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My true love you threw your magnetic pebbles your magical out worldly rocks
on my lap
you called my small momma your portal to heaven star seed.
I called your small Daddy
the bridge to heaven
and we whispered to each other
the titles; Mama and Papa.
I guess we lived many lifetimes as man and wife as twin souls interchangeable twin flames before.
In almost every book ever written where love is lost or found and in every lifetime we found each other I'm never alone, we remain glued
just one thought away.
I notice your waves right here on HP they fall on my writ pond and mine fall on yours my beloved.
You might just as well call me Delene where both of us meetings in some mystic time travel space ship.
In love with your poetic waves revealing secrets;
true love always takes chances on Earth and up in some exotic E.T. mother ship.
Mr and Mrs Andrews
with Karijinbba.
Karijinbba Jul 2021
Like ugly ducklings to lovely
Swans transformed we are.
I remember thine breath of life blowing in labellum.
Stunt by your hunger for me
In shivers silence stuck
the dagger in heart
mine and thine, beloved.

In vain I sought you I
Roamed the open seas with cowards ****** greedy racist human predators
In sheep's clothings.
Two forces of good and evil hubbered above my cradle

To get here powers of evil
took everything and I lost everyone dear to me
even my honor just to reach thine forces of good
I'd surrender to you if worth anything to you take it all
for treasures in my hands

without fortress if your love
slides like water in hands
I find thee everywhere in famous art even in
crossroad lights
I found thee in sonnet 75
with William Shakespeare.

Thine grace showered me with wisdom and thine thirsting for me became my own longing for thee
decades now my beloved

I search no more for thine love tattooed all over my vessel peacefully rests
No one but us two can see it.

You reign butterfly in heart
few lovers have eyed me
yet quickly eluded me
  they too, like your butterfly,
Go in search of their own.

Yes only yours returned
Adorned with diamonds and rubbies calling me fiancee.

I painted two on my chest
To never be apart
I love thee the most
forever and ever.
By Karijinbba
All Rights Reserved
Sonnet, 75-95- present
True story an ET from another world designed two identical  rubbie and diamond butterflies
Just for me as an engay gement gift .Rdd/BbA
I turned 36 today but I feel like I’m 86
and all I want for my birthday is to die.

pain is everywhere/ hell is everywhere
and happiness doesn’t exist.

no amount of love or change
in my life can cure me from the
aching loneliness that lies within

no amount of records could
complete my collection

no amount of words could
finish my poems

I don’t want to **** myself
I’m not a suicide case
you won’t find me at the bridge tonight
and this isn’t a suicide note or
a cry for help or attention seeking

I’m just really ready to go,
ready for decomposition
ready to escape from myself
ready to be put out of my misery
and to be released from total
anguish that life has shown me

there’s nothing more this blue grey
world could offer me
when the sun shines
I want the rain to fall
my feelings are numb
my brain is dumb
my emotions have solidified
depression makes you feel like
a useless blob on the floor and
I know now that happiness
is a mound of decaying flesh
with an empty slit as pretty
as a melancholic smile.

do you think my poetry brings laughter?

am I an ancient jester of poetic injustice?

I sure hope so.

I wouldn’t want anyone to feel
like the way I’m feeling now.
here we are
closer and closer
towards the deadlines
of our wasted lives
and we have nothing
to show for it except
soul extortion
and we pray that
we may evermore
dwell in expostulated

I’m surprised
I’m alive
the luck of my past
that hadn’t killed me.

the cause that effected me
to trade in my crazy antics
(I’ve mistaken for bravery
or invincibility)
for mental acquisitiveness
(I mistakenly thought was
for personal gain)

and now
there’s nothing more
to complain about
there’s nothing more
to look back on
there’s nothing more
to hold onto
and the most sensible
thing for me to do
is end it alone
with the walls taunting
the final destinations
like a fly to the cat
and somewhere outside
the mares eat oats,
the goldfinch pecks the
dandelion heads and the
motorcyclist revs up the
engine with nowhere to go
and dreams of riding through
the Badlands at night,

you’re at the 8 hour job
they give no overtime,
no Christmas bonus,
no raise, no promotion
and yet you continue
to bend over backwards
for them only to receive
nothing but grief, guff
and paycheck so weak
you can’t even afford a
studio apartment for
yourself in return

