Grieve is the price that we paid for love,
As we lease our hearts to the wrong suitors
Without an written agreement,
We accepted deals
Consist of temporary arrangements,
and lots of physical attachments
As our body and soul flow into depth of ecstasy
Making the path clear for broken hearts
The truth was always there
Somehow it
Cloud our judgment
Because love is the state of insanity
And throughout time
it have done nothing for humanity.
Love is the state of insanity
Grieve is the price we paid for love
As we mourn and cling to our hearts
While our suitors, move on to they next
Seamlessly unaffected by they actions.
Not much for a consolation.
Just a reminder that love stinks.
Sweet and wonderful in the beginning
Devastating when it come to an end.
Grieve is the price we paid for love

Stop meddling in other people's business
They dash their words against the walls
As if to advertises,  hatred of the human race.
The higher they climb,
the more you can see their disgusting parts

They comes off as useless quacksalver,
A waste of energy, a waste of space,
Words, words, mere words no matter from the heart
They form clichés, and spin the bottles
An idle mind is the devil’s playground
They smile in an annoying self-satisfied manner.
As if bitterness would bring them happiness
                
Who Am I?

My voice, my words travel into space
In my dreams, my poem are read by you
Even when I am awake, you alert me with notification
what a new and wonderful generation.

My soul move like a slow moving cloud
On a hot sunny day: I LinkedIn to my friends
The internet has allow me to see your valleys,
Your hills, homes, mountains and your exotic flowers
impressive, deeply appreciative : No need to expressed concern
I am loving it..

Your cultures and diversity
Is worth fostering
I am always going to be there with you:

I
Envy your freedom
But will cherish your kindness,

For me it's ways to get a natural high
Dancing In your dazzling flowers fields or
Walking your sandy beaches,

I am a clingy leech to poetry
A poet who’s always in high spirit
That’s me!

Enjoying the breeze and the view
From my Internet explorer

Would I ever love again?
Would I ever walk hand in hand in the
Snow or the frigid rain
Would I ever smile again?
with you  in the snowy weather?
Or embrace the summer heat
Without wondering: Why
If I would ever love again?

Love is an unpredictable emotion
Love is a variety of different feelings,

In the quiet of night, I write—
my thoughts like petals unfurling,
each line a delicate bloom,
a testament to my soul’s yearning.

The Internet Night Stalker,
a phantom of pixels and prose,
called me a “dessert rose,”
a succulent, low-maintenance pose.

But my poems reach beyond,
touching lands unseen,
thousands of eyes reading,
their hearts echoing my theme.

*** and disgust intertwine,
a dance of desire and disdain,
while politicians chase power,
leaving happiness in their wake, a stain.

And so I set my words free,
like a wild ***** swimming the sea,
for what this world needs now,
is love, sweet love, unchained and free.

The memory of you comes in different shades of gray
Like the Caribbean Sea breeze that stylized your hair
Saturated stain on my pink satin sheets
That was the moment when we knew that
Those two souls could never be discreet

Uncertainties heavily laden on my heart,
It’s a strange and confusing time to depart
In you her DNA float like acid rain:
fogging your brain
years of turmoil and silent torment:

Here I am lamenting with you:
You recalled that day when your light turned blue
You said that it felt like love and hate moving toward the kiss of death
The moment of truth landed like a erupt volcano on your desk

A God-fearing man, a gentle soul
Years of searching for motherly love, so it was told
Only to find Low self-esteem and low-grade fatigue
Trust equal lust: led to a fraud for a wife.

You hide your sorrow in your smile,
******* is nothing but a slow dying disease

Mother of your child, a son whom you once adore
They both put locks on the front door.
Then there is that woman from his past,
Oh, how she saves him from the edge of madness:  

Court full of lawyers, a judge on the bench
Fire and brimstones, infinite punishment for finite sins
The sun might shine but the camera will not flash
Because of a daunted woman,
Whose feuds are too hot to defuse?

