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Maclawrence Famuyiwa Poem
My fingers are already aching,
their muscles weary, spent, and tired.
Sweat soaks through my singlet,
my eyes grow heavy, begging for sleep,
to pay back seventy-two hours denied.
Yet each of my writes lies in his bin,
the sponsor never seems to tire
of casting them there with careless joy.
Perhaps that brings him most delight—
a cross my restless heart must bear.
Would it not be better to run the race
on a track, not behind a screen?
I could have run forty-two miles
in less than two hours, breaking the world record,
instead of these seventy-two with no glory.
There’s even a method to this madness:
twenty-seven contests in a row,
each confined to less than forty-three lines,
echoing marathons run on the track.
But my ink has dried, my paper stays blank.
I restrain my heartache deep within,
lest it spill across my face,
where anger and discouragement dwell,
hidden beneath facial creams and wry smiles,
till after work removed their weary veils.
Each night, each burdened weekday,
and each night, each joyless weekend,
I do my laundry, I eat my meals,
over the silence of this same paper,
still waiting for its first word.
So tonight, I beg you, Sleep:
take away this sleeplessness.
For poems are better written in dreams.
Leave me there till I craft a masterpiece—
one no sponsor can ever deny its glory.
Copyright © Maclawrence Famuyiwa | Year Posted 2025
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Maclawrence Famuyiwa Poem
Peacock
Bright feathers
Graceful and proud
Rainbow shimmering in sun
Beautiful
Beautiful
Male peafowl
Magnificent courting display
Elegance in every motion
Majestic
Majestic
Iridescent plumage
Tall and slender
National bird of India
Revered
Revered
Timeless treasure
Feathers like blueberries
Loved across the world
Adorable
An elfchen chain
Written 19th January, 2025.
Copyright © Maclawrence Famuyiwa | Year Posted 2025
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Maclawrence Famuyiwa Poem
A full glass of red wine,
each time I choose to dine.
It always makes me feel fine,
as if I need it to always shine.
In my body, it builds a shrine:
it's my own sacred lifeline.
I got it from a grapevine,
A bond I entwine,
as now mine:
online
in line,
It's divine.
I can never again decline.
It isn't for a drinking spree.
A glass a day brings joy to me.
Not as much alcohol as in spirit,
to get drunk on it, I definitely flee.
so as to get good health for free
and light my heart up with glee.
Like taking a cup of tea.
Longlife, just the key,
Doctors' plea.
As I see.
I agree.
Let it be.
On my knee.
With health, can't be carefree.
Copyright © Maclawrence Famuyiwa | Year Posted 2024
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Maclawrence Famuyiwa Poem
‘When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.’ - Lauren Eden
.................................................................................
my pains depart not
even when my tear glands d r y
as sorrow remains my life’s most loyal friend
it bothers not to knock before drawing near
just since
I was wrested away from my mother’s breast
as she e x h a l e d
her last breath in creeping agony
two years after my father was jailed for life~
his crime
the same blood that now pulses within my veins
then....
hatred was s e w n
into a grim dress that h a u n t s
t o r m e n t i n g my nights and days,
never ceasing
my mouth
s t r i p p e d
as hunger cries pierced through my ribs
love~
a drifter who shuns my h o l l o w abode
yet sings with a l o u d voice in my friends’ homes
caressing
only when hatred
h i d e s a w a y
loitering in the streets,
refusing to
step
inside
my good friend~
when I smoke thick marijuana
draining strong gin bottles till nothing remains
when I sniff the white powder, chasing a trip
one that will carry me straight to my father
Copyright © Maclawrence Famuyiwa | Year Posted 2025
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Maclawrence Famuyiwa Poem
Like a ticking clock~
a drum’s rhythm in darkness...
wings f l u t t e r i n g
within
a sky inside me.
Copyright © Maclawrence Famuyiwa | Year Posted 2025
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Maclawrence Famuyiwa Poem
I watched as silence danced with shadows,
Playing the melody sung by my mind.
