Jun 24

The sweetest flower that blows,
I give you as we part
For you it is a rose
For me it is my heart

It is the heart that carries one to heaven?
Or the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked?
Who knows?

Mar 9, 2010

If ever
there was a spark in mindless stupid
would it not be the ladies remarking
at scooped cut asphalt
jagged, freeing suffocated Terre?

the most fertile , the most thirsty.

Lush outside. inside the skin?
rancid repulsive desiccation,
a piquant impulse for escaping love.

Mouth's morning wift: gloomy, heavy, smoke.
Eyes: blurrr,
Memory: cashed
Framework: gaunt & yellow, a Purple cadaver among stern Circles, reflecting the Nausea of popularprice

Mr. Hyena wondered and wondered;
Alexander K Opicho

The lion had just lost his dear wife,
Madam lioness a couple of years ago,
She was in the prime of her life,
When she succumbed to deathly udder cancer,
Mr. Lion grieved with all energy of the bereaved beast
To make it worse, he was also terminally ill
Of the vicious lung cancer, boring his windpipes,
That when he respired sweet music came out,
Like classical xylophones of eyeless Mehrun Yurin,

His sons were away commanding respective territories
Each son a territory in the order of traditional monarchy,
No one was to cook for the sick lion, don’t mention washing,
Hence the sons hired the squirrel alias madam Caroline,
She cooked as she did all other chores in the palace,
She was good in a concocting a matchless soup
From white mushrooms and cured goat’s meet,

As Caroline cooked she also sampled by tasting for her perfection
This little by little tasting made her to increase the strength,
Her skin became smooth, her buttocks swell
Her tail became shorter and steady, but very clean,
Her skin very oily and comely, exuding no evil smell,
Her walking style purged to majestic fashion
Even the type of songs she sang
Were not peasant spirituals,
Mr. Hyena wondered and wondered;
Is the squirrel pregnant?

Only to discover she was not,
But she has a new job;
Of cooking for the sick king lion,
Hyena also heard from the public domain
That she often cooks, goat meat and mushrooms,
But the ram tail twice in week; Tuesday and Sunday,
Jealousy and bigotry, malice and prejudice ganged up at once
And gripped the hyena simultaneously,
And swore to himself that come anything;
Spells of sunshine or blizzards of snow,
He must and must; root out the squirrel
From the palace kitchen,

That bright morning he went to the palace,
Singing a Christian song in praise of Lazarus,
Who resurrected from the dead,
He entered the palace still singing,
He commanded every to stand, put off the laurels,
For he wants to pray for the sick,
He made long and noisy circumlocutions of a prayer,
With regular stamping of feet and amen,
Commanding the devil of cancer to leave,
The lungs of the king, the mighty lion.

He said final amen and all sat down
Two sons of the king, the young lions,
Were all in somber moods, their father was sick,

From the kitchen, the squirrel surfaced,
With goats meat on a metallic platter,
He served the sick lion first,
Then each of them present,
On the first taste of food,
Hyena lost control of nerves
His tail jumped out of the white trouser
That he was wearing that day,
He ate voraciously with a crazy appetite,
No such delicious food had ever crossed his way.

He cleared his food first as expected,
Then he kept mum like a stooge,
Only wagging his long tail
His long tongue hanging out
Flagging in avarice like leaves of banana,
When all others stopped eating,
Hyena began in form of a question,
To which the lion’s family listened
Indeed with kingly caution;
Am asking you the king,
Why is Madam Caroline the squirrel,
Eating your food everyday,
And you are dying of a treatable disease,
To which she has the medicine,
Why is she betraying you?
To such a simple death?

All the lions plus the sick one
Jumped to the squirrel with all horror,
For the squirrel to bring the cure
Or the be killed first be the lion dies,
She pleaded for a minute to bring the drug,
Hyena in full gear of happiness
As his friend chews misfortune,

She blamed her small body size to be the  barrier
To bringing the medicine for king lion,
But nonetheless medicine was available,
Lions roared tell us! Where is the medicine?
In a soft voice the squirrel said;
The only cure for this disease of the king,
Is a fresh liver of a male hyena!

The hyena was frozen with surprise,
Like any other foolish bigot,
He begged to leave as his time was over,
No answer came to his request,
Other than abysmal darkness
Of violent death gulfing his body,
King lion drunk Hyena’s blood
In addition to the liver
On the squirrel’s instructions,
The lion became well
And began walking strong,
Out of this joy
King lion  promoted the squirrel
To be a minister of health
In the kings palace.

Bamboo Bean
Bamboo Bean
Mar 23, 2013

icehouse and cigarettes
funny as hell
doesn’t give two shits

Did the laughing hyena
Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul

He spotted the pink swan
Did the laughing hyena
As he giggled on the lawn
Because he had seen her

copyright Chris Smith 2010
like a hyena
Zac The Unicorn

the thunder
makes me grin
like a madwoman

the lightning
makes me laugh
like a hyena

the rain
makes me hide
behind the windows
like a sad

was killed by a brutalised hyena.

A fellow named Timothy Terna,
was killed by a brutalised hyena.
When went him a forest,
to pray at a high crest,
for God to send down bunch of manna.


he had heard hyena as he began to cry

hyenas they are funny the seem to laugh a lot
but there was a sad one whos laugh he had forgot
he just wore a frown when ever he would play
the laugh he used to know was so far away
walking through the jungle he was very sad
he had lost his laugh the only one he had
a friendly little elf who was passing by
he had heard hyena as he began to cry
elf he made a potion  then he made a wish
that hyena he could laugh again with the potion in the dish
hyena drank the potion his laugh it had returned
just to have his laugh back was all he ever yearned

hyena fur, elephant skin
Kyle White
Kyle White
Dec 9, 2011

I am made of Ruins
onion-cutting eyes, phantom limbs

I am made of odds and ends
hyena fur, elephant skin

I am made of bravery
swallowing knives, a kamikaze cause

If only I could mend all that I have torn apart
sew together every loose stitch or broken heart

but I am not made of miracles

Thermal draughts,hyena laughs
John Edward Smallshaw

A rose wine sky
an eagles whine
a clouds floats by, a day so fine wrapped in a shawl
and I shall hear the buzzards call.
Thermal draughts,hyena laughs
Lions roar.
My spirits soar,
I am set free,
the day becomes a part of me.

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