To me
Life is like riding a bicycle
Through the lane of age
Pedaling
Starts with pleasure
Excitement and fun
Skin
Streams like butter
Beneath the sun
Like kids
Eating apple, every bite
Calls for another
I'd wish
I pedalled for long
Not until I got fatigue
After
Bumping on different
Depression along the road
I'd once
Try to stopped by a catchment
But a belt reached to held my breath
Life ends
When no strength
Wait on the feet again
-- Josh Pampam ©
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 5:55 AM UTC
Yesteryear, I flowed
Into the soil of my mother,
Like an injection through the skin;
I roamed about in circle
To stop her monthly cycle
Before I sprouted out a stem.
In days agone,
I almost lost my hair to the tray,
That sit on my head like leaf on trees;
A tray filled with fried fishes.
As I walked the street,
Dust would cloud my feet,
But now, I've grown a little,
Tray era is now -- a train of dress.
In other days buried long ago,
I used to be a Vulture,
Who feeds on others' art
To contain my hunger for writing.
But now, I'm a beast whose through study,
I feast on words to fend myself.
I was a stoic, a stubborn boy
In school days gone now.
Whose skin, a night without moon
And clothes -- the cloud at night.
But now, I am the ray of sun
That peeps through the curtains of life.
Gone are those days,
I used to be a clueless lad
Who mar words for fun.
Literature found me
And turned me into a gardener
Who wreathes words on the sheet.
Josh Wealth Pampam ©
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 6:03 AM UTC
Date: May 12, 2020
Subject: The door.
Go and open the door.
Maybe there's
A feather, a fur
or a flesh
Under
The charcoal sky.
Go and open the door.
Maybe
The leaves'
Thrums
Is whispering a word.
Go and open the door.
If there's
Mizzle
Soon it will stop.
Go and open the door.
Even if there are
No stamping, no squeals
Of sirens.
If only
The wind
Wanders,
Go and open the door.
At least,
There will be
Some scraps.
Graced pen ®
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 3:53 AM UTC
Crimsoned eyes
walked
helter-skelter
In the room
laced with darkness.
Thumping heart;
whirring fan
painted the scene in blue
Shriveled sounds
sneaked into our ear
as we peak from the window.
Josh Wealth Pampam ©
6/11/20 16:13 GMT
Dec 10, 2020
Dec 10, 2020 at 8:11 AM UTC
You're an eggplant with brunet skin
Sometimes, you are white tinged with green
Your taste tints my tongue with sourness
But fades leaving by traces of sweetness
Your svelte, stately, and sonsy figure
Always fills my eyes with azure
Yet, my lips long for you.
Josh Wealth Pampam ©
16/10/20 12:45 GMT
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 5:26 PM UTC
Where are they that went asleep?
The ones we had, but ne'er keep
Right here in front of our eyes
They flared away in the sky
Yet, we pet our mind not to fret
As if we knew the world they went.
Josh Wealth Pampam ©
Micro poem
Nov 30, 2020
Nov 30, 2020 at 8:14 AM UTC
He rested
on the shoulder
of a tree -- with his
crimsoned eyes.
Stripes of sweat walked on his face
as thoughts sought his attention.
Works
had eaten up his strength
and wreathed
his body with aches.
His clothes, like a sun soaked sack;
caked the air with cruel smells.
Lost
in the coo that stood
on his lips -- psyche
left him for home,
As he watched the sapplings-
bid them bye.
He was a big fish
in a small pond,
Before the drought.
Josh Wealth Pampam ©
25/10/20 GMT 13:22
Nov 25, 2020
Nov 25, 2020 at 8:22 AM UTC
Eyes walked helter-skelter in the pool of darkness.
Thumps and whirrings stuffed the silence
as limp moans moused into the air.
Josh Wealth Pampam ©
Micro poem
Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 3:24 AM UTC
Our father flattered culture,
they laced life with every bit of it;
they veiled our skin, blackened our eyes
and handed our heart in its hand.
They concocted faith with custom,
fed it to our slender mentality;
they sharpened their words with cliche
and sliced our future into fries.
They said the sun scavenge souls,
with the sharp-toothed ray it sway;
they said the moon mint mind,
with dews of thought it drops at dusk.
They said the blue in the sky,
symbolise a world of biles;
they said the smoke trekking on it,
will curb it from hurting our psyche.
So they cooped us in a shed
and fed us with their sweat;
now that their aids is scarce,
shouldn't we all disperse --
to either make a change
or find a way to live.
Josh Wealth Pampam ©
25/10/20 14:14 GMT
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 4:26 PM UTC