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I often remember with a lot of thrill in my spine every time I reflect on the Writings of Miguna Miguna in his book peeling Back the Masks, a certain sub-plot that most of Kenyan students in Canada, America, Britain, Germany or Australia often fail to go through pre-university examinations and then they opt for faculty friendly courses like carpentry and electrical-wire man offered at some polytechnics in this countries. Then these students end up living as informal sector workers in the Diaspora, and hence putting themselves into a cash strapped condition that they don’t easily come back home. This is also the same texture of revelations I have been encountering for the past five months of my regular reading of the literary pages of The Saturday Nation, in which a most of Kenyans write alongside some foreigners, but notably Professor Austin Bukenya as the foreign writer, Bukenya himself being a Ugandan.
The revelations are that the writers who were regularly writing on these pages sometimes ago have gradually waned up, not because of anything but due to their intellectual irrelevance. Mostly caused by a defect of intellectual inferiority. They were the likes of Evans Mwangi; Mwangi was forthrightly coming up with a tribally fine-tuned niche in the name of being Ngugi wa Thiong’o scholar. He had a specialization in writing about Ngugi because Ngugi is his tribesman, they are both Kikuyu’s.He also had substantial writings on Ngugi’s children; Mukoma, Lee, Nducu and Wanjiku wa Ngugi, who are in similar stretch of their father struggling to be established as writers. But all in all, Professor Evans Mwangi has already ended up as an intellectual without consequences.
Another writer in point was one; Dr Tom Odhiambo, who also teaches literature at the University of Nairobi. He had been writing on the same pages but with a strong bent towards Luo Chauvinism and stark Conspiracy against Luhyia veteran literary Critic Professor Chris Wanjala.
The only Kenyan literary activist who has been trying to remain globally vogue in his literary writings on this platform is Dr Godwin Siundu; he often displays Global relevance through his pataphorous approach to literary appreciations and criticism.
But whatsoever the case, professor Bukenya has towered seriously above these Kenyans.Bukenya’s command of English language and literary command has no match on the Kenyan literary market. Bukenya Tackles globalectics of literature as Kenyans struggle with tribalism of their home literature.Ethinicity is the enemy of Kenyan literature and as well an established foe of any other Kenyan professional perspective.
Why Kenyans are threatened with intellectual suffocation when exposed to otherness is because of a few reasons. As cited above ethinicism remains a dominant factor. But also, lack of homogenous public language, absence of ideology in their political history, failure of politics to achieve common nationalism and corruption in the public sector are contributing forces among others.
Your consecutive  look at the literary pages of  the Saturday Nation of the previous three weekends will be an empirical testimony to this position.Bukenya’s stories have surveyed dialectics of English language, aging of African literature , translation and greatness of Uganda orature with a focus on Okot P’ Bitek. And this weekend he has beautifully lime-lighted on Julius Nyerere’s Intellectual tigritude. Nyerere’s as the killer of colonialism but while at the same time he lingered as the staunch lover of Shakespeare.
This is simply a farcical repetition of the previous tragic history, as reflected in the words of Karl Marx in his 18th Brumaire, which made the Ugandan educated Sudanese Poet, Taban Reneket Makititiyong Lo Liyong to look at Kenya’s literary poverty and then take a synechedochal stand to decry that east Africa is a literary desert. He was right, but in a sense he did not mean east Africa per se, he meant Kenya .Kenya at that time had only an English Department at the University of Nairobi. The department was poorly performing in terms of research. It was desperately tethered duplicating of the European classics as its literary overture.
But when the foreign and radical blood came to Kenya, in guest of helping Kenya to overcome the fog in the seasons end from colonial mire to literary and cultural freedom, Native Kenyans were surprisingly never friendly to them at all at all. Some of the intellectuals who had come to Kenya that time were the greats like :Ezekiel Mphalele from south Africa, Okot p’ Bitek from Uganda,Okello Oculii from Uganda,Ayi Kwei Armah from Ghana, Joie De Graft from Ghana, Walter Rodney from Guyana, Austeen Bukenya from Uganda and Taban Lo Liyong from Uganda.
All of these foreigners in Kenya have later on been absolved by time and history  as literary greats.They have proved clear intellectual and literary superlativety  over and above all Kenyans. The point of contrite is that, Kenyans of that era did not give them a chance to share their intellectual resource with the peasants and masses of Kenya. Instead Kenyan bureaucrats began their usual came of intimidation and tribal nagging whenever intellectually outshone.
Austeen Bukenya was condemned into poverty at Machakos girls high school to be an English teacher or a teacher of English without a salary. Liyong and Pitek were perpetually witch-hunted out of University of Nairobi by Ngugi and Wanjala. Rodney and Armah were frustrated until they desperately moved to Tanzania from where they wrote their respective oeuvres. Armah wrote Why are we Blessed, While Rodney wrote the world famous book How Europe Underdeveloped Africa. Mphalele was frustrated to oblivion, only for him to die mysteriously when on a literary tour in West Africa.
But sadly enough, the Kenyans who were seriously illiterate, in the  likes of : Daniel Moi, Jomo Kenyatta, Ezekiel Barengtunny  and many intellectuals so-so’s shamelessly made themselves to be  chancellors of the Universities .They were chancellors who never went beyond class seven of primary schools in their child hood. They then became bovaristic if not atavistic only to begin writing lame books like Nyayo Philosophy, Suffering without Bitterness, Facing Mount Kenya and other literary trash of the same calibre. It is this intellectual sludge that they again turned to impose as compulsory reading materials on sons and daughters of poor Kenyans.
By
Alexander K. Opicho
Eldoret, Kenya.
response to literary journalism in east africa
Gary Nov 2014
Self appreciation-
Poetry is like the soul
The soul being a bird
A Bird singing in it’s field,
Carrying it’s wounded heart
Across a bare land of hope
In search of it’s dreams.
As a blind man,
can hear every note from the bird precisely and accurately.
A deaf man can see all her beautiful vivid colors in her feathers.
Trying to build strength along they way Not to lose faith On each of their hardened journey.
Facing the reality of each their own dreams truth, One on one.
Taking the time,
Looking in their minds mirror,
Giving thanks to their soul’s For the life it has given to them.
Thanking their life for Building a complete fulfilling memory Of accomplishing the greatest of ones deepest sincerities in goals.
-Pure Inner Strength
Michal Shilor Jan 2014
our kisses were as soft as our hearts & this must be the seed of all that came thereafter,
and all that didn't see light outside my mind.