Its blanket covered the darkness—
broken only by a ray of light through a crack in the cave wall.
I groped through the dark toward the stone,
but the gale was too thick for my arms to swim.
I imagined a ghost whispering—
yet only silence listened.
Echoes, like thunder in a deep ocean,
ricocheted fear like a trap set to spring.
Ghosts rushed out from the corners they lurked—
only for me to hear silence whisper: “Come out of there.”
Its voice flowed like a river of serenity through a forest.
I begged silence to stop its torment,
but it had ears that could not hear.
I tried to run, but a boulder blocked my path.
Then I screamed.
It was then I knew—
the light coming through the crack was my father’s flashlight.
Copyright © Maclawrence Famuyiwa | Year Posted 2025
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Maclawrence Famuyiwa Poem
A good wife is the best treasure to own~
Gemstone none can detest,
A light—darkness can't arrest,
Peace she brings none can contest.
Copyright © Maclawrence Famuyiwa | Year Posted 2025
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Maclawrence Famuyiwa Poem
My love garden remains unweeded,
Each planted flower slowly wilting.
A shadow spreads across my sunlight,
And a storm lingers without rainfall.
Sad teardrops fall from my broken heart,
No blood shed, yet my worlds fall apart.
Agony, sorrow, deep dejection—
Reflections in my shattered mirror.
My tear burns hot enough to bake bread,
Depression drapes a cloak on my head.
Love tortures like a lonely scarecrow,
Left to frighten birds in a rice field.
The bridge between our hearts lies broken,
Our love drifted with the tidal wave,
To an abyss filled with just sorrow,
Leaving my heart without tomorrow.
Copyright © Maclawrence Famuyiwa | Year Posted 2025
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Maclawrence Famuyiwa Poem
Very brutal by nature my mind can confirm,
Poetry marathoners need a cap laced with wisdom,
To grace the desired seats of battlescarred warriors,
The skillet must still burn hotter than Hades.
Surely Marathons are run with endurance and persistence,
So is this one, for my goals are lofty.
Though I lack great speed, power, and technique,
My oak must stand deep-rooted through the storms.
My drafts litter bins as torn scraps of junk,
Haters blot the ink of my masterpiece.
Negativity weighs on my frail shoulder,
Yet my resolve stands steadfast on aching feet.
But no one can deny good poems their glory.
Like smoke they escape all traps and dissipate,
Clutching throats to make their presence felt.
All I need do is write—and hope.
The songs that masterpieces sing
Are heard by the deaf and sung by the dumb.
Their rhythm washes away the dust of imperfection;
They heal the soul and soothe the mind of sorrow.
So, my pen, fill yourself with ink of perfection.
Write on this paper I lay before you—
Another poem no sponsor can deny the top prize.
Write before the last drop runs dry.
Copyright © Maclawrence Famuyiwa | Year Posted 2025
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Maclawrence Famuyiwa Poem
Name of Contest: Listen to the Wind
Sponsor's Name: Constance La France
Date Written: 5th September, 2025.
Poem Placement: Second
The speech of the winds is understood not by the ears but by the eyes— By Poet.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not only does the wind sing — it speaks too,
At times in whispers, at times it thunders,
Strangely enough, humans know its language,
For it speaks in our various native tongue.
It foretells the course of natural events—
when rains will fall, when long dry spells will reign,
when nature rages and seeks appeasement from us,
And when its pleasures, too, it longs to share with glee.
Though all may hear, but only a few discern—
those who attend the whispers of the wind;
They are deemed wise, for wisdom rules their minds,
They make hay when sun shines, and store for rainy days.
No day goes by without the wind making speech,
Yet we're thrilled more by its song than by counsel.
Still it speaks, so it behooves on us to listen.
Not that it speaks in a tongue too strange for us—
yet some ears remain deaf to what it says;
But no eyes are blind to all it reveals,
So if ears hear none, the eyes will yet see all.
Copyright © Maclawrence Famuyiwa | Year Posted 2025
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