Oh, the mad woman of sea view
She made her bed, now she must lie on it
Brick stones are stronger that old boards
From now on the shower heads will turn cold, before the sun goes down
The mist off the ocean should stink like acid rain
Abomination on the lips of lying wife:

One day shall easily crack: when the
Truth shall reveal itself

A little nod to
Georgia Douglas Johnson, 1880 - 1966
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I looked back upon this year
And thought about the things that upset me
I wave the white flag so many times,
And from another stand point,
I cursed off  the ******* that bother me
I stamp my feet upon the ground:
Of injustice
Day after day after day I pray for strength
Not to inhale the smoke of marijuana
But actually smoke the **** joint in my mind

When I looked back upon this year
And thought about the things that upset me
I stretch my fingertips, and I write poetry.

I remember the land,  

I remember its people,  

They ways, the stupidity of

Their mentality, I never came

To heard of this term depression

Until earlier on in life,

I came to terms with hatred, bigotry

Because it’s a disease, right up there

With cancer, and corvid 19



Do you remember, the children

Of the eighties, and their carefree looks on life

Drugs, *** and intellectual freedom,



It goes like this. I don’t think of labor

I don’t think of work. To be laboring

Means to be working, and if it's not self employed

Its slavery with small wages. From the man.



“i remember the land and I remember its people

They stupidity from their mentality had worried me

I remember the dead, and I remember

How those trees outlived them,

I Remember the language of the trees,

That whispering sound of freedom

And the sound of human longevity,  

Due to the kindness of a matured land



The waste land we leave behind,

even without spoken words

Can tell a story, of abandonment,

You might see a grassy area, I see, a court date

I see families fighting for ownerships,  

I see illegitimates children,  

fighting for the right to

The land we leave behind, even without

Spoken words, know it's worth.

How do you come to terms with yours..

She buried him in his wedding attire
They capture a smile upon his face
a smile that reflects the artistic of a mortician’s skills:
Somehow, I saw the kings of
Sudan Dinka, Nuer, and Anouk
Smoothest, darkest, flawless pigmentation
in Africa

I stood there; I touch his face,
And I whispered why, why now,
I think I heard him said from a distance
Ma lady, every little thing is going to be alright”
I never meant to causes you pain, I never meant
To make you feel ashamed,

Try to remember, why we met,
And why I must leave now..
As they rewind the lid down,
I said it okay, its okay for now>
The father knows best..

I just woke up and it dawn upon me, "I am single.!
however my energy is filled with loving thoughts from my past.
or is it misrepresented of truth?

Poetry writing
Who really appreciated this art?
A rich man or a poor’s man theme
Is poetry writing for everyone?
Poetry is a world itself
To appreciate this art,
One’s mind must be at ease,
To see, to feel, and not to rely on spoken words
That might seem nonsensical to some
However, perfect to others

Unlike a poetic poor man graffiti and a rich man artifacts
Its labels as a rich man war and a poor man’s fight
Unlike the beauty in a Michael Angelo
Masterpiece of Art Pieta
Or Vincent van Gogh Paintings Water lily
The poor man display his graffiti
No admission, no fee
Priceless art crimes or
The best of a simple criminal mind

High art or low art
Eyes of a rich man
Or the eyes of a fool
In the world we knew

They said that I made a better storywriter than a poet
Whatever!
Poets get their ideas from stories but my creativity comes from a glass of Moet Chardon(
A poet is someone who looks for adventure and there I was
On the back porch enjoying the Island breeze
The surging wind made it way through the tall propaganda trees
The trees act as obstacles to wind, somehow those propaganda trees made the
portable air conditioners seem useless in comparison
A family of monkey kept up their appearances daily: jumping from branch to branches
Breaking off bunches of oval-shaped young’s apples, like a morning ritual
while keeping a close eye on me: I capture the moment as it presents itself
Meditating and thinking about making right choices in my life:
My Nana once told me that propaganda leaflets were good for brewing tea to lower one’s blood pressure.
How many times can someone test the cold, cold icy water to realize that it wasn’t suitable for bathing?
That was my was way of dealing with difficult seasonal romance
I am now getting to understand Amy Winehouse struggle with love, relationship and commitment
Going to rehab may mean having to deal with difficult people, however, my addition is far more complicated
Making right choices is my life mission.

