munch-gee - Hello Poetry

I know it isn't fair, But there's always a slight favourite. She has a fountain of tea-red curly hair, A gangly teenager, half moon of a woman. I don't know why she stands out But she emanates a warmth She is a child Pinterest threw up She is fairy lights, post its and posters. with bells in her voice she sings in a husky deep has no idea how talented how emotionally brave and strong she is. She writes beautiful, heartfelt poetry With an envious ease and earn praise. "Miss, I want to join Human Resources when i'm older" She joyfully proclaims. "There's nothing wrong with HR..." I try my diplomatic side, But you were born to be an artist It says so in your defining eyes.

0

Nov 20, 2017

Nov 20, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC

Curls

I know it isn't fair, But there's always a slight favourite. She has a fountain of tea-red curly hair, A gangly teenager, half moon of a woman. I don't know why she stands out But she emanates a warmth She is a child Pinterest threw up She is fairy lights, post its and posters. with bells in her voice she sings in a husky deep has no idea how talented how emotionally brave and strong she is. She writes beautiful, heartfelt poetry With an envious ease and earn praise. "Miss, I want to join Human Resources when i'm older" She joyfully proclaims. "There's nothing wrong with HR..." I try my diplomatic side, But you were born to be an artist It says so in your defining eyes.

20

My maid broke up today. Something I never thought I’d have to say. In my bouncing babyish bubble, She doesn’t have a love life, She doesn’t have a say. She must continue To iron the shirts, To make the tea, To cook tomorrows meal, To keep us going When inside She is broken. I stopped to ask her If we could go catch a movie. A paltry solution For a fragmented life Her world must be. She must have been disgusted That I thought mere fiction Would fix her reality. I hurt rather than help. She helps through her heart unmet. She doesn’t have any girl friends Or a mother to lean on. She must hold back her tears, And bear it to the bone. She is a real woman A woman in love Who can’t afford to wallow, Or other privileged stuff. I suggested a day of, maybe a week, But an idle mind may make her more weak. Nothing can repair her broken dreams, Of being a bride wed, Of sharing a bed, Of someone she could call her own. All of this she silently must mourn. How distant we are, that I cannot reach her, Or comfort her, or soothe her ruptured nerves. This is a life no one deserves.

0

Nov 20, 2017

Nov 20, 2017 at 12:00 AM UTC

Unmade

My maid broke up today. Something I never thought I’d have to say. In my bouncing babyish bubble, She doesn’t have a love life, She doesn’t have a say. She must continue To iron the shirts, To make the tea, To cook tomorrows meal, To keep us going When inside She is broken. I stopped to ask her If we could go catch a movie. A paltry solution For a fragmented life Her world must be. She must have been disgusted That I thought mere fiction Would fix her reality. I hurt rather than help. She helps through her heart unmet. She doesn’t have any girl friends Or a mother to lean on. She must hold back her tears, And bear it to the bone. She is a real woman A woman in love Who can’t afford to wallow, Or other privileged stuff. I suggested a day of, maybe a week, But an idle mind may make her more weak. Nothing can repair her broken dreams, Of being a bride wed, Of sharing a bed, Of someone she could call her own. All of this she silently must mourn. How distant we are, that I cannot reach her, Or comfort her, or soothe her ruptured nerves. This is a life no one deserves.

41

When I was 15 I heard a song That I though I'd love For all along. But by 20 that song Didn't have the same ring It sounded wrong It didn't bring The same feeling. I told the next song I loved That this love probably woudn't last The song and I pushed and shoved Soon the song was of the past. A near decade I went through some songs Hardly a week, a month...not long Every beat sounds good In a drunken whirl But all they did, was make me hurl. And now nearing 30 I have come into my own. Happened upon a song That's been playing a near two years long. I wasn't obsessed. Didn't play it on loop The song, a subtle soundtrack A swift shot through the hoop.

