Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Empty in African terms,
is a "coca cola glass bottle."
Strange to some,
but never strange to us.
I grew up as a child,
riding long journeys in something called a "chicken bus."

I knew about robots,
far before TV screens would show it.
But in African terms,
those robots are just traffic lights.

Green to go,
red to stop.
Amber the colour of chance in between,
and only a few would get what I mean.

I grew up speaking our common slang,
calling things a lot, by using the words "a span"
Making jokes with friends,
calling each other bra, calling another a *****.
"The rents",
meant I was referring to mom and dad of the family.

It's a wonder how I didn't fail English,
with all the made-up words we said.

Playing games in the mud,
by 5 o'clock refusing to bath.
As kids we didn't know much;
or anything close to real love.
The silly games we played on the street was all but enough.

Thinking of it back now,
the scars on my legs tell many a story.
And when I have children of my own, the memories I had,
I hope becomes apart of their African legacy.

Kids under the African sun,
how the simple times of life are long gone.
Friday night fleeing from the scrum
like the last thing on our minds
are other people’s kids:
the outrageous, hysterical bashing we take
hour by hour as
while each successive boss quickly forgets front lines
and asks for ‘evidence’
of piling into the meat grinder

Then something tiny reminds
why we’re even here:
a flood of tears perhaps as dogs have died
or that kid who says “I’m a microwave
and despite our glowering frowns
we smile so hard we cry
Joyous angels an entire night spent,
singing with flutes they ceased to relent.
Shepherds lowly pitch their dusty tent.
A story indeed reminiscent
of ageless advents when we all went
to sing in churches in wintry Kent.
In fright we gazed at Santa's beard length,
in a speed sleigh drawn by the Elks' strength.
We sought more fun for an extra cent.
But after pleasure we did repent,
speaking solemn words of a good gent:
'Oh, what a pleasant time in advent,
to usher in the infant God sent.'
A Christmas poem for kids. Christmas in Europe and the Nordic.
Morgan Vail Apr 21
i'd have given up my poetry for you
blind, drawn by your voice, you lonely bird
i cornered you without even wishing to
but i swear i held the lines in my throat
though they died
i'd have given up my song for you
but you lied and boasted and
cried to me
we were children then, i was a fool
rope at the ready each moment
for i'd have ripped out my dreams for you
and my love was utterly fragmented
back there i whimpered against the staircase
watching the night drawl along
i always knew it'd never be enough for you
Morgan Vail Apr 25
I never wrote you any love poems.
Supposedly, I was too captivated by your so-called charm to,
Cope with myself.
Perhaps I didn’t need to.
I was already rather broken then,
But I’m certain you shattered the remaining pieces.
Not, your responsibility of course.
Not even the fact you replaced me,
After I found myself absent more and more.
I used to dream about being alongside you,
While ignoring your calls.
That’s ironically sad, I think,
You wouldn’t have gotten the joke.
Akta Agarwal Apr 16
Kiss is the emotions that we mainly feel for the kids,
their chubby cheeks and innocent looks look so sweet,
they are the one who brighten your mood when you were feeling dull,
their innocenceness make you forget your every pain,
they are really gem,
in my all tough times my baby is the one who makes me laugh,
I so adore her,
i always kiss her tight to express my love towards her,
I always do kiss her to let her know I am always with her,
love you my baby.
Kids are adorable
Duckie Apr 10
As kids we were close,
Pushing each other on a swing during humid afternoons,
Scrapping over the biggest piece of cake,
Singing and strumming old rock songs on a video game,
Cheesing in the odd school picture together,
Hiding the family dog upstairs, cartoon shows on the tv,
Volume at its highest, all to drown the rows vibrating the walls
From downstairs,
It seemed back then we had each others back,
Sobbed for the same reasons at night,
Nervously bit at the skin around our nails over unknown noises,
Shook a knee with every thought of fleeing our hometown,
Yet now we don’t even know each other,
The distance runs thicker than blood,
He said she said infiltrating a possible recovery of a bond,
I often wonder how it can be, two people from
One home, both living on different planets,
Almost generations away from beliefs we once shared,
Pinching at each others emotions from another continent.

I found a journal from when I was my angsty teen self,
Words of fury coated most pages,
Some rhymes of regret,
Plenty of mischievous essays,
Page 94 had no explanation, just a date, some doodling
And one sentence,
“You were the first one to break my heart.”

As kids we were close,
But what do kids know.
Nermine Marei Mar 21
I'm so sorry my dear kids..
I no longer do fun things..
I feel your worries everytime your eye blinks..
I should teach you to fly and take risks..
But, me, myself is a bird who lost her wings..
Its not your fault that I have mood swings..
I don't have to be the best mother and walk on the strings..
I should make you happy with little, funny cheesy tricks..
You are my life .. I'm like a desert and you're my beautiful water springs..
I will give you all my care and love. And kiss you with my lips..

parker Mar 8
i dont know who my childhood best friend was;
or is .

i remember her silky hair and pigtails we'd wear
and our baby blonde hair,
i miss you
i miss you.
and furthermore i miss me too

i miss the quiet in my head
before it was filled with disease,
before darkness stuck under my fingernails
before my lies began to rot my teeth
i thought i missed you.
im sorry,
i think i just miss me
a lil reflection on my old bestie i think her name was kayla> tbh i dont remember :(
Poetic T Jan 23
This fella or
                      was it a lass?
  the compelling
         question to ask?

This unique one, with a hoot.

No, it didn't bark
                            or woof or even
                  or blow bubbles like my fish,

It never spoke a word
            or a sentence.

You could speak to it,
  can you understand my
     soft words?
   All you heard back was
                          the hoot.

Was that a yes or a no
                          or a maybe?

short and sweet,
                  or long and soft.
I couldn't tell but I thought and
shrugged my shoulders thinking,

                                   "oh' well,

My name, never mind what's yours?
                         it gave a hoot.  
So I said you look like a hoogle to me?

What's a hoogle you say,
well it's what
     this hoot looks like most of all.

    But really I just made it up.
                           "Shhhh our secret,
                 that's what it is a hoolgle

And you know what it gave out a happy
                i think it likes its new name.

But remember if you meet this unique
   one, with a hoot.

No, it didn't bark
                            or woof or even
                  or blow bubbles like my fish,

But it will merrily walk
    and just hoot all-day and did I mention

it hoots in its sleep?
    That's why I'm awake writhing
Next page