"accorded" poems
In time you’ll recover and absolve
push those scorned impressions aside
hammer down the jaded edges
and sing
that delightful commoners song
the one you sang so well
in what seems a lifetime ago
You really had it you know
that fiery disposition and nimble cunning
those butter chords and derelict style
we could see it -- we could all see it
it was all it took to turn the evening tide
(and rile that buck fever)
heads bashing
tongues lambasting
middle fingers high
and raising Cain on those may fly statesmen
There were no rules
when it came to your survival
no textbook rally or common bond
no structured songbird or bravado stage
you either made it, or laid it
“life by the ***** Mr. Poppy would say
a kaleidoscope of dreams
with rich colored imagery
hardened artisan seams
in a carefully woven motif
But something got lost in the needle point
something sinister and distorted took hold
the quirks and street genius
that were your lifeline
gave way to grunts
and squeals
and chilling night crawlers
the colors faded quickly
to a cold confining grey
There was no grace in the new world
no retribution or switch back
no salvation or accorded finale
only edged platforms of blackened steel
that kept you cased
in a silent vanquished cell
shivering cold with fear
night without day
all in the shadow of death
But time heals all
and the polish sneakers
and open sores are long gone
(though the roman nose and shallow cleft remain)
indeed the falconer beat the widow maker
this go around
and I’m hopeful it won’t happen again
and if it does you’ll see me
standing hand on heart
with that old verse in hand:
he ain’t tainted
or silly,
and most certainly
not forgotten…
he ain’t loony
or fixed,
or a product of his self-doing…
he’s just a straight shootin’ guy,
who had the most of it
figured out
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
The news arrived
Of the new arrival.
We grant him
All the Rights,
Privileges,
And Responsibilities
Accorded to
A son, brother,
And grandson.
May his endowment
Of love and honour
Stand him in good stead.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
Suspected of attack
On fascist Graziani
He was in house arrest
As the case was with
Suspects the rest.
A prisoner of war
Then via Somalia
He was sent to Rome
Found a black lion
If left at home.
Together with
A prison inmate
From Yugoslavia
Called Julio
He made a rope
Out of a blanket
The reason
To descend down
And escape
From a tower prison.
In a show of contempt
Defying officials' attempt
To smoke out a fugitive
On the hide
The two at eventide
Returned to open fire
And attack guards
To set free prisoners
Indeed, victory was
On their side.
Leading partisans
Abdissa made it his duty
To gruel fascists
With insurgent activity.
What was the outcome?
Parallel to the allied forces
When he entered Rome
With Ethiopia's tricolor
Around his wrist
He was accorded
A warm welcome.
Then he turned his face
To allied-forces'-
'For Berlin' race
In rooting out **** troops
He spurred the pace!
Asked to stay in Europe
He said shalom
"Home sweet home!
As written on the bible
Can an Ethiopian change
His skin
or a leopard its spots?
Doing so
Will it not be a sin?"
The unsung hero
Returned to Addis
Turning Fascist and Nazis'
Wild dreams to zero!
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC
Loving feelings can restore
balance to relationships.
If you can only bring yourself
to make it happen.
**** the ego and selfish pride
that imprisoned you.
Set yourself free and
go for the one
your heart seeks.
Nurture the one whom your
soul loves.
For out of your
efforts to come out
of your cocoon will emerge a
beautiful lifetime relationship.
A love that is deep
can flow like the
river that leaves its
bank and flood
the whole unimaginable places.
Just like a finger
dipped into the oil
can infest the whole fingers,
so is the love that
forgives penetrates
the whole body
and **** all the
vulnerability to
show it's wounded
face to the sun
without being shy.
Acceptance is of
extreme importance
to bring desired pleasure
to placate and nurture
the heart to heal.
With pleasure the heart
is reverted to a blissful
sequence that is lovely
where both hearts will
feel safe enough to let
their inner child out
of the box to play.
Victory is accorded
to such a joyful end
while the relationship blooms.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
For You- Butch my friend from Philippines ocean away to Cali U.S.A
FRIENDSHIP is like Red Rose in my Garden.
It is not the sum -total on how many it BLOOMED
but unfathomable beneath the ROOTS thriving & Sprouting.