perhaps our soft hearts led to my current introspection and my disposition when it comes to
pens, papers,
and all that lies
between them in truth,
in confessions by
soft tongues in shaky lips in scattered sheets in paling cheeks and blushing eyes,
in that which lies
between thought and its expression,
between brutal honesty in the heat of an oncoming summer,
in mosquito bites and my sweet blood which attracts this
violence, this heatstroke
sunshine;
it is divine,
like we imagined,

it is hectic like we desired,
it is nonsense and is madness and knows no explanation other than our
awkward silence,
our differences in imagined futures,
our various degrees of love/hate passive-aggressive
actions and feelings and resentments and appreciations;

we both are optimistic but you believe in that which counters my belief and it is
strange and unexpected and before you,
i needed someone,

and after you,
i need to be alone
EDWARD PEREZ Apr 2013
Haven’t I sung you songs?
Written you into poetry steadily and freely?
Haven’t I brought you along?
And covered you in the night when you felt hearts song?
Haven’t I thought of you when you needed to go run along?
Let you travel on your own
Behind the wheel of a new priced tone?
Wasn’t it Conscientiousness’ effort when I let in?
When you yelled at your children.
And they yelled too?
Wasn’t it a mess learning to live?
But through it all we kept close and hid?
And to you.
Wasn’t it grand how we drank and listened to Disney at night?
Or how we sang karaoke
While others laughed but so what?  What blast we had!
And to you.
Didn’t we bring each other a cup of tea in our time of need?
Leaving you to rest in our nest?
And to you.
Didn’t I pick you up?
Bought, then chose.
The bar I raised.  Then let go.
Just to have you close.
And to you.
What different set of values?
What lie and conviction do you pride on?
I shouldn’t fold – it’s really nothing new..There’s been so many like you.
Appreciation is what’s needed. When all is unforgiving.
It’s the flowers you sent
It’s the call or text
It’s the I’m sorry when I was wrong.
It’s showing when push comes to shove.
And to you.
No talk no banter
No life so what matters?
And to you.
Saying to much in small words
Letting me rise
Only to flatter.
That’s life here in this God forsaken game.
No Earth to give it what its needs
No Time that helped its leaves.
Falling in a grave
Only to rise again.
Because God only provides
In these to you, will never arise.
Copyright 2013 Edward Perez
Silence Screamz Jan 2018
Disaster is my master
I've seen chaos in mediocre valleys
Murdered by my feet in the dark alleys,
I am a hazard

Cringing by the needles of the ****** addicts
Chicago is my town
With concrete giants towering
And city people behind dark windows cowering

But, stop right there

What is this disaster? I am speaking of
Down hard and fallen
The windy city government failure is only a small token

A token of no appreciations, comprehension, solitary explosions, or time stamp expirations.
So come to this city and see the real masters of deviation and drive by cancellations

You will see these people distant passed the time and places
With empty shoes, empty futures and empty faces
Please talk to the drunkards begging for another shot of gin with all together no more chances

This disaster is in front of you
Simple, solemn, messed up and confused
I beg you, don't walk past them and forget, you could be there too

I just don't want to see you downplayed, hungry or depraved.
Restrained, contained or in constant pain.
And Lord knows this revelation of what you want to be is only left outside under the constant rain
Ashly Kocher Aug 2021
You can’t get back what’s already been lost but you can regain appreciation for what isn’t there anymore…
"Yeah, I get that, but, why's it so hard? Why must it be so painful?
Why must there be such emotional struggle and spiritual turmoil?"

