar
worn whooshes, malady's fosters
love ain't bounty bliss - Utopia:
numb nature's cloak sewn by favor
timid oak oozes pruned pleasures
sassy stream girded in leisure
lanky love is far from merit:
gaunt grace's groomed by bruised verdicts
felon features seeped'n hacked acme
porous passion puking smith'reens
love's a gullible game: the Chess!
We're the pawn, while nature's the rest.
'20:06:05:17:20
Note: of lanky love.
Moon,
Through the periwinkles it rests
rich, red, radiant, persuaded
in lines
we soon would not forget
jubilance unfurled
a jade resemblance of romance
resounding and reminiscing
in every word
in every field
in every feel
the moon gifted to my hand
brilliance burst at the seam
of time
of rythmn, of rhyme
reflection of sun, not
but an inflection
of what has just begun
hints of honeysuckle
dripped upon your trail
where lost can be found
and the desperate resound
sun showers have turned on
heat of the night warms up to the day
take no mind, birds, or what is sung
flawlessly,
all your flowers have sprung
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : XIII
If you pull a lean long face
Each day in fear of the next Saturday
Time to tone down High C voice in Elysée Palace
Yellow Jackets are closing in on the Champs Elysées
Then if you insist on pulling that lone long face
Just think on what could happen on Bastille Day
Guest of Honour Outre Atlantique might pull your face
If sacré Fourteenth of July fell on a Yellow Saturday
Now if you cannot prevent pulling that lone long face
On the pretext your corporate tax cuts benefit the lay
You should've first laid out your plans to the populace
And obtained their consent by referendum if you may
No use pulling a lone long lean face
When Yellow Jackets choke the roads and railway
Time to move house to the Versailles Palace
And there reign as Monarch of all you survey
But if you must keep pulling that lone long face
Best to follow in footsteps of itchy-foot Corsican's Grande Armée
Take to the Chunnel set up House in Buckingham Palace
Before Brexit gets pulled off by plucky Santa Theresa May
© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 8, 2019
The eyes kills the flies in the air
Through the lies I'm cut by the truth
These honesty is care, dishonesty is unfair
I open my heart to be WiFi for the youth
Words ripped from a love book to erase the hate
Not guaranteed, outdoors the winds are propaganda
It is a circle rotating non stop more of an endless debate
As the breeze massage my skin, I roll a proper ganja
We the forgotten kids glued on drugs
Brain cells killed, intellect spilled, pain is healed
The numb ones begging for hugs
Destroy the blockages,Tetris, the mind is build
I feel like Nelson, these lines are my long walk to freedom
Peel off the old (pain)t, one's heart is canvas to free dumb
IF ever I had a country : XIII - XIV
XIII
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Sports Secretary
I'd remind every sportsman performing for money
That the buying and selling of humans born free
Died with slavery in the Nineteenth Century
And put behind bars all club committees found guilty
That is, if ever I were the Sports Secretary
And even if I never ever had no country
XIV
If ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Sports Secretary
I'd fine any sportsman his salary for hood-winking the referee
After every judo throw and karate jab above or below the knee
Just when the ball's dribbled to the goal --- for a penalty
Even if the VAR-referee is blind to what we see on TV
That is, if ever I were the Sports Secretary
And this, even if I never ever had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 3, 2018
DON’T FEEL FOR ME
He didn’t choose to Victimize Me
But it so happened
That when He was settling “everyone”;
Putting everyone through
In our anticipated Due Time
Through what we’ve always known
And believed as the Desirable expected end.
He didn’t choose to Victimize Me
When in Me, the scriptures, He Fulfilled
That Eyes have not seen, nor Ear heard
Neither has entered into the Heart of Man.
He didn’t choose to Victimize Me
When after I confessed and proclaimed Him Lord,
His Lordship covers the Route to the Expected End.
@NOVEMBER 2016/ ©M.H.O.G. Unveiled
Related Poems