Purview as Emoting little some Some,
little Bored,
little Depleted
little sad, or yielding to the Inevitable!
Languish to anguish perhaps from lack of vitamin 'ME"..Ahah!
Thereby stayed in touch, in Tuned
following the thread with ME.
My Friend so close yet Afar.
Truly Extraordinary,
wonderfully Smiling
and adamantly Affirms:
"You are D apple of my Eye!"
Every time WE see eye to eye in social networking called Facebook
Through Cyber Space
The abounding witty comments of "OMG's," "Ohhs "and 'AAhhs"
makes everyone amused with Awe of such silly antics we so accorded!
A blessing, a gift from God.
So unusual Diamonds so Alike
a rare atypical like it!
..so Uncommon
Not Phony friends out there to deceive & Decry..
Succumb unlikely in Waterloo!
But You definitely a Diamond to my passion!
As girl's BFF, a Buddy or a Sweet chum or Dude!
Not a Foe but Pal Forever.
And just to let You Know , my Friend,
You are like a Diamond so brilliant
Found like a rare gemstone from a dust
who is never be a mere coincidence to bring JOY & Delight
to the norm & Conform.
So for now.. priceless friend like You..is for me to treasure the friendship between Us.
Thank you, my Friend,
I will always be here & there for You as a Friend in Deed!
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 11:57 PM UTC
Among the blight-killed eucalypts, among
trees and bushes rusted by Christmas frosts,
the yards and hillsides exhausted by five years of drought,
certain airy white blossoms punctually
reappeared, and dense clusters of pale pink, dark pink--
a delicate abundance. They seemed
like guests arriving joyfully on the accustomed
festival day, unaware of the year's events, not perceiving
the sackcloth others were wearing.
To some of us, the dejected landscape consorted well
with our shame and bitterness. Skies ever-blue,
daily sunshine, disgusted us like smile-buttons.
Yet the blossoms, clinging to thin branches
more lightly than birds alert for flight,
lifted the sunken heart
even against its will.
But not
as symbols of hope: they were flimsy
as our resistance to the crimes committed
--again, again--in our name; and yes, they return,
year after year, and yes, they briefly shone with serene joy
over against the dark glare
of evil days. They are, and their presence
is quietness ineffable--and the bombings are, were,
no doubt will be; that quiet, that huge cacophany
simultaneous. No promise was being accorded, the blossoms
were not doves, there was no rainbow. And when it was claimed
the war had ended, it had not ended.
2.2k
FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.
Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
fall hoppers kick to grass
as I walk down
sun-bleach lane
the anhedonia I felt yesterday
is pelted by the wind
away
away
to the breeze beyond
trash-bin creek
I walk past
a meddled roadside lover
kissing her own bloodied hand
must have been
bitten by the white-thing
panting at her feet
the image comes
and passes
with the balanced
autumn sunshine
I touch the twist of barbed wire
that guards a
re-habitated pond
a drop of blood
wells and surfaces
a moon-blazed penny
the dulled copper sting
of flesh and money
merges in the glory
of shortened days
all is accorded to the fleeting
nature of my heartbeat
that which comes and passes
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 1:03 PM UTC
“The Weight of the Untold” (Pradip)
<•>
6:55am: Jan 2 nine twenty twenty five
(read the comments first)
enveloped by the early mix
of morning’s hangover of dark
blue gray, window glints of a
sun playing peekaboo over the
yet there (!) Manhattan skyline,
the utter “ness” of the stilled,
unwritten, unstirred, uncolored
dim of medium shadowy light,
the quietude is an actual thing,
a warming coverlet of cozy peace
am I not forcibly compelled to
write of the weight of white spaces,
Pradip pokes my curious anxiety,
as I question my own words, that
he tosses back to me, so so oft
he ****** the cells of my fingertips
to peek, to bleed, then peck letters
from within, to comprehend my
museum artifacts of words,
the weight of their panoply
of mystery
How, how can the white weight of
our seemingly empty spaces tween
words, carry this burden on its,
bony shoulders, can’t we just let them
be, like the breaths exhaled, the
disappearing exhaust of being human,
is it necessary to carry knowing knowledge,
of what needs no body, isn’t the inexplicable
better left unimagined, there be so much tolling troubles, let them be left masked, they’ll appear as embodied black letters, of-when, their discord is accorded their moment of due…no more need to succumb prematurely
to this onerous lighter than air pressurized crushing atmosphere of reused oxygen
did I awake just to prove my existence, to offer up this combination of vocabulary of wondering, one more explication of the unknowns that are visible to the naked eyes, big, hard, factuals better left alone…and suddenly the morning light has arrived,
dear god,it will be a sun-filled sky,
and that weight, is modestly eased,
never fully erased, but you know,
I know, most of its occupants
even those
who won’t show their faces
And perhaps they should remain
hidden in the white spaces
between the letters and the words,
u. n. t. o. l. d.
