The world understands nay struggle:
It is like speaking French in China,
Or Yoruba in Greece, or in Ghana
Arabic--it's a communication horrible!

But success, however awkward
It doth sound, has an audible voice,
Which is louder than the clangours
Of thunders that ring from heavenward.

The speech of poorness is scarcely
Heard in one's kith and kin's ears;
Whilst riches talk with dainty lips,
Whether foul tunes out they breathe.

In my hand held i to a homing dove,
The very one in truth i did love.
With me tarried she in hope but away
Flew at last, making my blue sky grey.

I took my heart hence to her face
And asked it to intreat for her grace.
Though it did; but it was dry
In her ears, causing me to cry.

what shall become of my life's wow
Since love can't keep it in tow now?
What reason more do i have to live,
When my lady's love has taken its leave?

When a child is born; if it be a boy,
A man shall it become. And if it be
A girl, a wife it shall become if she
Chooses to marry, for she may be coy
And frigid and into a nunnury enter. That man
Also may remain so, if he boycotts a woman.

What ails the face
of the sun,
that its smiley countenance
doth suddenly change?
Why should it run
away which slays darkness' rage?

Clouds of sadness stroll
across the surface of the big ball:
dull substance of despondent sigh.

Unshealth at once
the ray of thy glittering sword, spare
nay thine eternal skill.
Contend and combat:
fight with zest and zeal

For weak and tired and weary,
at night,
shalt thou eventually be;
when with faded
you bid the day, goodbye.

Of a truth love I thee, glamorous lady.
I though no fortune nor fame have
Which mine I truly can call, save
In my heart affection's pretty penny.

Hope I my situation shall no impediment
Be to me having thy sweet sultry self?
Though I'll force for thee nay from hell pelf,
Yet shall I ensure thy heavenly enjoyment.

When thy busy brain's filled as a bladder--
Not with *** pepperish--but with ideas potent,
Thy broody head would uncomfortable rather
Be feeling until you let out the content.
And if thou doest achieve the good goal
Of thy restless heart--that burning purpose;
What cool satisfaction and joy to thy soul
Would come as one confirmed free from a dose!
How happy was God when he and Christ created man!
So glad too must a man be when he achieves his plan.

A "no"  answer  kills
not;
rather I've gained new skills.

Words set to music
give the body tonic--
poetic melody:

rhymes, rhythms, caesuras,
meters, beats, stanzas
and envoys
in use.

Making millions of dollars
off an album,
platinum
pop stars:

hounded by paparazzi,
landed in a Jaccuzi;
deified are poets--

pursued by Muse's mustang
midst the prairies
of inspiration
trotting.

Poetry draws no pretty penny,
prizes like the Nobel
praise.

Mummy poetry is exhaling
in the lyrical pantheon
of music.

Though i should have a M. Maybach and Bently
And Ferari, owning houses in the world's
Chief cities--mansions worth millions
Of US dollars, with yachts and jets; and be
Decked in designers and a bespoke Rolex--
One that none again the very sort of
'Watch possesses; and with many a dove
Stunning be surrounded oft as we in ***
Roll hither and thither in uncensored ******;
And i should become for merriment an epicure;
Filling my head with diverse theories impure,
which give not mine soul that lasting bliss;
And though i should have plenitude of cash
Stashed in a vault away, with gold and diamond
Great; but if not for heaven i am bound
Afterward in afterlife, then, all is trash.

She loveth me nay--
           The supermodel--
       Cause my pocket is lean.
          But I did apace tell
         Her as she's sashay-
Ing along that "I'm no James Dean:
That Hollywood icon and superstar,
Who was by his acting rich in dollar;
But that i'm a poet, writing poetry."
So contemn me not, sultry popsy.

Soul filled with gall, tears flow:
Crimson rushing on the snow.

Left home for office
Left home for somewhere
Left home for business
Only to appear elsewhere,

Where eternity steadies its swinging door.

Goodbye turns to abrupt good night,
Cold darkness replaces warm light.

Husband never returning more
Wife gone to another shore
Children laughs fade like leaves
Merry home in sorrow's sleeves.

Though evil men cannot ever cease;
In Jesus's hand commit our lives.

A woman sans beauty code brilliance
And behaviour good is altogether dead.
Even a strumpet doth possess a semblance
Of those, let alone a wife whose head
And habits ought to be cultured code right.
Though up a jade can her appearances light

By reshaping her natural cast in the forge
Of a beauty parlour, making a devil like an angel
To seem; yet her mien and mentality shalt divulge
The truth. The smarts and demeanour of a damsel
Sublimer speak to the heart than the artifice
Of outward lustre, which's nay for marriage suffice.

Walking in the Spirit, copping
a feel
of the flesh.

Though mine eyes do the beholding
In probing, scanning and reviewing:
Measuring quantity against quality;

And though the scales of mine eyes
Unsteady are, altering like weather,
As my sight's balances beauty rank
By the ratio of its carat to dross,
Which are counterpoising each other
Like Michael and Lucifer--the frank

And the false; yet put I the manipulation,
The entire enterprise of my intention

Upon my heart. For though these eyes
Fairness understand but are unwise
Still to fathom the depth of love
On those twain pans of duplicity.

