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Elvis Wanjohi Poem
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Remember when I was eight,watching the secrets of the night unveil with sunrise as the dark clouds rolled away?
Remember us chasing the gold of sunset?
Remember teaching me how to hammer nails into wood and to claw out the broken ones?
Damn
How that taught me to prune sadness into smiles
And nail my ruins to a picture perfect soul.
You were seventy
But you became eight years old again.
You taught me to be stubborn,
And swim through the sands of time.
You were my friend
Till I realised you were my grandfather.
_80 secrets_
Elliepoet™
Copyright © Elvis Wanjohi | Year Posted 2017
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Elvis Wanjohi Poem
She stretched her hand out into the sky
As if she was pulling the sun's rays into her palms.
Her legs moved with such grace,
And there was beauty in the chaos of her unmeasured steps. There was no music,
But her dress had the prettiest whirlpool every time she spun.
Her hips swayed with a majestic motion
Hypnotic to the eye
Seductive to the soul.
She was like a star,
Only obsession could reach
Away she danced into the sunset
Till she was a silhouette echoing the fading horizon.
She blew a kiss
She blew my mind
She skipped away into the night
I skipped a heartbeat
The next day,
Only a few drunken love rhymes on the wall behind where she performed were left.
Oh
And a throbbing lump in my heart.
One sad poet's heart wasn't trophy enough.
Onto the next city she went
On and on
The show never stops
The dancer
Elliepoet
Copyright © Elvis Wanjohi | Year Posted 2018
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Elvis Wanjohi Poem
I see your beauty,
Beyond denial.
Surrounded by hungry flames,
I see his bones feeding them,
He loved you to pieces.
And even with his final breath dwindling in those flames he still whispered.
_I love you_
And now your platinum claws,
With a hypnotic purple dripping from those smooth tips,
Turn my knees to jelly,
Calling me,
As a chaotic rainbow of seduction gleams on your lips,
And spills onto your leather lingerie,
I can feel the fear in me morphing into desire for you.
Your name is the only thing I can breathe to.
But I take a gun and sink some lead into my feet to slow them down.
I break my neck to loosen the stare before I turn to a pillar of salt.
I pluck my eyes because one more second of your magnificence and I will be another meal for the flames.
And slowly my shadow disappears from the tips of your coffee brown feet.
I have won the battle.
But am not sure of the war.
_lovephobic_
Elliepoet™
Copyright © Elvis Wanjohi | Year Posted 2017
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Elvis Wanjohi Poem
I became a creative in order to express myself. I realized at an early age that I was what you'd call a reject of the system. I poured out of every package they try to put me in and questioned everything, rather than seeking the comfort of accepting all that was put in front of me. I however live in quite a sad era. An era where people have found comfort in their chains and proudly call that freedom. An era where most teenagers are just a replica of a model continuously flashed in their faces through the screens that think for them. Am alive where almost nobody is themselves, because they sold that option, in exchange for the struggle to become society's picture perfect. A society fueled by the ignorance of its members and kept upright by their conformity. If a man can believe that an invisible man in the sky killed himself to save mankind from himself, then the bar has been set as low as anything being believable. Dogma then thrives and propaganda becomes an effortless input .The majority is turned into a herd, always looking down at themselves, unable to look up and realize who is pulling the strings. The minority sells a solution to a problem they created, instilling a secondary hunger to the unquestioning majority. Another example of a sad reality is, even in this era, called the Golden Age of Information, it is deemed fashionable to flaunt scientific ignorance. The search for celebrity gossip is highly esteemed, while the search for knowledge is seen as "boring "and "useless ".The education system creates robots, who claim their smartness by repeating whatever they are taught. Robots that labour to feed systems and governments, while their enslavement is sugarcoated with words such as "ambition " and "success ".Systems are successful if those entrapped inside them don't even know they are prisoners.Systems thrive on people not questioning, for questioning makes people think differently, and different is not predictable. Systems want everyone to be the same, for it is very easy to control what you can predict. By that ,people end up becoming part of a problem. A problem that in whatever form, feeds their leaders. It's a sadder state in my continent(Africa) where the mental imprisonment of our people is a feast, not only for our equally blind leaders, but also for the Western world and whoever else .I guess we close our eyes till we slept.