Jan 29, 2025
Jan 29, 2025 at 8:07 AM UTC
My heels bite the pavement,
the cadence of Monday through Friday;
My shoulders are stressed
In spite of ergonomics.
The strangers who pass me,
eyes glossed with similar fatigue,
beat a shuffling rhythm:
the melody hypnotizes.
That's why I don't notice.
Walking just the same,
a pace not unlike the teller
or the lawyer in front of me.
They speak of a repast,
old haunts, new places,
television and sports.
Another measure, no sign of caesura.
When I find myself unsure,
uncertain of the cool ground beneath,
of the muffled grumblings
and the scrapes on my knees,
it feels like a dream.
“I'll wake up soon, I'm at home.
I've fallen asleep to the T.V.,
a wacky dream bred from the same.”
The breath on my neck is so hot.
Once my head straightens up,
the world once again standing still before me,
the weight against my body multiplies.
The floating sensation of sleep,
The feeling of a shell within a shell,
It dissipates and my insides are knots,
molten lava, churning against its crust
and my skin screams in tune.
The grunting and the pawing,
brusque lips are sinking ships.
There's not enough sandpaper
in the world to compare.
Those heels are dust,
their teeth broken and rotted;
Percussion takes a rest.
I am trapped inside my clothes.
Twisted like a snake around my body,
I want only to be free of them--
in any other situation but.
“Here let me help you with that.”
The words slither, covered in mold.
My every wish in that single moment
Answered, a betrayal; trite axioms abound.
Suddenly the weight lifts, is suspended,
a chance accorded to a plain old girl.
But my limbs are heavy, fear looms,
Justifications swarm my panicked mind.
“Don't be stupid. Give them what they want;
They'll leave you alone. Go to another place.
Return with some piece of mind:
no matter how fractured your body, you heal.”
But there's a light on overhead.
The unmasked man stares lustfully at my lips.
His uncharted groping is fervent, fearless--
his desire to be soon bestowed upon him.
Consequences do not glaze his feverish eyes,
and worry lies dormant, sets off no warnings.
The cage was set, the trap precisely executed
and there's no spoon to help me out of here.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 12:18 AM UTC
Heck, someone was arguing about taxes.
Heck, I thought , why are they arguing about Texas.
It's just a state.
Why are they debating about something that's been around for centuries?
Of course many complains it affects their income.
But fails to realize it also works for the purpose it was formed.
Sure it rises.
And sometimes gets cut.
Which's again is based on several people promise.
Taxes has never being popular.
And it should be.
Because it decides many things accorded to the perspective that's needed.
Income tax, has it distractors.
Similar to when it first became a law.
Now try to eliminate it.
And see that proposal get voted down by many and not just some.
Even in scriptures, we aware that Matthew was a tax collector.
And even his occupation had it purpose.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
Fountains past a milky one
blinded spots of spoilt stones
darkened pebbles of loath
turned to a necrotic lesion
tensions of unmentioned
tractions of the substitute
for the light I saw dimmed
Such a rapid trim discarded
as if it never breathed or existed
Such a polish of luminance
evaporated over the unseen clouds
and all the edges are now scratched
summed in all the misspoken words
Why did you even want to play?
with a mass as big as whale
a sail of the disproportionate
abstracted dissonance as accorded
too quick to run away from the red flags
footsteps of the unmarked foot steps
in filtered tracks of a chauvinist prokaryote
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
i used to live in boxes,
not just the ones from packing my life
away and expediting it, or where i would
store myself under old refrigerators,
making soft buzzing noises with my tongue
i kept things in them, wings plucked
from butterflies and soaked in the
sickly sweet scent of formaldehyde.