Beauty walks this world. It ages everything**
I love them according to the seasons
Let’s start with the winter scene  
It reminds me of June bridal dresses
Woven into the likeness of winter themes
Capturing Impureness without stresses’

The colors of springs, the beginning of testing,
  The attitude of one’s happiness that lies ahead for bracing sea breeze
The mindset of the summer beauty :shine through summer madness:

as we slowly move into the fall months
We tend to have spiritual thoughts about the madness of summer
The spring will dwindle, as the windy days come
Embrace the beauty of remaining days of summer

The beauty will be bottle in our hearts and mind for ever
Beauty walks this world, it ages like any another thing

While, I pondered my age in calculator.
It seem likes I have block out my actual age after I reach 40
I have forgotten that I was over fifty,
My brother asked me “how old I was in calculator
I have never given it any thoughts
until that moment about my birthday
I pondered for a moment,
and said I think I am 55

He boldly said, that a lie, you are older than I am..
I have never given it any thoughts
until that moment about my birthdays
Unless it was too filled out my physical forms
or my Income Tax Returns submits

I so often hear them say, age is just a number;
However, my favorite number is 1;
It’s the beginning of everything

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,
Love leaves a memory no one can steal. ~ Author Unknown
~~~~~~~~~~~
It rain heavily on the river in Kerala the next morning
I think it was a sign of things to come,
I remember our walks by the water

The warmth of the sun as it dampen your hair
this brought out your winsome boyish smile
as you playfully tossed a small pebble into the water
It became an instant Kodak moment for years to come:
We were so in love with nature that summer

I remember every moment how we held each other hands
Your loving touch, your kiss, your blue eyes
So trustworthy was I: Your lies were accumulating.
and my foolish heart was pumping harder and harder

Like a gallon of water in the desert heat: you made me fell in love with you
your love for me was like a battlefield and I were the unexpected enemy

I am still very fond of my captor, I smile from ear to ear- each time it rain heavily in Kerala
If you know your enemies and know yourself then you are on top of things:

Until death leaves a headache no one can heal: Quote:
And love no matter what: leaves lasting memories.

Sometimes when we touch
The honesty too much, Dan Hill
Honest and sympathetic approach
to this ongoing question
Do I or do you still love them?

I remember when I said
I love Him, for me, the words came out so easily
that glowing blush, that healthy  warm feeling,

Now our love stand still like
The curtain on my window sill
So decorative, those simple details

Come hell or high waters
It's my love for him, it’s changing,
My words seem so cold, so bold,
Oh! my dear, Oh my love

Sometimes when we touch
The honesty too much;*
Thank you so much Dan Hill
Now everything is so clear in my heart

Do people still blanket their walls with pictures

Of family members, framed and hanging like draperies

When I walk in my living room,  

I see a lonely couch, a 55-inch television

And memories of people who once lived there:

Sometimes I smile, sometimes I pondered,  

Sometimes I just want to say,

Where are my children,  

Why am I alone, then I smiled and speak?

It's good to be alone, with my poems, my thoughts

And my broken table, the one which she broke

After sitting on top of it. While chatting on the phone



I wondered if the years would change like Tik Tok video clips

Like a new outfit, with a clap of the hands


To grow old is to lose everything?

Yes, or no? But the worse part ..

Is when you work your whole life

And nothing to show, that **** per say

Just old memories, and piled of bills

What have the years thought us,

Never take nothing for granted:

Never put all your eggs in one basket

Never, allowed the bank to control, your

Pennies and dimes, never lend money to your friends

Keep your personal business, bottled:

Is it the rows of cold rooms
On the stench of the unit, or the
Thirty eight doors to be open
in addition to the thirtyish mouth to be fed,
Where the exit signs taunts: (leave)?
Untold stories behind each sound of the peg tubes:

Do I really belong in a place like that?
Is that where my poetry ideas come from?
Do my poems arise from there?
Flushing the sour milk, clearing their airway
Start from their stomach and ends with the ****:
On a stinky unit, where thirtyish mouth to fed
And fortyish beds to be made in a sense of three hours top

The cure for a hardened heart is to keep,
a total commitment to keep your MIND state on the Lord!
Lord, why me? I shall never smile with the living
Or weep for the dead: why me?
why the poet from Proute Street..?

In the chill of a dreary April day,