#society 1
Elliepoet
Copyright © Elvis Wanjohi | Year Posted 2018
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Elvis Wanjohi Poem
Chris stared at her dripping mess and held his urge to dick her down. Her hands were on her knees, keeping herself wide and on display. She was an exhibisionist of sorts and she was a masterpiece. Chris rubbed his tip at the entrance of her pussy, making her writh in utter surrender. He loved control and she loved how he owned her. He moved it up and down, before driving his eight inch obsidian rod into her, faster than her body could adjust to his size.The shock of sudden penetration made her growl as he anchored his hands firmly on her thick buttcheeks. Mitchell enjoyed the speed at which he was pounding into her. "You love getting filled? ",he asked Mitchell as he rammed deeper into her. She could only respond by moaning louder. Her hands massaged his head between her well rounded breasts and trapped it in between them. Mitchell wanted to be on top. She said it amongst broken syllables and Chris had satisfied his hunger for control. She squated right above his melanin piece of wood and slowly pushed it into her drenched donut. She opened her mouth wide, as it dissapeared between her quivering lips. She bounced on it, her huge ass clapping the rhythm. She placed her hands on his chest almost driving him into the stairs. Soon, Chris came into her. She felt like it was a tiny volcano inside of her and she couldn't help but blush. Chris wanted to make her cum too. Partly because he knew it made her wild with joy and partly to satisfy his ego. He bent her over and spanked his naughty little minx before parting her yoghurt buttcheeks with her own hands and once again drilling her core furiously. He grabbed her hair just the way she liked. The slapping noises made him drive her off the edge and push her into a waterfall of orgasm, as she splashed all over his dick and balls. He now went into her while holding her breast, till he collapsed onto her. He carried his princess to bed and slid beneath the duvet behind her. His hands once again caged her bouncy tits as his lips stayed pressed onto her neck. "You're beautiful babe ",he managed to whisper. "You're a horse ",she retorted, as she grabbed his half-erect rod. "My horse ",she purred. Chris squeezed Mitchell closer to him, as he rested his extension between her warm buttcheeks. He loved the smell of her aftersex hair. He loved feeling her chest rise and fall as she breathed her way to sleep. She slept thinking how kinky it would be if his cock would sleep in her all night, or if she woke up in the middle of the night to find him licking her pussy back to sleep. Mitchell woke up earlier than Chris.She had to check in for work. He woke up to the breathtaking sight of Mitchell stark naked looking for her shoes. He hungrily kissed both of her buttcheeks and pulled her back into bed. "B...b.. But I'll be late... ",she tried to protest. "Call in sick, am not done with you ",Chris replied.
Thanks for taking your time. Leave a comment
????
Copyright © Elvis Wanjohi | Year Posted 2018
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Elvis Wanjohi Poem
*IF* THIS IS *DEMOCRACY* THEN *I DON'T WANT IT*
If democracy means gunshots at night
Fires in the streets
And the women and children cry in screams
Then I don't want it
If democracy means
Queuing in peace with strangers to vote
Then locking myself in the house in fear for days
Then I don't want it
If democracy means
Some citizens celebrating at KICC
And other citizens can't help but bleed
Then I don't want it
If democracy means
Me blocking my Facebook friends
Because we can't chat without political insults
Then I don't want it
If democracy means
Half of the country gloating their man has won
And another seeks revenge cause their man has lost
Then I don't want it
If democracy means
The friends I have made over the years
Become my enemies every five years
Then I don't want it
If democracy means
A biased media that tells the story of one side of Kenya
And ignores the other side of Kenya
Then I don't want it
If democracy means
Me supporting my candidate no matter the wrongs he or she does
And you defending your candidate even if he or she is a criminal
Then I don't want it
If democracy means
Me using God's name in vain
Claiming my candidate is God's choice and yours is the devil's
Then I don't want it
If democracy means
Pastors losing integrity to support a candidate
And we lose our soul in the name of corruption
Then I don't want it
If democracy
Will keep away good leaders from stepping up
Because they fear how dirty politics is
Then I don't want it
If democracy
Means a game of losers and winners
Yet we are all in this country together
Then I don't want it
If democracy means
Opportunistic people coming to beg for our vote
Then they ignore us and plunder for five years
Then I don't want it
If democracy
Will divide us into tribes and economic classes
And make me see people as statistics
Then I don't want it
If democracy
Will make me less loving
And I with the majority lord over the minority
Then I don't want it
The system of Government I want
Is love, equity, progress and togetherness
I want the social aspect we Africans used to have
Before we were introduced to a system of winners and losers
And don't tell me about America
Don't tell me we compare ourselves with America
We didn't gain our independence to be copy cats
We gained our independence so that each one of us can enjoy this country
If one of us feels less of a Kenyan
Then we have failed as a nation
(not.mine. but writer asked for secrecy)
Copyright © Elvis Wanjohi | Year Posted 2017
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Elvis Wanjohi Poem
The clouds haven't dropped any lower, nor the sun grown any dimmer. The birds still sing every morning, and the cat still muses atop the roof every evening. Everything is as it usually is, and perhaps that's what drives me crazy the most. How can everything out there be so serene, while I can barely grab a hold of my own thoughts? Or maybe nature fails to mourn, for in a way unknown to we, you still live on.