The beckoning ***** to the heart
Must thus tilt the weight in reckoning
Affection that the lop-sided lips wooing
A gold precious of a great rate,
That bears the hallmark of a prized proof,
May win no bauble nor feigned fancy.

Having the lady of thine heart
Found, all the hangers-on forsake.
She alone thy bed must make
And shake in merriment's part.

Thy eyes to others' beauty close
That thine heart desire again, say,
The sultriness of another dolly nay;
But let thy wife's body be as a rose.

A maidenly form with goodly balcony:
Chic design of an unrivalled Architect.
Finely balusters decorate her dreamy
Shape--especial from fore to aft.

As the Shulamite's apples in Solomon's
Pleasing courtyard is her love in my
Heart, exchanging thus my flagons
With her berries on the bed of sapphire,

Until dawn choruses enter the day's ear--
Heaven's chandelier beams into the bower.

Forsaken: crestfallen, and he's been
Vacant, but bestirring himself now to
Once more go out on a limb to seek,
If haply he could a new find pronto,

A girl who'd like a medicine his heart
Mend and fill, with her rib, the space
In his side with her perfectly cast love,
Fitting unto him for the rest of his days.

They that cannot for God's
gold
wait dash for the devil's dross.

Walks without halting gait--
changing styles;
swims across Dire Strait.

Birth is by two ways:
labour and lancet.
Nope,--three.

Fell.

But I've climbed my way
               back
to the summit.

When I drive my verily dear life
To the end of the road and meet
At last death's cul-de-sac;

Whither will I turn my wheels:
To the right or to the left;
To 'lasting light or darkness?

Blood, ***** it not, this bug,
But away doth it sap the strength
Upon the mat during a chaste merriment
Any time loves sacred feast is had,
When the flesh is stark, raving mad
Its oats to get as bodies cut a rug.

On the altar of even and morn
My fairest love for thee I burn--
The incense of mine heart,
That the frankincense's flame
May consume you whole, dame.

As me, why close thee thy eyes
     When each other we kiss,
             My babe dear?
     Now what nectar is there
     In this my wet tongue
     That does thee wrong,
  Or in that thine poppy lip that lies?
Yet we do ourselves buss just for the bliss!

Forsaken by friends and family:
Abandoned in his wretched infirmity
To be pining away for sheer eight
And thirty weary years straight,
Was that bloke by the cool pool
Of Bethesda left. Yet like a mule
Did he stick to his lone faith,
That no matter how long he'd wait
For his miracle--he would nonethe-
Less in his belief in God ever tarry.

And so it was one dandy day,
That Jesus, on a short stay
In Jerusalem, for for him to honour
A feast there, did spot with candour
Clear, that impotent cove long forgotten
There, who was by sickness smitten.

Though a mother her child may neglect,
And his son a father may also reject;
Yet not God. Not the good and loving
Lord, even in spite of man's many a sin.
Heaven does never forget at all humanity,
'Cause the earth is watched by the Trinity
All the time without ceasing. For good,
Nay for evil; giving us breath and food
And everything that our souls so desire,
According to the will of Heavenshire.

The fulfilment of our life's dream may,
Like smoke in the air, linger. Some day,
Though, in God's how and time, shall it yet
To reality come, if in focus we do not fret.

For the compassion that filled his heart
With the kindness that could never depart
From him, Christ went over that infirm
Fella, that his healing he may affirm.
By Jesus was he thus made at once whole:
Touching not only his body but also his soul.

Life into variant classes is made
Demarcating first from economy,
Where many fills up the cabin
Tail, who don't have pretty penny.

Same flight, but distinct delights;
One world, yet peculiar living.
Each exists by their own ticket
With cloned greetings and grin.

Infected with sin virus
causing
immortal death--
from Adam to me.

Silvery sound love issues
forth,
but
m'heart can't dance
any more.

In pure gold cast I for thee my love
Which cannot in trust rust nor alter
In glory, though I do see many a dove
Flying about whose eyes at you flutter.

Casting the old flame's gear
away,
garbing a new wear.

Sweet things coming out of China,
like that cheesy sheila.

First in creation that God did beget
First the everlasting life did he get
First at his Nativity the angels sang
And the twenty-four elders' bells rang

First in victory in Golgotha won
First his love on the cross shown
First his life sainted to sinners gave
And first resurrected he from the grave

First his feet upon the Foe's neck
First his dominion over the Wicked
First his power that dethroned the Enemy
And first in kingdom, dominion and glory

On a Sunday morn he by the
Holy Ghost power arose, the third
day from the merciless Sheol--
the Saint who for the sinners died,
when he was cruelly crucified,
that Friday noon on Calvary's cross,
to redeem many a perishing soul.

Hallelujah and hosanna
To the eternal King
That was in Bethlehem
Judaea gloriously born
That made the heavenly host
To joyfully sing
For man, at whose birth
The devil did mourn.

Strutting like a lion as though i had
In my cent-packed wallet a million
Toward the belle enchanting. I, a chap
Plucky from my teens, have learnt dominion
Over cheeky fear and cowardice
By tutoring myself at least thrice
Fold in uttering plain convincing speech
Betimes to she who my eye and heart
Will lure by her graces, a maiden that
Her goodness doth to my soul preach.
Though confidence may win me a popsy
Fair; yet it can't fill her empty belly.