0

Nov 19, 2017

Nov 19, 2017 at 12:38 AM UTC

The Song

When I was 15 I heard a song That I though I'd love For all along. But by 20 that song Didn't have the same ring It sounded wrong It didn't bring The same feeling. I told the next song I loved That this love probably woudn't last The song and I pushed and shoved Soon the song was of the past. A near decade I went through some songs Hardly a week, a month...not long Every beat sounds good In a drunken whirl But all they did, was make me hurl. And now nearing 30 I have come into my own. Happened upon a song That's been playing a near two years long. I wasn't obsessed. Didn't play it on loop The song, a subtle soundtrack A swift shot through the hoop.

25

A daily drunken father A mother who waits for death A house unkempt The bills just almost paid. Bed wetting. The "games" the older boys played "Visitors" while asleep The crush who liked your friend The pain that ran too deep. Disorganised language. The boyfriend who never called the bouts of crying making sense of it all The endless assignments due. The crticism, first class and thesis too. Feeling a presence of "God" The boy you both liked and not The one who confused you a lot Working till 5 am On market research again and again Delusions. The confusion that grew and grew The heightened senses that were all but true Connecting colossal dots A higher calling and the lot. Hearing voices. Everyone is watching me I have no privacy My phone is tapped And i am trapped Everyone wearing a disguise Filling my head with lies. Paranoia. A book that burst it's way Out of me and held sway Jesus's commands Abiding by his demands. Grandiose delusions. Mountain highs and abyss lows Shabby clothes, things all over the floor Manic shopping sprees Poems buzz in my head like bees Barely staying awake Not much from me to take Mania and Apathy. "You left this group" Disabled Facebook Backed out of the hen night Everything wrong seems right Socially withdrawn. Smoking a near pack Unironed clothes and slack Persistent thoughts of death Messy hair and dried up sweat. Suicidal thoughts. A drunken father still A mother barely paying the bills Still afraid to soundly sleep A slow descent of sanity, slow and steep.

0

Nov 14, 2017

Nov 14, 2017 at 12:22 PM UTC

What cost me my sanity

A daily drunken father A mother who waits for death A house unkempt The bills just almost paid. Bed wetting. The "games" the older boys played "Visitors" while asleep The crush who liked your friend The pain that ran too deep. Disorganised language. The boyfriend who never called the bouts of crying making sense of it all The endless assignments due. The crticism, first class and thesis too. Feeling a presence of "God" The boy you both liked and not The one who confused you a lot Working till 5 am On market research again and again Delusions. The confusion that grew and grew The heightened senses that were all but true Connecting colossal dots A higher calling and the lot. Hearing voices. Everyone is watching me I have no privacy My phone is tapped And i am trapped Everyone wearing a disguise Filling my head with lies. Paranoia. A book that burst it's way Out of me and held sway Jesus's commands Abiding by his demands. Grandiose delusions. Mountain highs and abyss lows Shabby clothes, things all over the floor Manic shopping sprees Poems buzz in my head like bees Barely staying awake Not much from me to take Mania and Apathy. "You left this group" Disabled Facebook Backed out of the hen night Everything wrong seems right Socially withdrawn. Smoking a near pack Unironed clothes and slack Persistent thoughts of death Messy hair and dried up sweat. Suicidal thoughts. A drunken father still A mother barely paying the bills Still afraid to soundly sleep A slow descent of sanity, slow and steep.

58

Never dare the devil. Say to him "catch me if you can" And he will creep up on you When you least expect it Except he won't look him But rather in God like guise. He will not only seek to destroy you He will tear apart your Godly connection Rob your spiritual fulfilment Lure you away Take you astray And slowly start killing you. You won't die immediately You will first stop combing your hair Your clothes will go unironed Your teeth brushed but barely This is how he slowly summons. Then you will stop looking forward To all that tomorrow brings You will smoke till your lungs can take no more You will inhale all the toxins in. You will start hoping for conditions For cancer, lupus and aids You will want a reason to let go of life Walk into traffic when the light is green bright. You will wake up late Or not go to work at all And even when you make it Look vacant and small. You'll pray without believing You'll look to God with doubt This is not what the Lord has promised.. But where are his promises now? People will say "just fight it" And you know very well this is a must But how can you fight the almighties Like God bet over Job. It is not just.