it was satisfying to separate myself
from all the spheres of influence
and drops in the bucket
of my mind.
the past was all accorded for,
the present mattered not. i could get by
on scratching windowpanes for golden flecks
of light. as long as i had the memories of
being too young to understand thoughts,
i was okay, and okay was a word i could say
without regret. it promised nothing.
so what chance did you stand, all silver
and sparkles, speaking backwards and boiling over
with steam? you pretended it was virtue you were
smoking, hand-rolled, on the slowly sinking porch.
i could taste it as hypocrisy, some softest contradiction.
and i wanted to seal you off, garnished in
a soft sort of word salad, and dressed with adjectives
like “lonely” or maybe just a little bored. my way
was too angular for your knees, softly curved as they were,
and supple on my chest. you compartmentalized
so sloppily into a stream-of-consciousness story.
so there is a box for you, sitting somewhere, and i confess
that i always wanted to sleep alone. a can of soda
can be champagne if i’m celebrating something. and so
i think i’ll spend my night sugary and sober, painting
the sky cardboard and faded, like a memory without
a frame to hold it in.
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 1:12 PM UTC
Month by month
Week by week
Day by day
Hour by hour
Minute by minute
Second by second
The pressure builds
The stranglehold tightens
Like the monstrous coils
Of a giant anaconda
That is savagely determined
To squeeze its hapless prey
And ruthlessly quell every ounce of resistance
Until the poor rabbit realises
That it's all over bar the shouting
But I am not a rabbit
I am a mongoose
The mere sight of that ugly serpent
Fills me, not with fear
But instead, with rage
A rage so powerful, and so enduring
That I long to rip the snake
Into a thousand slimy pieces
With my shiny claws
As sharp as daggers
Until and unless Justice is served
We employees are accorded
The respect and dignity we deserve
Our dues are paid on time
And you, the employer
Finally show some transparency and accountability
And empower us with that freedom
Which you keep boasting about
But which we all know, is just a sham
Just like the training sessions you promised
The dedicated office setup
The addition of more employees
And of course, most of the incentives
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 12:08 PM UTC
I know a bad poem when I see it
yet strange enough
never seen or read one,
my tablet refuses me,
my writing hand shakes
incontrovertibly
the dictionary confirms,
proper usage forbids,
the conjunction of the words
bad poem,
t'is a linguistic impossibility
every poem ever writ
resides inside my customized
pantheon,
tho spell it a tad different,
Pantheone
every poet/poem lives forever
in a
pantheon of one
for the courage to expose,
deserves the honor
accorded by their fellow immortal muses
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC
Another bright day where the sun still has its smile
Business like, cars running their mile
People all around, buying and selling
And some lazy ones, still sleeping in their dwellings
Our worries cloud the reality of an expiry date
And we keep wasting time, living by fate
Well any how we use our time, it’s recorded
And some day, rewards will be accorded
More real than breath, time is ticking
To every man is a time and season
Your ignorance might just be writing you wrong pages
And before you realize, you’re referring to gone ages
Think about this more than twice
And choose the path of the wise
Just before you close those eyes
Clear your mind of those worldly lies
That paints wrong as right
Luring you away from the true light
Wake up from these illusions, stand up and fight
Keep your gaze on the truth, focused and tight
So if you see tomorrow’s sun
Don’t use another chance for fun
Register your life in it as an impactful one
By living in accordance with the will of the first born.
- Omodunmiju David
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
You will find me by your side when friends become emotionally expensive and stray ..
Forever recall my eyes cast in your direction from the moment you awake till the close of day ..
You will receive the warmth of the hearth on a cool Winters morn ..
The courtesy befitting a Queen , the respect duly accorded the Gods ..
Everlasting encouragement for all your hopes and dreams , a palette for your endearing artistic soul , the promise of infinite care and love , safe harbor from capricious storm .
A determined , audacious lantern to benefit the midnight hour ...
An island surrounded by churning waters , cradled by endearing receptive arms ..
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
¿Adónde fueron ahogadas aquellas caricias,
perlas susurrantes que se llevó el viento?
¿A quien voló la marea,
como quien se lleva algo que no es suyo,
algo que siempre lo ha sido?