I find myself wandering through the dimness,
My eyes were straining in the absence of light.
As I approach the door, a sense of familiarity washes over me, pulling me back to a time of comfort and solace.
The thought of retreating to the inviting embrace of my warm bed beckons me like a gentle siren, contrasting sharply with the biting cold that surrounds me.
In this moment, I realize that in this vast expanse of uncertainty, there is only one clear path to follow—one that leads back to the refuge of my blankets and dreams.

He bluntly crucified my friend
I’ve known liars, I‘ve known thieves
I’ve seen crooked lawyers in action
I was shocked by the jurors reaction
  I have study the body languages of the fibbers
Read between the lines of the tell-tales

But to concocted a preposterous but believable story
Just to feed it to the judge: That is so cold, yet so bold
I always believe in the old saying,
Only fools represent themselves in the courts of law
My heart bleeds for my dearest friend
His soul have grown weaker than elastic knicker

Akiane Kramarik  said
"No matter what happens around us, or to us, through love,
our soul reaches immortality, conquering all dimensions and all destinies

He had bathed in the forbidden sea, where the mermaid had warn him
Not to entered:, Where the daughters of Lucifer lured  kindhearted men from good homes

He builds their house near the sand, and it slowly sank
He looks out to the Atlantic Ocean,
for guidance and saw the raging waves

Then he remembers nights of unsettling dream:
He have known liars, he have known pain,
Somehow, it was hard for him to stay afloat in
the murky water  I’ve known liars

  I have listened to both sides:
but earlier this week the judge was so quick to chooses sides
Is this the end for my friend?

I want to write a poem that creates a chilling atmosphere
While orchestrating sound,
with the feeling of rhythm and blues
I want to write a poem about the unknown poets,
the ones who never lived long enough
to see their work published,
I always look to the unknown poets for inspiration
Especially the poet who wrote
“Live only for today, for tomorrow may never come”
I suppose his tomorrows weren't in the cards
I supposed he had to be a pig farmer
Deep within he knew his pigs was to be tomorrow's bacon

There’s always hope for all kind, of poems to come to light
I want to write a poem about natural beauty, and let the world
Know that it’s alright to go natural, without all the heavy makeup
I just want to write a poem, no one ever thought of writing
And that poem is all about me.

I was in love with a Poem:

The poet lured her victims into her wild kingdom of
Word, words, words, that
became the forest of ****** illusion
verses and verses that I never encounter;

In this kingdom I never notice the Sunrise before Sunset
The chanting before the protesters
Lightening before the winds
suddenly brought on by the rain,
That triggers the mighty storms:

The poetics effects of Similes, Hyperbole,
Understatement and personification devices got my attention
Pages after pages,
line of words that opened my eyes,
The mighty pen, a trending poem,
and there I was a loyal reader
With an amazing cup of hot coffee

The poem took me through
this much-modernized tale of
Alice’s rabbit hole adventures

Poems are to be read aloud,
loving making is meant to be private
So is mourning for the dead:
Some things are just meant to be...private

My love for the poem and
my admiration on its poetic views
Is more than human emotions,
than my stimuli of brain ***
I read the poem while sipping my coffee,

Birth, death, politics and religion
***, drugs and empty souls : human emotions,
This much-modernized free verse poetry can causes multiplies  *******

If I tell you I saw a rose blooming in the heart of winter, you might not believe me, especially if you're among those who struggle to stay afloat. But that rose serves as a powerful reminder of something we’ve forgotten. For me, it represents resilience and hope.

During summer, I often ponder whether we ever really stop to smell the roses—such a cliché, but it’s true. I didn’t give much thought to the rose until two days ago when I discussed it with a friend. I used to receive a single rose on the 6th of every month.

That tradition came to an end when our love started to wither, just like that rose.

Despite that, the memories linger. Did I appreciate those gestures of love during those months? Absolutely. I felt love and warmth, and now I find myself facing another period of solitude. But let’s be clear—I can buy myself flowers.

I refuse to forgive that single rose or the person who took our love for granted. I’ll savor my eggnog and Bailey's Irish Cream, but I won’t be baking my goose.

Laughter brings invaluable positivity to our lives and relationships. I’ve come to recognize why a laugh, a smile, or a simple gesture can uplift someone's spirit. When the roses smile at me, it’s a reminder that I’ve opened my heart once again, and I won’t shy away from embracing that.

