Angela Okoduwa: Favorites

Oct 2016 Angela Okoduwa

Lady RF - Rosalie Fayad

I'm not a very strong swimmer,
I'm trying really hard
to keep my head above the water.

My soul is exhausted,
my body and my mind
are going through absolute torture.

Me, panicking,
makes it even harder
to stay afloat...

I ain't going out like this!
Hell no!!
I ain't going out on this note!

I'll keep trying to swim
through the rising swells and waves,
I'll paddle and backstroke
my way back to shore,

I'll do what a survivor does,
I'll keep swimming
until I just can't swim no more.

I'm usually as warm and bright
as a little ray of sunshine...

But, lately,
I can't even seem to radiate
as much light as the dimmest glare
of moon shine.

I've been a warrior
all of my life,
my history is my proof,

But I'm not as strong as I once was,
I'm not as resistant as I was in my youth.

I'm gonna make it back to shore.
And if I happen to lose my pen
along the way...
I'll be alright!

I'll write my message in the sand
using my finger - in hope that God in heaven
will read it, and bestow upon me
some mercy, by shinning upon me
some much needed courage,
strength, and light.

By Lady R.F ©2016

I wrote this desperate piece when I left HP.
I wasn't going to post it. It was written only as a release for my emotions (self-therapy) but what the heck! ...here it is.

#anxiety #warrior4life

Oct 2016 Angela Okoduwa

Count the Calls

Oct 2016 Angela Okoduwa

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Count the Calls

When winds at night on windows roar
wax runs out dies candle's flame
you would hear a knock upon door
a familiar voice calling your name.

Don't respond nor open the eyes
the voice is keen over winds' howl
grows it louder its pitches rise
scaring even the brave barn owl.

Pull the blanket up your head
you are safe so long you hide
lie dead quiet not move on bed
with mom asleep by your side.

Between the pause your fears mount
if is a chance to be found out
one two three the calls you count
but count it right leave no doubt.

Three times the voice would call your name
for it has no power to do any more
but move onto where dies a candle's flame
and a child is awake behind closed door.

Inspired from a story I used to hear from mom long long ago when unbelievably I was a child.

Oct 2016 Angela Okoduwa

The Pink Trousers

Oct 2016 Angela Okoduwa

David Bremner

The Pink Trousers

The right leg crosses the left
the left leg crosses the right
Not bad for forty two
I watch across the room

This seductive sequence
to think I used to **** that
Not now though - no chance
she really hates my guts

Yet every few weeks I sit
across the silent living room
She streches over, presenting her ***
In **** tight pink trousers

She knows what she's doing
understands my mind
Pink is my colour of ***
I cannot ignore her

And so the show goes on
and then for days to come
I dwell on the pink trousers
skin of forbidden fruit

Oct 2016 Angela Okoduwa

The Lie

Oct 2016 Angela Okoduwa

Keith Wilson

The Lie

Everywhere I go
Everybody wants to know
"Where's the lady"
They all ask
I answer, hiding behind a mask
Of smiles and laughs,
And say to them:
"She's gone, she won't be back again;
I don't care"
And shrug my shoulders.
But now my life is so much colder
I walk alone, the crowded streets
And tell my tale to friends I meet
Then I turn, walk on with the truth
With tear-filled eyes
I think of you

#lies

Sep 2016 Angela Okoduwa

"I Dream Of You, Again"

Sep 2016 Angela Okoduwa

Ma Cherie

"I Dream Of You, Again"

Close my eyes
sleeping
lost amid
drifting sand
I see a hand
can't understand
time softly
whispering in silence
from the far side of the moon
a gated tunnel
beckoning
I am haunted,
I am wanted
a ghostly shadow
peering in,
glowing skin
so I,
dream of you

I dream of you

I dream of you
.... again.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Haunted I am...

#love #poetry #death #dreams #haunted #lovesleep

Sep 2016 Angela Okoduwa

Group Cooperative

Sep 2016 Angela Okoduwa

Denel Kessler

Group Cooperative

Indian pipes rise ghostly
from ancient compost
of needled tears shed
white bells corpse-silent
shunning Light’s vital touch
sleeping instead in symbiotic beds
of gracious hosts, who in turn
kiss the feet of living Giants
lushly burning gilded rays
to fuel their green economy

*Monotropa uniflora*, commonly known as Indian pipe, ghost, or corpse plant, are herbaceous, perennial plants that grow at the base of trees in dense forests with very little sunlight. They feed off fungi that live symbiotically in the roots of trees. A tree’s ability to photosynthesize fuels this small triangle community.

I know – I’m odd. I find these things fascinating. If you’ve never seen an Indian pipe, search it. They are rare and only bloom when conditions are perfectly humid, but when they pop up there is an otherworldliness to them. I’m on a nostalgic mental tour of the flora and fauna of my childhood home and these came to mind.
: )

#community #monotropa #uniflora #indianpipes

Sep 2016 Angela Okoduwa

What are you...

Sep 2016 Angela Okoduwa

Akira Chinen

What are you...

But a soft crimson kiss haunting a dream
With vincent blue eyes
Swirling with yellow stars
And bold broad brush strokes of insanity
A blood red moon nailed
above the horizon of an endless ocean
Close enough to touch
Yet too far away to hold
A finger tracing along my spine
As I lay sleepless in an cold bed
A silk lined coffin for my beating heart with a dying pulse
A pill full of dread thoughts
sleeping at the bottom of an empty bottle
Sitting in an abandoned treehouse
lost and buried at sea
A seed planted in my palm
Stiched over my chest
Blooming flowers scented with the nectar of hope and love
Swimming through the folds of
an eternal night
Locked in robes of Klimts gold
Sinking to the bottom of a dream
Where the cresent moon reflects a kiss
That is haunting me