Tu lo sabes, Corsario;
Corsario traicionero,
tu amor son caricias que no tengo,
tu cariño son sonrisas denegadas.
Negaciones que no tengo,
amor cariñoso, sonrisas acariciadas.
Otros poetas nada saben,
nada saben de tus sueños, Corsario,
nada saben de tu cantar,
de tus canciones de ensueño,
tu dormir melódico.
Y sola aquí te espero, Corsario,
en el punto acordado al que no acudirás.
Y aquí te escribo, Corsario,
en el instante acordado en el que no aparecerás.
Y aquí te escribiré siempre, mi amor,
y mi cuerpo omnipresente llorará tu muerte.
//
Where did those caresses go drowned,
whispering pearls the wind took away?
¿Who did the tides fly,
like someone taking something that is not theirs,
something that always has been?
You know, Corsair;
treaterous Corsair,
your love are caresses I do not have,
your affection are denied smiles.
Denies I do not have,
affectionate love, caressed smiles.
Other poets nothing know,
nothing know of your dreams, Corsair,
nothing knkw of your singing,
of your dreamlike songs,
of your melodic dreams.
Alone here I wait for you, Corsair,
in the accorded point to which you will not come.
And here I write you, Corsair,
in the accorded instant in which you will not show up.
And here I will always write, my love,
and my omnipresent body will cry my death.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
That dark and promising thought,
Kept my eyes open,
And my mind rotten,
All night.
I had dreams and maddening desires that turned against me,
Showed no mercy,
accorded themselves the honor to be my nocturnal unrepentant rivals,
Swore upon their strength to make me dignify my hatred for mortals.
The thoughts challenged gods,
Defeated all my spirit's guards,
Obliged me to visit psychic wards.
Here I am defeated,
And by some higher power or no power,
Blessed
To still be alive
Somewhere far.
From the distance I can still see my old foolish and pitiful self as he walks away :
The happily innocent living that was dramatically convinced, being happy is just one step far.
Stabbed and mutilated
I survived the endless wars,
I now cherish the scars,
That push me to dare going deeper inside,
Of my mutilated soul and misfortunes and the joys that lied.
I was one finger away to Cease to be me,
Probably I haven't yet consumed all my morning's coffee, to flee and decide of my destiny and join with a touch of prestige the club of men that truly lived and now are free.
They must have instead wept when a man was born,
Not when his flame is extinguished and hereafter they mourn.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
One stands out above us all.
Just picking us up when we eventually falls.
And guiding us back to the truth.
One stands out as Almighty.
And no one can contest his strength.
And his name is forever in print.
It's in black and white and spoken in red.
And on the third day he rose up,from being dead.
He's the head and not the tail.
And, he runs from no one.
But does chase you to get to know him.
Although some has in scriptures refused to recognize him.
Still, he's the one.
The greatest of Gods.
With an anointed Son.
His name has been changed accorded to people view.
But, they can't change the name known to me and you.
Or, you and I.
He watches everything we do.
And quietly question us deep down inside.
He's the one.
The one we believers call purely Wonderful.
He floats on air and across the many seas.
He keeps the faithful constantly believing.
He's God.
He's the one.
The one that gave us his begotten son.
And, we ALL should thank Him for the things he has done.
All because He's the One.
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 7:20 PM UTC
A rhetorical question finds me asking
(to no one in particular) why I recall
the names of grade school teachers
approximately fifty years ago (whose
names listed below), when the need
to retrieve necessary information due
ring examinations (less time ago)
often found me seized with sudden
inability to remember any vital ants
sirs (even including my name), thus
grudgingly handing over blank test paper
analogously surrendering a vital
document gracing terms of defeat
into the scaly claws (zen nay), sans
first to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout,
Missus Shaner, or Miss Rinderle).
Invariably majority of first thru
sixth grade accorded accredited
ancient authenticated creatures.