0

Nov 14, 2017

Nov 14, 2017 at 8:27 AM UTC

Dare the Devil

Never dare the devil. Say to him "catch me if you can" And he will creep up on you When you least expect it Except he won't look him But rather in God like guise. He will not only seek to destroy you He will tear apart your Godly connection Rob your spiritual fulfilment Lure you away Take you astray And slowly start killing you. You won't die immediately You will first stop combing your hair Your clothes will go unironed Your teeth brushed but barely This is how he slowly summons. Then you will stop looking forward To all that tomorrow brings You will smoke till your lungs can take no more You will inhale all the toxins in. You will start hoping for conditions For cancer, lupus and aids You will want a reason to let go of life Walk into traffic when the light is green bright. You will wake up late Or not go to work at all And even when you make it Look vacant and small. You'll pray without believing You'll look to God with doubt This is not what the Lord has promised.. But where are his promises now? People will say "just fight it" And you know very well this is a must But how can you fight the almighties Like God bet over Job. It is not just.

37

"Magey chooti Deiyo" she says; my little Godling These words of affection gently caress her heart fabric as if feathered over and over to stop the bleeding.

0

Nov 13, 2017

Nov 13, 2017 at 8:20 AM UTC

Godling

"Magey chooti Deiyo" she says; my little Godling These words of affection gently caress her heart fabric as if feathered over and over to stop the bleeding.

6

Not so fast says poetry I wont just leave you like that. Please please do, I beg it Leave my brain intact. I have carefully glued it back together With counsel, and with meds. I fear this is a relapse Have our talks not come to and end? More meds does not make my life easy I struggle with quivering hands, sleep and appetite. I have asked you to kindly leave me With myself i have ended this fight. What more do you want me to do voice? Have you not done enough? I wont post anymore on facebook But that does not mean this is tough. I have chosen my path I have chosen to live my life But you whisper softly to me And it makes me want my head to the knife. Voice, listen i don't mind being wrong That book from my life is gone I just want to be at peace with God I want real faith not illness dear Lord! I have begun to rationalise That this just cannot be real I have identified that the staunch belief Is a part of my illness. Thats how it feels. Whats more i dont need to believe it I have enough love in my life If you continue to taunt me It might ruin my chance of being his wife. I am done with the book I am done with the connection It means nothing to me I love my new found clarity. So dont come back here again With your insistent "calling" I swear one day you will feel my pain I am sick and tired of falling I have job now and children to teach I dont want this book or to preach I dont care for any of its magic This whole **** thing has been tragic. So run off to where you came from I dont need to listen to you I dont need to wait for answers Voice, i am finally through

0

Nov 13, 2017

Nov 13, 2017 at 2:22 AM UTC

Knock Knock Says Voices

Not so fast says poetry I wont just leave you like that. Please please do, I beg it Leave my brain intact. I have carefully glued it back together With counsel, and with meds. I fear this is a relapse Have our talks not come to and end? More meds does not make my life easy I struggle with quivering hands, sleep and appetite. I have asked you to kindly leave me With myself i have ended this fight. What more do you want me to do voice? Have you not done enough? I wont post anymore on facebook But that does not mean this is tough. I have chosen my path I have chosen to live my life But you whisper softly to me And it makes me want my head to the knife. Voice, listen i don't mind being wrong That book from my life is gone I just want to be at peace with God I want real faith not illness dear Lord! I have begun to rationalise That this just cannot be real I have identified that the staunch belief Is a part of my illness. Thats how it feels. Whats more i dont need to believe it I have enough love in my life If you continue to taunt me It might ruin my chance of being his wife. I am done with the book I am done with the connection It means nothing to me I love my new found clarity. So dont come back here again With your insistent "calling" I swear one day you will feel my pain I am sick and tired of falling I have job now and children to teach I dont want this book or to preach I dont care for any of its magic This whole **** thing has been tragic. So run off to where you came from I dont need to listen to you I dont need to wait for answers Voice, i am finally through

48

A bowl of Rice, Soft, simmered And milky white. Evenly shaped, Each one like the next. Rice was this abundance of Easy going grain. Wholesomely predictable But comforting all the same. The Pol Sambol had double his fury A haphazard mix of harsh spices Woven into soft textures. The tangy taste of lime, With a sweet coconuty crunch. A burst. A passion. An unevenness. A pattern. Palatable extremes That Rice had grown to love. Their journey never began, So there journey will end in never. Rice was the base. And Pol Sambol was the taste. And so they lived forever. Pol Sambol- A spicy coconut grind based sambol