Did I have years of experience, or was it just a mix of daily habits? I must have learned something, as my confidence has gone down. Memories that hurt come back to me suddenly, and I struggle with them every day in my love life and at work.

Here I am, getting older, feeling like I don’t really care about what happens after I’m gone. Just put me to rest under a tree.

Talk to me, my inner child. Connect with me like you used to. Were you helping me or leading me astray? I have many stories to share. Those who tell the best stories often pay close attention to their craft.

Speak to me; I was so naive and lost during those uncertain times. What did I have to go through to make a living? Those voices, those faces, those people who hurt me—where are they now? I’m still dealing with the trauma.

Speak to me, my inner child. My poetic voice mixes with my feelings in slow motion. Coyote and I walk the streets of Brooklyn fearlessly. I proudly embrace my blackness by choice. Coyote, I would rather walk alongside the tiger.

Now they watch everything I do—my online posts, my TikTok messages. Once again, no edits, just AI filters. Lamb of God, I look to you.
I was once scared of my inner child.

Assume, just for a moment,
That yesterday wasn't really yesterday
You were in a vegetative state: you saw the light
just to be awoken, from your worst nightmare
The sky wasn’t blue, anymore it look gray:

The man in the white house was missing, off the radar
Leaving the people with nothing more than all his hopes
Then you remember, somewhere where you read
That the poet also resigns himself to his mood.
Perhaps, that why some verses should always end with an Amen,

I remembered sitting in my little chair in preschool
Waiting for the role called, j
just to hear her called my name correctly
But, my teacher never did, waverly, wabney,
Assume, just for a moment in time, I got up
And yelled it not warily, or Dabney it Demerara *** holes:
I always got a sick feeling, when they called my bestie name
And she wasn’t there, I always assumes the worse..

I was always an emotional state of sensing another‘s emotions.
At an early age I was that child who spoke with colors: I held on so tight, to my crayons box and silly putty that I made an image of my fist:
As an adult we hold on to grudges and bitterness
I too am guilty of that: when would it end.

I will not love you

Again for another five years
Unless you make a commitment
My needs, your wants,
your passionless approach said only
one thing…you are still living in a fool paradise
What does any man need after the age of 60?
His retirement plan or his servility

I wow not to leave this earth a lonely *****,
Taunted by past lovers who label me as a witch?
Here I am today, keeping my eyes on the price,
I wow never again to be fed by more optimistic lies

From the Caribbean to the Central American shore
Every woman need to be love and to be adored
And not be willfully be subjected
to the life of a married man's *****

I have found solace in my poetry,
Therefore, I cannot commit adultery?

Living with shame, guilt and
asking God to forgive a sinner
Here I am today keeping my eyes on the price,
I just became an instant lucky winner:

Because of that little girl from across the Caribbean Sea
Who travels led her to the Central American shore
Once she said no more, she meant no more

A woman like me is often misunderstood.
Because of the path I have taken through the woods
I have listened numerous times to the blabbing brook
Who comments were rude, about the rich folks

But instead I observe from my homeless tent, the high achievers
I took it all in stride, while the mosquitoes chew on my legs
Women like me aren’t afraid to dream,
Neither are we bashful to wear
the wide rim hat at Easter time
Because all eyes would be on the winners (us)

I went to sleep in the year 2020
and woke up this morning in 1841
In old England, as is might seems:

Using words like give me a pint,
You old ******, lick me boots,
Lass and me Gentlemen
They had everything
Like everything in common with
America nowadays except, of course, languages.

To flogged a dead horse more like what i was seeing:
Racism there was as white as you could imagine
race against race: British and Ireland

The rich and the poor,
The upper class and the low renters,
Stagecoaches, and pan wagons,
I was somewhat confused,
with such animosity
White on white racism,

so when did the Black race came to that place.

Come to me senses, a poor Irish lad told a lass
A poor lady response by saying
aye better be on yah way!
You silly ******,
The red brick hair, the Irish twang:
Looking restless, moving around in that city,
Where the noise, and the eyes of the people
Seem, a part of labor and a part of pain
A part of sadness and a part of happiness