They freely exercised diabolical
churlish ******** animalistic zeal
us yakking, wickedly unprintable
upon (unprincipled urchin) at
receiving end of fiendishly grue
some hellish instructions. Assign
ments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period
earlier in dawning primate con
sciousness. Lesson material kindled
with justifiable license in league
with garnered insignia. Heft
to bring pupils to heal predicated
via warp and weft woven wonder
fully. Wrought writs welcomed
whips with warranty whenever
recalcitrant ruffian refused
respecting reptilian rubric repre
sentative rattling (The Idler Wheel
Is Wiser Than the Driver of
the ***** and Whipping Cords
Will Serve You More Than Ropes
Will Ever Do), which loosely
rendered regularly warbled
wishy washy verse curmudgeons
freedom granted to interpret
as one decrepit, hawkish insignia
certified one beaming Eve and/
or stud deed brute soffit. Education
often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to and/or from Aunt
Emma. Nefarious mean linkedin
kickstarter jawboning torturous
treatment tolerated, asper imps
of the pervert, mutant Ninja
Turtles duty bound antsy
youthful yokel yodelers
weathering ululating sing-song
and quintessential precepts.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 4:28 PM UTC
The pulp of brandywine leaves thistle with the dew of dawn,
the strung lights accorded bronze
sashing of the crumbled brick sacrament situated beneath the crack-
break of December 21st, Christ, Nativity,
a triptych; Wrench the whetted, gold seed the steed
of the Order, Clementine garland
and extension cords;
Altar of Santa Celia, burnished walnut shoes,
polished silver fillium.
The wanton hymn of baritones and wisteria hung
from candlelit pictures pressed
between rotted chicken boxes. Merry Christmas
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
Mother only had a father figure until '75
Only up to a few days before her first candle was he alive
A singular heart attack to cause multiple heartbreaks
Widowing a woman with four kids...they need to strive
Despite being born in '98, I only had a father since '12
Fourteen years of searching for a father figure; i'd delve
Chapters worth of excuses for disappearing, the nth book to shelve
Get in the bed like you get in the coffin
Supposed to have the last breath, but he's still coughing
Breath in, exhale. An accordion
Sign the accord, have the wealth be accorded too
But according to accusations, his health has been recorded too
Can't run, born acaudal. Bit tipsy off the caudle
Birthed with ton weights to the ankles
Non-progressive like he's earthed
Moral state, oral debate, heart rate
More slate, foresee hate, i'll wait
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
politicians spout their indignities
as if written accorded discussed
not a normal existence
but some sort of trance
their eyes of blank monitors
shifting yet poised
in love with the camera
the thing that cannot be touched
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
Courtesy food pantries
Saint Eleanor's Saint Mary's,
Our Daily Bread,
the missus and yours truly (her spouse)
well stocked with good n plenti of
soap, shampoo and detergent.
Spongebob squarepants
would be in seventh heaven,
where sudsy clouds (resembling
Mister Krabs, Plankton,
Sandy Cheeks, Squidward, et cetera),
would drift across celestial vault.
Gratitude bequeathed to prophets of virtue
benevolent good samaritans
who trend righteous true
to the calling of helping hands who renew
faith (mine) in goodness of humanity
assisting not only yours truly
and the missus, but people
from South American country named Peru
or even indigenous tribes
accorded recognition comprising
population of inhabitants occupying New
Zealand, offered reparations
under the Treaty of Waitangi,
a process of reparation allowed
Maori to be fully recognized
at political level in lieu
of unfair practices inflicted upon
original occupant loosely similar
to descendents of long lost tribes of Israel,
endowed with (pure tin) pride
wishing I too could call myself proud Jew,
nevertheless attraction manifests destiny
(mine) someday to learn Hebrew.
Courtesy atheism more so Unitarianism,
I need not adopt
an explicit dogmatic, fanatic, humanistic...,
lunatic, narcissistic, puritanic... paradigm,
but only tout poetic justice (mine)
to recognize laudable traits
linkedin to orthodox faiths,
albeit rationalistic rubric
that caters to selflessness
for no other reason
than allowing, enabling, and promoting
random acts of kindness
without any forthcoming great expectation
downplaying remuneration,
no matter destitution begot mein kampf
hard times living within bleak house
slight hyperbolic exaggeration
poor as a cheesy church mouse poet.
Lemme coast to a fitting conclusion
bringing reasonable rhyming blather
originating courtesy me noggin,
within which wool doth gather
thus I a halt and
dial down philosophical lather,
cuz most likely
ye dear reader would rather
experience palmolive oil slather
preparatory to full body massage.
Dec 16, 2021
Dec 16, 2021 at 8:39 PM UTC