without praise,
without thanks
or that you did
a good job

and after listening to the
the same repetitive music
and mind-numbing stories
from your co-workers
for hours and hours
days and days
weeks and weeks
months and months
years and years
decades and decades
eventually someone
is going to snap

and this is how shooters
are born,
this is how bomb threats
are made,
this is what encourages people
to commit random acts
of violence

these people are not monstrous
these people are broken
and they have been
driven into doing
monstrous things

but upper management’s
only concern is filling the
owner’s pockets with money,
not your mental stress—
they want you to deal
with that on your own
time, not theirs,
although they may be
the cause

and in the end when the blur
of mass murdering happens
from the rampage of the
disgruntled employee
they act shocked
and terrified with
cries of outrage
that such inhumane
things can be
right now.

we’re all responsible
for our own actions
but it takes a sadistic
type of someone to
propel another person
into going berserk,
to start seeing red in
transcending limitations

some reasonable men
are pushed into doing
unreasonable things

as the shadows have stopped
in the circle of dead children.
8 registers open
only 1 cashier
6 other employees
milling around
the store
assisting the 3
remaining customers
while 16 other people
wait in line to check out

their system works
like most systems
I’ve seen before…
backwards and drivel.

I guess common sense
isn’t so common anymore.
it happens like this—
when one person parks
their car crooked
the others will follow
in a domino effect
and that’s god’s reflex
towards an inept species
a lore of ancestry
bequeathed with the
wrath of idiocy like
passing a kidney stone
of subnormal bodies
fermented in the bright lights
of dull boredom and
unknown circumstances
like wasted Sundays
and that’s how it works
we all fall into each other
flesh grazing flesh
played entirely on the chimes
of a pocket watch in the
liquid sunshine
splitting the dividends
multiplying the categorized implements
subtracting accountability
and adding the defamation
in response and reaction
to ******* or bacon
sizzling in the frying pan
but the dishes are *****
and need to be cleaned
the dishes are clean
and need to be put away
the dishes are put away
and need to be used
to get ***** again
the power lines are down
in the 11th hour
the **** never knows
which woman to enter
stale love doesn’t know
why it’s chosen us
the unleashed dog
near the busy street
never knows why
it’s decaying on
the side of the road
so **** the desire,
increase the performance,
change the filter in the
furnace and the fridge
confront the imaginary
killer clown that
hides behind the
shower curtain
because when the carnival
comes to your town with
plastic, sugar and sensibility,
it will leave you behind with
consumption and subtle rain
I say all this as I park my car
****-eyed and like most,
I don’t take the time
to straighten myself out.
electrifyingly and smilingly,
I walk through the red mornings
that bring the rainy afternoons

with the smell of onions, lime
and fresh cilantro on my
malodorous breath
that will tell you so:

there are three things
we do exceptionally well:

a) the ****** expressions
we make have become an
almost artificiality, a dour,
featureless, sun-drenched
look that has pockmarked
and disfigured upon our faces.

b) living has become such a dynasty
for boredom that we find television
and fake reality to be satiated
and thrillful.

c) death before burial has become
so fashionable that we wear it like
he latest trend in the upcoming
fall catalog.

but there is nothing there,
decades are annihilated by dreams
and sleep is the cheapest form of
entertainment we have.

knowledge and wisdom
perforated through a
trepanned skull
needn’t be obtained by
an educational system

but through self-taught
and self-introspection

success is merely luck…
being at the right place,
at the right time,
knowing the right people

and we strive to be there

but devastatingly,
the small space gets
by subtleties
of distractions
and irritations

that what we have
inside of us
in front of us
becomes insatiable

and the flimsiness of anxiety
begins to lionize and ascend
into higher sopranos

what’s good won’t last
what’s bad always felt so good
and what was said to be good
that was actually bad
was never forgivable

questions are unanswerable
books are unreadable
resources are unusable
happiness is unobtainable
love is irretrievable
and animosity comes so often
like a teenage boy’s *******

as the raindrops pelt the rooftops
like pachinko machines
as the grey hair sprouts like begonias
of spiraling hypnotism
as the pagodas burn in
sacred libations.

if this poem has reached you
it is because you are seeking
better writing than your own.
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