"amala" poems - Hello Poetry

this ain't no art, man, this is just a careless whisper this is just George Michael singing in your stereo this is just your bourgeois-blues this is merely a bewilderment this is not the art, you know it, you ****** you **** you chronic masturbator you who dare to write on the internet dancing with yo papa' shoes and in yo mama' lingerie ah, look at yourself, a human miracle Angel of a foreign Harlem, you who wasted all away, speaking in foreign tongues inside the thighs of a british stripper, you idiot you ***** and when i'm done i'll come for you, like a **** like a dog sniffin' and slidin' in your park in your ***** trailer park there with your fat-fuck-husband stalkin' yo every move you ***** you **** and when i'm done i'll look for you, simple as that simple as an Einstein formula served to you on exotic dishes by Norma from Twin Peaks, cars for the missus and furs for the mistress and when you'll die you'll **** between all your champagne wishes and it'll be ******* ridiculous. But that's life, babe. Get down on thursday, drains you in May. You ***** so be-my-babe i say be-my-babe in black and white like the Ramones or the Ronettes or the Rolling Stone - i still want to know how your insides look like, - i still want to save your capitalist nature in my mother's fridge, - i still want to fly high on a jet plane with you, alone, with or without needs, crashing on our bridge. I love you- love me! I put my gun in your hands. I push it. I shovel it. My bones are broken bound by all the words i never dared to say - and here, my love, right here, i put IT in my mouth, i feel the cold steel in my tongue, -- how much blood from such a tiny hole, Lizaveta!-- and this, and so much more. but please, i say please, would you feed me? would you need me? i'm a little angel drowning in candies who's eating his heart out and ******** his candy ah, would you say this? Would you? Just because it ain't cool? Well if i'm not cool i'll drive my kite all night and take my lunchbox and shoot Panama down and shoot Mexico down and shoot a *** smoker down and shoot a crack dealer down and shoot a beer dealer down and shoot Mexico down shoot Osaka down Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa! Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa! my love will gun down all your school Look at me - i say, look at me! *Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa! Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!* and don't you forget to say my name, as i'll **** YOUR SKULL

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Oct 22, 2015

Oct 22, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC

tony-montana

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this ain't no art, man, this is just a careless whisper this is just George Michael singing in your stereo this is just your bourgeois-blues this is merely a bewilderment this is not the art, you know it, you ****** you **** you chronic masturbator you who dare to write on the internet dancing with yo papa' shoes and in yo mama' lingerie ah, look at yourself, a human miracle Angel of a foreign Harlem, you who wasted all away, speaking in foreign tongues inside the thighs of a british stripper, you idiot you ***** and when i'm done i'll come for you, like a **** like a dog sniffin' and slidin' in your park in your ***** trailer park there with your fat-fuck-husband stalkin' yo every move you ***** you **** and when i'm done i'll look for you, simple as that simple as an Einstein formula served to you on exotic dishes by Norma from Twin Peaks, cars for the missus and furs for the mistress and when you'll die you'll **** between all your champagne wishes and it'll be ******* ridiculous. But that's life, babe. Get down on thursday, drains you in May. You ***** so be-my-babe i say be-my-babe in black and white like the Ramones or the Ronettes or the Rolling Stone - i still want to know how your insides look like, - i still want to save your capitalist nature in my mother's fridge, - i still want to fly high on a jet plane with you, alone, with or without needs, crashing on our bridge. I love you- love me! I put my gun in your hands. I push it. I shovel it. My bones are broken bound by all the words i never dared to say - and here, my love, right here, i put IT in my mouth, i feel the cold steel in my tongue, -- how much blood from such a tiny hole, Lizaveta!-- and this, and so much more. but please, i say please, would you feed me? would you need me? i'm a little angel drowning in candies who's eating his heart out and ******** his candy ah, would you say this? Would you? Just because it ain't cool? Well if i'm not cool i'll drive my kite all night and take my lunchbox and shoot Panama down and shoot Mexico down and shoot a *** smoker down and shoot a crack dealer down and shoot a beer dealer down and shoot Mexico down shoot Osaka down Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa! Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa! my love will gun down all your school Look at me - i say, look at me! *Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa! Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!* and don't you forget to say my name, as i'll **** YOUR SKULL

102

Sister Bisi, A serial fashion killer From what I remember, her beauty was men's dealer. Her ostrich legs would move her, Like a car without adequate fuel See, I doubt it if sister Bisi could really **** . Sister Bisi, Her smiles could make you render Her your head, Of course, before placing her head-drink, You would be dead! Calling her "Beautiful" was an understament . Sister Bisi, I once believed she was a witch Her eye lashes elongated like palm fronds She could barely swallow "amala" But she could linger on "noodles" and "suya" Her lips would dance like flowers in the air When she says "like seriously" . Sister Bisi, I admire you, till yesterday, When a circle of unending presence beheld you Besides the "gutter" you could barely cross Your twins on the chest shaved away! Like demolition of our public library. "she's been used" I heard from murmurs, I was keen Only to know that you were a "slay queen" . Balogun Tolulopez Ayodeji David(drunk poet) ©️2017 ANA Aaua chapter

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Jul 15, 2017

Jul 15, 2017 at 10:43 AM UTC

Drunk_poet

Sister Bisi

Sister Bisi, A serial fashion killer From what I remember, her beauty was men's dealer. Her ostrich legs would move her, Like a car without adequate fuel See, I doubt it if sister Bisi could really **** . Sister Bisi, Her smiles could make you render Her your head, Of course, before placing her head-drink, You would be dead! Calling her "Beautiful" was an understament . Sister Bisi, I once believed she was a witch Her eye lashes elongated like palm fronds She could barely swallow "amala" But she could linger on "noodles" and "suya" Her lips would dance like flowers in the air When she says "like seriously" . Sister Bisi, I admire you, till yesterday, When a circle of unending presence beheld you Besides the "gutter" you could barely cross Your twins on the chest shaved away! Like demolition of our public library. "she's been used" I heard from murmurs, I was keen Only to know that you were a "slay queen" . Balogun Tolulopez Ayodeji David(drunk poet) ©️2017 ANA Aaua chapter

35

Father I want to you something rare, No father! Not the beauty I beheld yesterday, Nor the sweetness of her lips, Father not the dexterous touch of her hips, Listen father, please care, Father I had a nightmare, Not a masquerade chasing me, Look my mouth! No sign of amala! Father out you should hear me. Father it's my homeland, The land of my forefathers, She was helpless, Couldn't find help, not even by Our Fathers, She restless and careless. Father my County is dying! And moses shook his head In disapproval, Father you are the country.

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Jul 4, 2016

Jul 4, 2016 at 2:30 AM UTC

Drunk_poet

My nightmare

Father I want to you something rare, No father! Not the beauty I beheld yesterday, Nor the sweetness of her lips, Father not the dexterous touch of her hips, Listen father, please care, Father I had a nightmare, Not a masquerade chasing me, Look my mouth! No sign of amala! Father out you should hear me. Father it's my homeland, The land of my forefathers, She was helpless, Couldn't find help, not even by Our Fathers, She restless and careless. Father my County is dying! And moses shook his head In disapproval, Father you are the country.

18