Brian Goosen
Brian Goosen
1 day ago

"In this moment I'm sad to say,
Sad to say I can't be with you today.

Nonetheless you're in my heart,
In my heart like we're never apart.

I in you and you in me,
I'm in this for the long haul, baby you will see.

See my passion & see my heart,
See how I'll show you, you're forever in my heart.

But thats not enough, and this I understand,
Because the way you think weighs in on making me your man.

Thoughts become who we are, that's why I am you. I hope you're me, and not just too.

Lastly my soul, for I am willing to give.
Give you all of me baby, because that's what a relationship is."

This was my first try at poetry, to my girlfriend on Valentines day.
Sedoo Ashivor
Sedoo Ashivor
1 day ago

Smoke rises steadily from the
Rafters of her thatched hut
She's inside, her overworked back
Bent over the open fire
Three blackened stones
Support her blackened iron pot
It has cooked many a meal
For her family's suppers
She adjusts the wood
Embers crackle as sparks fly
Heat rises to her face, toughened
by regular dialogue with cooking flames

She exits the hut
Crouching through the entrance
a calabash in her calloused hands
Rivulets of sweat,
hang over her tired brow
She unties the edge of her wrapper
Wipes her face with the worn fabric
Dusty, and now damp from moisture
She has been at the farm
Clearing away the weeds
that steal her crops' nutrients
Her children that often
accompany her to work
are hungry

A large stainless tray
Sits squarely in the middle
with mounds of white fufu
Two small calabashes
hold the soups
Five children surround,
salivating, swallowing
well-sized lumps
of the starchy staple,
Smiling at the pleasure
of a delicious meal.
One mother looks on,

Tiv - An ethnic group, situated in Benue State, Nigeria.
Calabash - A gourd used for eating and drinking.
Wrapper - A print cloth tied around the waist by women in West Africa.
Fufu - A dough made from fermented cassava.
#life   #woman   #african  
Jemimah Keren A Carag

I held my phone.
And started to scan your pictures.
Strong surges of nostalgia pile up.
Memories became a movie in my head.

You texted me.
"How are you?"
My mind's shouting
"Im not fine. I miss you so bad and it hurts this much."

Thoughts are clouding my mind.
What ifs get under way.
Why did we end up like this?
What have we done to each other?

A war in my mind's in climax
I cant get you out of my mind.
How's me? I dont know. I dont know.
You left me. I think Im fine. Really.

The night's soon to end or so I thought?
The sun will come out in any minute to welcome me.
You were like the moon, you left me in my darkest moment.
And I still have no sun to shelter me.

I was drunk with my thoughts of you.
My eyes are blurry because of tears.
My tears drown me in bed.
I am wrecked.

My senses are tired.
They kept on shouting for me to take a glance at them.
I ignored them when you left me.
I havent been okay since then, I guess.

The city is so busy like me.
Im tired, Im leaving now.
Now ask me before I go:
"How are you?"
I'll be fine. I hope you miss me too.

A lifeless girl in bed with a letter beside her was found.

It's just my thoughts.
#love   #life   #lost   #story   #tragic   #missing   #letter   #note   #lifeless   #kills  
  16m  Nigel Finn
Apr 17, 2014


    When she cries herself to sleep
    six out of seven nights a week you must
    say nothing. You must simply take
    her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
    pale cheeks and wait for her to
    slumber at the sound of your heart.


    On the days where she wishes she
    were part of the stars, tell her
    no. Tell her that there are too many
    lights in the sky and that just one
    would be forgotten the moment you looked
    away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
    the way she is: completely human.


     Don't let her think about the scars
     that no one but her can see. If she
     says "I think I'm broken" smile like you
     know a secret and say, "No, you're mending."
     But do not be the one to fix her - no, she
     must be the one to do it herself, and you
     merely are there to quietly encourage her.


     Read her poetry (even if you are
     not a poet), the kind that uses
     flowery words and compares girls to
     the moon; the kind that you will
     rewrite for her. Make her a warrior.
     Make her a goddess with eyes like a
     wolf's and a smile like a tiger's.


     Laugh with her the first thing in
     the morning and the last thing before
     you fall asleep. Tell her cheap puns
     that you've been thinking of for weeks.
     And when she smiles - the type of smile
     that could bring you to your knees if
     you aren't careful - know that for the
     moment, she's yours. She is whole.


    Love her. Love her like a fish loves
    the sea or a bird loves the sky. Love
    her in the way that your heart feels like
    it's going to burst at any moment every
    time it beats. Love her skin and the way
    it feels against your own, soft and warm
    and utterly flawless. Love her for the way
    her voice trembles when she can't keep it
    together anymore and love her when she
    holds onto you as if you were the only
    thing that was keeping her alive.


     Love her, because some days she just can't do it herself.

I cannot forget with what fervid devotion
  I worshipped the vision of verse and of fame.
Each gaze at the glories of earth, sky, and ocean,
  To my kindled emotions, was wind over flame.

And deep were my musings in life's early blossom,
  Mid the twilight of mountain groves wandering long;
How thrilled my young veins, and how throbbed my full bosom,
  When o'er me descended the spirit of song.

'Mong the deep-cloven fells that for ages had listened
  To the rush of the pebble-paved river between,
Where the kingfisher screamed and gray precipice glistened,
  All breathless with awe have I gazed on the scene;

Till I felt the dark power o'er my reveries stealing,
  From his throne in the depth of that stern solitude,
And he breathed through my lips, in that tempest of feeling,
  Strains lofty or tender, though artless and rude.

Bright visions! I mixed with the world, and ye faded;
  No longer your pure rural worshipper now;
In the haunts your continual presence pervaded,
  Ye shrink from the signet of care on my brow.

In the old mossy groves on the breast of the mountain,
  In deep lonely glens where the waters complain,
By the shade of the rock, by the gush of the fountain,
  I seek your loved footsteps, but seek them in vain.

Oh, leave not, forlorn and for ever forsaken,
  Your pupil and victim to life and its tears!
But sometimes return, and in mercy awaken
  The glories ye showed to his earlier years.

JM Romig
JM Romig
1 hour ago

Let me draw you
a Venn Diagram:
This circle represents the sum total of my beeswax.
It’s solid, most of it.
Some of it, not so much.
All of it is mine.
This circle,
way over here,
is your beeswax.
Notice how the circles do not overlap.
We are not Beeswax Partners.
We are not in Beeswax together.
We are not even in the same beeswax separately.
Yours is your own.
Mine is mine.
So why are you all up in my beeswax?
Got your nose tilted up in the air
looking down on my beeswax?
I did not invite you to poke, sniff, lick
or otherwise analyze my beeswax.
I don’t crowdsource my beeswax criticism.
But as long as we’re talking shop,
lemmie say this:
I handle my beeswax.
My Honey is golden and sweet.
My Hive is healthy.
You need not worry about me.
My beeswax is good.
You, on the other hand.
I can see from here
your Honey is dim and almost burnt orange.
Your Hive is on the brink of colony collapse.
This should worry you
because none of that is good for beeswax.
I would suggest you take preventive measures
In short, mind your own,
tend your garden, as they say.
But I won’t meddle any further.
As I said before,
your beeswax
is none of mine.

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