He rested
on the shoulder
of a tree -- with his
crimsoned eyes.
Stripes of sweat walked on his face
as thoughts sought his attention.

Works
had eaten up his strength
and wreathed
his body with aches.
His clothes, like a sun soaked sack;
caked the air with cruel smells.

Lost
in the coo that stood
on his lips -- psyche
left him for home,
As he watched the sapplings-
bid them bye.

He was a big fish
in a small pond,
Before the drought.

Josh Wealth Pampam ©
25/10/20 GMT 13:22

I’m doing just fine
Tells my extra filtered life
How fulfilling it is to hide
Behind “Coconut Creme”
Flawless head to toe
No one can deny
But should I give you a clue,
It might not be all that true

The Facebook zombie
Distorts its face:
Contorted, convulsing
A spasmodic smile.

Ignoring internal scars
Emotional wretchedness
Faking with gusto
What the good life is.

The Facebook zombie
Hunkers not for brains
But drools for likes
And virtual applause.

Like dazzling neon lights
Its ego shines bright
"I am the best"
"I am number one"
Says the connoisseur
Of filters and fakes!

The Facebook zombie lumbers
Towards the next bite
The next hit
Mindlessly raising its
Bony hands
As the camera sways
Finding the perfect angle.

A heart symbol doesn't count  

There's no love in that  

I want your real response  

How did you react?  



I shared my poem with you, took a real risk

Opened up my soul, received no closure for it

I don't want to have to beg you not to be brisk

But like bruh please use your words

My fragile soul craves this

where's my mobile, i been missing you
if you were here, i would be kissing you
where's my mobile, i been missing you
if you were here, i would be kissing you

where's my mobile, without you, i'm not global
if i'm not global, i'm not really mobile
good heavens! it's twenty-four to eleven
i have to call shannon but i can't find my mobile

what can i do without my mobile? life is trite
don't know the difference between day and night
without my mobile! i freak out, suffrin' from a black out
i'm prayin' to god, lightin' up a candle, hopin' to find it

where's my mobile, i been missing you
if you were here, i would be kissing you
where's my mobile, i been missing you
if you were here, i would be kissing you

I’m surprised I’m not hurting so much.
I’ve only been obsessing over you for three months now.
I saw your single relationship status and got my hopes up.
Excited by the thought of you.
The thought of us.
That’s the problem though.
I didn’t truly like you.
I liked the thought of you.
So I’m glad you got a girlfriend.
Actually you had one the whole time.
But I feel sorry for her.
I found out through other people about your relationship.
Your Facebook still reads single.
You never post a photo of the two of you,
But she does.
You may like it but you never comment.
In person you two look like friends.
Well, acquaintances really.
You two never talk.
She just follows you around like a lost puppy.
She gives you all this love and attention,
But you just stand there and take it.
You aren’t giving anything back.
It’s like she’s screaming at you to love her back,
and she’s answered with silence.
You maybe her boyfriend,
But is she really your girlfriend?
I feel sorry for her.
She deserves better than you.
People say I still have a chance with you,
But I don’t think I want a chance with you.  
I deserve better.

Each day, we carry our names through urban terrain.
For every letter laid out and shining atop the cityscape,
a thousand more become garbage scattered in darkness.
Yet I'm courted into thinking I'm on the right street
by algorithms selling dopamine down Sideways Alley.

Too soon after bearing my soul on the infinite scroll,
tourists flock and flap to get at the itch on my back.
Their words cut deep like plastic knives at a banquet.
Their hearts warm like the walls of an empty fridge.
Breadcrumbs left behind only lead to the trapdoor.

Those in luxury estates who threw paint on a throne -
their patches of land fertile and thriving up to the gates -
offer tips on organic growth that can build into empires,
while those packed in high-rise blocks act like bandits,
egos painted loud on knock-off flags hung to balconies.

What am I in this black hole of corrupted competition?
Views above the skyline only provide anxious thoughts.
Occasionally, I find answers in unseen neighbourhoods.
An outstretched hand holds a glass of chilled apple juice.
Now we go round each other's house to share fresh fruit.