After seeing this small glimpse of their future
The labor, the pain, the sadness and the happiness
Was so timid,  waiting to be belong
One ****** even said, the sea give,(seafood)
And the sea takes, (shipped sinks)

Was I dreaming, why was really there?
As a poet in order to move on in the future,
we must know our past stories,
there will be times of unwanted pain,
the odd games…………

Where we are force to live in a roulette society:
I felt worn out like a cylinder..
In the year 1841 – 1843 in a comatose state

I wonder
How it would have been like if you had stayed
Would your parking spot would have been the same
Would your rustic tool box would have been in the shed
Or would an old copy of your favorite Tom Jones tunes,
would have played over and over
Every Sunday morning

It’s the little things we pondered the most
When hitting the ceiling
But we tried it in silence
Allowing the good times to simmer

Again, you welcome us with tragedy
With Cold, windy stormy winter blues
The unpredictability of lakes and pond ice,
Becomes every fisherman’s worst nightmare

A dead robin outside my bedroom window
Highlight the day. As the high wind
  Slammed against the lids of the city dumpsters
it was so loud it was deafening

Here I am the last cookie poet to enter eagerly into the new-year
With a different perspective, eagerly rehearsing my thoughts
  Before my poem trail off to believers or non-believers alike

You will not ******* away like the north wind
Every line you shall follow by scanning each undusted I’s
I am the poet to unknown regions stray
carrying words of wisdom,
but do bear in mind

*It's easy to cheer when victory's near

Jealousy is a weak link<
it is far most dangerous than the stages of cancer:

Mothers are not supposed to bury their children
Should she seek revenge for her child?
Should she forgive?

Keep the sweet memory of your child alive
Within your heart, let the world
Remember her killer as the monster
Let the unknown deal with his spirit
Let the angel, guide your child spirit
To a better place,

The struggle with revenge is centuries old. Shakespeare said, "If you ***** us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?" Shakespeare clearly thought revenge was as normal and predictable as the sun rising. Quote:

However, it is not: it just a pacifier solution,
To calm the madness of the mind
Is to be in control:
Because, jealousy is a weak emotion:

His favored ones, whose backs bend o’er the soil,
He blessed the hands of the ones who look after
His animals, with loving care, with sweet voices,
So gentle so caring, then, he blessed his children
In everything they do. And that is you, my Johnny
Tears, praise, love, joy, enwoven in your chest
As I watch you make adjustments, like the river of life
However, Johnny where there are no Roses
There is no hope of predicting, the love of a side chick(😊
With lots of bedroom tricks, more than professional decorator:
My wonderful brave robustly man of the soil,
I love your smile, your pouty lips,
And the way in which you announce my name,
Your gift from God is supreme,
as well as my futuristic dreams
Brave one of the Caribbean soils,
It was a wonderful thing you done
That night as you stay up late and spoke
Hello to me!

“If you wish to succeed in life, make perseverance your ***** friend, experience your wise counselor, caution your elder brother, and hope your guardian genius.”


― Joseph Addison

I am not ready  to face this man
Who broke my heart into squares?
I am not ready as yet to look him full in his lying eyes
And asked him why did he made my eyes overflow
I am not ready to asked him if he remembers
  the birth of our child, the signal from the moon,
the last Friday night of fish and chips,
I Wailing and speaking in tongues,
being strip down to my waist
I was encourage by him to be strong
But instead I held on to his left hand for strength and support..

That trauma was only for a very short period,
My broken hearts will never heal,
My soul long for answers,
However, to reshape my heart again take courage, but to

* Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting…*

Just before he said “How are you Are you okay?
To slam the door in the viper face once again is a step to healing.

My favorite bloomer knows my curves,
As well as my favorite poems, knows its audiences,
But it wasn’t written by me:

The verses inspire, encourage and feed my mind
Like an infant loving the theme songs of the A B C
Like an isolated soul that forces to be reckoned with
Come take a leap of faith with me,

Let’s climb the highest mountains
Or take that plunge to the ocean floor to see what lurks down there
Our mood shall always change with the clocks,
tick, tock, tick tock,
while our hearts  beat out of rhythm

our minds, however shall feel the changes with each modern poem,
to public narratives – the stories we read each day
Come what may, we shall prevail



*Joy...
    “ Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with. ”