0

Nov 13, 2017

Nov 13, 2017 at 2:16 AM UTC

Union

A bowl of Rice, Soft, simmered And milky white. Evenly shaped, Each one like the next. Rice was this abundance of Easy going grain. Wholesomely predictable But comforting all the same. The Pol Sambol had double his fury A haphazard mix of harsh spices Woven into soft textures. The tangy taste of lime, With a sweet coconuty crunch. A burst. A passion. An unevenness. A pattern. Palatable extremes That Rice had grown to love. Their journey never began, So there journey will end in never. Rice was the base. And Pol Sambol was the taste. And so they lived forever. Pol Sambol- A spicy coconut grind based sambol

24

Never ask a linguist a question. Your ‘question’ Will never fit into that tiny two syllabled linguistic feature , Or be a string of words that you think you control Because they are, what you invented. Whether it is fashioned into a simple- one word, Direct, Indirect, Sarcastic, Rhetorical, Interrogating, Requesting, Accusing, Information Eliciting, Affirmation Seeking, Cross examining, Spot Light Shining Figure of speech, Where speaker assumes A Position of Power…. It Will be heard not only for its Bare-naked lexicon, But also enveloped in its unconscious inflections, intonation, micro pauses, combined with gestures And set within that ever so important context. With every move, you may hope to extract. But be aware that you may give away Much much more

0

Nov 13, 2017

Nov 13, 2017 at 2:12 AM UTC

Never ask a Linguist a Question

Never ask a linguist a question. Your ‘question’ Will never fit into that tiny two syllabled linguistic feature , Or be a string of words that you think you control Because they are, what you invented. Whether it is fashioned into a simple- one word, Direct, Indirect, Sarcastic, Rhetorical, Interrogating, Requesting, Accusing, Information Eliciting, Affirmation Seeking, Cross examining, Spot Light Shining Figure of speech, Where speaker assumes A Position of Power…. It Will be heard not only for its Bare-naked lexicon, But also enveloped in its unconscious inflections, intonation, micro pauses, combined with gestures And set within that ever so important context. With every move, you may hope to extract. But be aware that you may give away Much much more

20

I used to trace your face in every face and yet could not place your face at all in my corporeal world i used to find pieces of you entwined in lyrics and in phrases the once clear photograph that turned mosaic was now a fragmented work of art and everyday rips you further apart then to meet the original article to see you with sight your voice auricular your fingers tangible in a fraction you converted from the surreal to the somatic you that breathed seemed exhausted and every gulp of oxygen seemed to rust your pipes the ones you galvanized in alcohol at night knowing it would increase the rate your organs would take to depreciate your zestful pipes were drained of color punctured perhaps by careless claws or by your own negligence and flaws you always loved to tease death and now you seem to prompt it "Life" was over you were passed "Survival" now it was "Endurance" a step away from "Existence" "you" that fueled my memories has now decayed so how is it that i still feel a faint pulse in that corner of my mind you still occupy?

0

Nov 13, 2017

Nov 13, 2017 at 2:07 AM UTC

Debris

I used to trace your face in every face and yet could not place your face at all in my corporeal world i used to find pieces of you entwined in lyrics and in phrases the once clear photograph that turned mosaic was now a fragmented work of art and everyday rips you further apart then to meet the original article to see you with sight your voice auricular your fingers tangible in a fraction you converted from the surreal to the somatic you that breathed seemed exhausted and every gulp of oxygen seemed to rust your pipes the ones you galvanized in alcohol at night knowing it would increase the rate your organs would take to depreciate your zestful pipes were drained of color punctured perhaps by careless claws or by your own negligence and flaws you always loved to tease death and now you seem to prompt it "Life" was over you were passed "Survival" now it was "Endurance" a step away from "Existence" "you" that fueled my memories has now decayed so how is it that i still feel a faint pulse in that corner of my mind you still occupy?

42