Maybe it is in the thoughts of your mystery, that you live on. The more we wonder about you, as a mystery, the closer we feel you. It is as if the mouth of the everhungry earth opens up, and allows you to whisper unto us. You are hard to forget .Perhaps this pain is the souvenir you left in us ,a skipped beat every minute, and a sharp tear before bedtime .As the flowers perched upon your grave blossom, fall and blossom again, so do your memories, making tides in the spaces of our hearts, only you could occupy. Farewell.
Elegy to my cobbler
Elliepoet
Copyright © Elvis Wanjohi | Year Posted 2018
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Elvis Wanjohi Poem
Only solitude and pain,
Can blend into such beautiful damage.
Poetry,
A stage,
A crowd.
I was my own creator and destroyer.
I opened deep parts of myself,
For strangers in dim light.
The applause silenced the sound of the ever_forming cracks in my heart,
The silence allowed my sorrow to have a voice.
The mic painted the pictures loudly,
Three rounds on stage,
Three circles to run around my head.
But I can write,
About the beautiful girl backstage,
Who used her smile as a shield from sympathy.
A warm heart,
Facing an avalanche.
A rose,
Torn apart by her own thorns.
Beautiful voice,
Ugly echoes.
She was beautiful,
She still is.
Or the guy beside me.
Master of language,
Slave to pain.
Or the other guy.
Loud eyes,
Silent voice.
Short poem,
Long story.
It was just yesterday,
But tomorrow drags it further away from today and it makes me sad.
I hope I never get used to the feeling.
I got used to depression,
Now am too weak to die.
If I get used to happiness,
I might be too weak to smile.
It's poetry,
It's drugs,
Am having,
A freaking hangover.
Elliepoet
Copyright © Elvis Wanjohi | Year Posted 2018
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Elvis Wanjohi Poem
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I want a girl,
Who will kiss me with ferocity
Every second the limelight is not creating a cyan wall between our lips.
Her voice will slide into the caven hearts of the pacified crowds and awaken their chaos.
As we spin poetry like magic and sink ourselves into the deepest crevices of people.
And our duet will be a mixture of red wine and white lies.
Her body will read my words and desire will lust at our love.
It will be a tango of berserk meets crazy.
I want she who will undress my walls and make love to my thoughts
As she pulls me in to her deepest secrets
Where it neither dawns nor sets.
I want her to be the light my dark poetry thirsts for
And the life my fantasies starve without.
Long natural hair.
A smile that looks like crescent moon bathing in the ocean above ,naked of clouds.
Lips that have an unnatural shade of strawberry or lilac flame.
Eyes
Shimmering like broken glass suffering the touch of rainbow in sunset.
Skin
Flowing like a caramel waterfall descending to a precipice of hot chocolate.
Her touch
Making my body collapse to the overwhelming surge of feminine power and seduction.
A poet
An artist
Or both
A creature that will tame my madness with hers.
One that will encompass all that I am and make the ring snatch itself from my pocket.
One that will see through my past and my flaws
One that will rise through the heap of snow that monuments the right side of my bed and consume us into one fire.
_Mrs.Elliepoet™?_
Elliepoet™ ft Sabrina
Copyright © Elvis Wanjohi | Year Posted 2017
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Elvis Wanjohi Poem
It's as if the world stopped,
And the dust off the stars caked onto her skin,
And when it's sunset,
Am not really sure whether it's the bright circle above her head,
Or the flames in her golden brown eyes,
Brought to life by zephyrs of humming angels and demons in an orchestra,
Her hair is a vineyard,
And my fingers are vixen,
Waiting to chase each other through it,
She's a stamp of nature at full blossom,
All the beauty synchronized with chaos to paint a portrait of effortless yet lethal seduction.
Nature I want to conserve,
Her,
I want to ruin with kisses.
_??_
Elliepoet™
Copyright © Elvis Wanjohi | Year Posted 2017
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