― Mark Twain

A man left work one Friday afternoon. Being payday, instead of going home, he stayed out the entire weekend hunting with the boys and spent his entire paycheck. When he finally appeared at home, Sunday night, he was confronted by a very angry wife and was barraged for nearly two hours with a tirade befitting his actions.

Finally, his wife stopped the nagging and simply said to him, "How would you like it if you didn't see me for two or three days?"


To which he replied, "That would be fine with me."

Monday went by and he didn't see his wife. Tuesday and Wednesday came and went with the same results.

Thursday, the swelling went down just enough where he could see her a little out of the corner of his left eye.   (by Joke.Com)

I saw a pretty street this morning I forgot the name**

I remember dressing my daughters in pink

I never had the opportunity to dress someone in blue

I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.

(would it have made a different?



Yesterday, it took me almost fifteen minutes to convince

A polish patient to take a shower,  

so I did is what the new norm does

I pulled up Google, and I asked to translate  

Take a shower tomorrow .. and he did it for me. ( jutro prysznic)

Life, what we had to do to earn a buck!!

Would it had made a huge different if

Police officer Derek Chauvin

hadn’t knelt into George Floyd neck last year?

I think Derek C was trying to prove a point

Like a sharpen no 2 pencil it broke...



I will leave this answer to the jury to decide

Poetry writing is like a *** position  

That we afraid to try,

My way of writing poetry is unique

I allow my mind to take me there

And my fingers to type  in calibri style

Never be afraid to express oneself

Be true to yourself..

Earth, is receiving an unwanted guest:
A total disgrace, a worldly test
It surface in the dead of winter, as the
Silence invaded our towns, watchful
Stares from every human eyes:

In hopes that this is all lies, because of it
It teaches everyone how to pray
In the heart of this crisis.. We are self-quarantine:
Living in fear or living by fear is very different to feeling our fears.

Poetry Nevers makes nothing happens,
It make us think of the words, it make us become vigilant
Is this the end of civilization?
Is the corona virus, the anti-Christ?
Earth is receiving an unwanted guest
Stares from every human eyes,

Fear, in the heart of every man and child
Teach us how to believe and pray.
Is this the rapture???

King Solomon and I will fly a kite

On this historical Good Friday,
we seek justice for the young lady
Her father made her act as if she were his niece.
To deceive his new wife, so that she could live with them
His wife found out about the plot and hell would break loose.
On social media, who is in fault,
The father or the new wife,
for sure not the innocent child
A lie can bring down an empire, a lie can be engraved in history
Chioma, Chioma, anger are secondary emotions
Would love and devotion once again intertwined?
As the wise King stood beside my fingertips today

Just prayer, for kindness and forgiveness
Love conquerors all, love can lead to forgiveness,
Acid corrodes a tongue that speaks falsely
Will one day become un-Godly?
We will hold on to this kite before we release it
Time will tell in ten years,
While the innocent will endure the most suffering. (Amen)
All children should reside under their father’s roof
According to the biblical time:
Blood is thicker than water,
Acid corrodes a tongue that speaks falsely
Will one day become un-godly.

I look for words in the dark,
My thoughts were trigger by you
My Island soul knows no malice, until
negative thinking roams around in my head
It defines who I am, so I became the poem
And the poem became my affinity
to the nature of poetry
Fire bun, fire bun
Blaze dem Jah, purge dem ya hayed!

They came to my Island to feel
the warmth of the sunshine
as for me I visited a very difficult country
to become its shadow
I look for words in the dark:
My Island soul knows no malice
Only kinship with all life

Pain, regret—your sobbing;
And again, quiet—her gravely somber,
How could you. How could you!
Willingly, agreed to the ashes,
a very old ancient ritual:

I remember a mortal man: without the bold red
Now it’s jar of some kind.
Did he really exist, did he really?
Walk this earth, walk the block
Made those provocative laughter
During the moments, throughout the movies,
I remember this mortal man
Not a jar of ashes  pure marlarkey
We cannot kneel at his grave
Or read his tomb stones.
Wasn’t he his children hero?
A friend of a friend of a friend;

The man with the car who had the broken muffler?
The man who chosen the white ******
While she took a warm shower, and patiently
Waits for her to come back to his bed:

That face we love is truly missing
The voice we know will slowly fade:
Back half is this really true…,  is it the end?