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 Mar 2016
Karina Norris-Veirs
Blindfold on
Hands *******
Feathery delights
Scalding touch
Deeper still
Up to the hilt
Hands on neck
Don't need to ask what's next
Breathless lungs
Come undone
Hand prints bare
Claimed what's there
Over again
So many times
No longer a sin
Galaxies collide
What a hell of a ride
#fantasy? #ride #collide
I am privy to sensuous flavor and textures
Layers of aromatic forbidden reserves
Allotted delicate free -will gratuities ,
unchartered lanes , open exploration  
I am breathless with quickened skin , longing ...
I love a good peanut butter and sorghum syrup sandwich !
Copyright March 31, 2016 by Randolph L Wilson *All Rights Reserved
 Mar 2016
Ja
If
          You are always sorry
When
          You think back

And
          You only worry
When
          You think ahead

Then
          You will only find
Your
          Peace of mind

After
          You are dead
WIZDUMBs BY JA 414
 Mar 2016
ryn
.

He doesn't realise...
The weight of his actions and words that pummel her to the ground.
Beating her down for every time she rises up to undo his ropes with which she's bound.

He doesn't see...
Past the darkened lenses that she dons.
She wears them,
not to shield her pride that was wrongfully taken,
but to protect him from the repercussions that would come with accusatory speculations.

He doesn't know...
Of the soaked pillow that accompanied her.
The rivulets of tears...
She had quietly shed without a whimper.

He doesn't hear...
The silent altercation between the treasure that beats in her chest and the thing that thinks in her head.
The struggle that ensues when the mind tries to rescind what the heart had wholly given and carelessly said.

He doesn't care...
To think of the devastating waves that come.
Only to erode the last bastion of hope she nurtures...
This frail wall that she prays for nightly.
Just so that it would hold up through another day's endeavour.

He doesn't feel...
The need for empathy.
For he thinks that he's god with one devout follower.
He commands her loyalty with his deluded testaments
and his fists as sceptre.

She doesn't live...
To see future suns.
For her day finally set when it all came down.
The wall she had feebly held together with her life...
Easily gave way when he came at her armed with a knife.

.
On that bright day his mind was unusually calm
He stopped by the beggar to offer him some alms
Feeling at peace with himself without a trace of qualm
He took a deep breath, with life he was coming to term.

Goodness he pondered was quite an achievable feat
A small spark that made him offer the old man a seat
Each familiar face he smiled at such easy was to greet
Inside him he grew healthier being good was great benefit.

Why men suffer jealousy fight for one-upmanship
Instead of trading for goodness most precious human keep
Just not burn to earn his food comfort and restful sleep
But live in shining goodness make life a rewarding trip.

Being good with one’s own kind he felt wouldn’t do
Other lives around him must kindly be treated too
A crumb of bread for the street dog on its head a little pat
Pints of milk and a little care for the weak and ailing cat.

As he walked the road thoughts like these lighted up his face
He found waiting on wayside many things begging goodness
Determined he would reach them all do them a little good
He sprinted along in a sprightly gait his mind in deep brood.

Back home when she opened the door he gave her a broad smile
She glowered a little askance for he hadn’t done it a while

*What brings you this sheepish smile what for the elation?
Don’t even think you can ever make on me a good impression!
 Mar 2016
Mfena Ortswen
All I am allowed to be is a purse
Looked for to be held underarm
My existence made into a curse
Like grass in your tidy farm

I take your name, your identity
You own me, and I am your property
My words means nothing, like jingling keys
I am like a dog kept to stay on a leash

I wait on you like a servant
Prepare your bath and wash your clothes
When it comes to my needs you are adamant
I do not count, I am a necessity you chose

You purchased me from my parents
Now I owe you my life and existence

Our children are yours
But mine to look after when crawling on all fours
When they do good, you take credit
When they fail, your accusations I merit

I become a shadow moving in your patriarchal world
And you wield the authority as a warrior's sword
You don't protect me with it
But stab my heart continuously until there is left no beat

And in the end
I am nothing but the carrier
Of your seeds that
Populate the earth
This piece touches the experience of women in societies that are patriarchal and a woman's place is disregarded. She's looked down upon and not allowed to have an opinion even in her own home. Unfortunately, this is the plight of the women in the society I grew up in. One would expect that civilization and advancement in the state of mind will curb this, but no. Modern day women are still very much oppressed.
 Mar 2016
Mfena Ortswen
Layers of white clouds
Masks Sunday afternoon's sky
Bright blue barely seen
 Mar 2016
Denel Kessler
I recognize
this ground
laced with stones
and poisoned barbs
hike barefoot here
unafraid

a barren desert
feels like home
when there is nothing
to be lost or gained

I have been here
many times before
stripped down naked
in the noonday sun
watching vultures
wheel and dive

as I dangle
twist and spin
ever the enabler
enabling
 Mar 2016
Anthony Perry
Violence is real and natural. Multidimensional, it exists in every form of life. Its visceral, it shears through the thickest ice, survives the coldest vice and won't shatter when thrown from incredible hieghts.

Violence is quick and unjust.
It swiftly infects the blood then slowly turns a useful mind to rust, takes away all that someone is and replaces it with formaldehyde and sawdust, it wants to watch as the body succumbs to deaths lust.

Violence is hard and true.
It's an event, a car crash that forced a woman out of the windshield like a 12 gauge slug pumped straight into the heart of a child who's witnessed skin hanging from the hole his mother just went through.

Violence is in the air like a pathogen, infecting us with an experience that executes our innocence, genocide, created from hate by that precious few.
In one dimension or another, it's the backbone of every great nation and of all life, it's nothing new.
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