"Aha, then you don't get it at all.
You study the map well, but have yet to hazard traversing the Path, itself.

Without all the pain, Grasshopper,
without suffering and perseverance,
why bother to try to learn these first lessons at all?
Would you have had the tools and motivation you needed?

Without adversity, where's quality control?

Imagine, if you can, what an eternity of bliss would be worth to One,
who had suffered countless lifetimes in the struggle for that Nirvana,
as opposed to One who was born into such bliss without lifetimes of sorrow to counterbalance; provide context. Is the discrepancy of appreciations apparent?

You see-
if you want to learn, to live, to experience anything worthwhile,
you must accept the pain. Life is pain. That's the deal how it is in the contract: you get to live, but then you have to die. It's called Mortality. It's a joke, an illusion. Get over it. Laugh at it before it gets the last laugh. Welcome it. Let it teach you. Invite it for tea.
Dare to look it in the eye.
It respects that.

That isn't to say give in to it, but, rather, listen to it. Respect it's counsel.
If you must suffer, learn to use suffering,
lest it drain you of your very Soul
and entice you to seek to the same of Others-
That's the corrupting agent, Grasshopper.

Though Pain may well be dark by nature,
it is made bad by abusive nurture.
It mustn't be a construct of Evil.
It can be made an excuse for Light, as well.
There's an example of the play of yin and yang.
Be keen to both, so as to make the most auspicious choices.
Choose to transmute that Pain,
whether emotional, spiritual, physical, or creative,
into a source of inspiration, motivation.
Reflection. Redemption.

Balance is qi, Grasshopper.

Also, try to avoid killing the ants. They're just finding their place, too.
There's no sense in causing more suffering than there must already be.
You wanna talk about suffering? Talk to the ants who carry off the bits of the other Ants you smash! How d'ya think they feel?
Probably nothin', they're just ants.

Point is, not unlike pain,
the ants serve a purpose, as do we all.
Unlike the ants, though,
we are free to define our own purpose.
We must chose wisely.

Now, contemplate that as you get back to sweeping the leaves off the deck.
I have tea that urgently needs my attention."

He combed his hair with his hands and looked off at the sunrise, smiling.

"You're welcome to join me once this chore is complete.
I sense you're almost ready to truly begin your study."

I was strangely afraid he'd say that. I hope he's right.
He always is, but I don't really even know what it means to be ready.
Maybe all just simply is as it must be, and I should just be open to it.
I think I'll sweep a little slower and let all that simmer down.
..raw..
(t4+4, for future reference)

Dialogue between a certain monk and her monastery's master.

13.3.15
M Harris Feb 2017
Newfangled Biosphere Pyramid Scheme In Dwelling To Sidetrack,
Sanities Seduced So You Never Will Retort.
Threaten the sanctity of the delusion,
Unlearn. Start altering the definitions.

Force fed more dread so you relinquish control,
Cravings we must return.
Unfetter the soul,
In a system where acceptances esteemed more than the veracity,
Flawed perception of tour progression through that which we consume.
Exposed through The Earliest Of Eons.

Resistance-Resistance is Demarcated
Subversion-Subvert the Paradigm
Stirring Within A Ecosphere
Numb And Incarcerated

Stirred On My Own
In Prehistoric Of Existences

Slumbering. Visualizing. Bleeding. Conscious.

Appreciations bolted in a collective delusion
Lulled by ease and consumption
An entire realm of souls visualizing their existences.
Mankind is not superior, we’re just folklore's in our own consciences.
Adya Jha Aug 2017
Every morning she woke up early
When emptiness would invade the court  
But she would break her each sweat
Being crystal clear about her goal

Her every victory and her every loss
Made her improve from who she was  
She had dreams to achieve, races to compete in
She didn’t have time to give up

She recognised her weaknesses  
Determined and earnest  
She toiled alone each day  
She worked hard to be the best  

Slowly, patience seemed to wear out
The results weren’t in haste
Loss after loss gave its taste to her
She accepted it as her fate

She let the thread loose
The fire inside of her seemed to be dim
Things that she cared so much for
Seemed so far away, so slim

She was made of passion
Of a driving sensation
And all she amounts to now
Are long lost appreciations
Toxic yeti Dec 2018
In the moonlight
Spirits of two lovers
Dance
A ghostly dance
The spirit of a senior monk
And a young woman
Dancing hauntingly
Then they kiss
And soon the appreciations
Smokey disappear
It is said that
It happens in autumn.
JK Cabresos Jan 2013
I may not be able to provoke beauty
in my words.
Nod.
For I'm just a writer with no experience
of any masterpiece.

But for those appreciations, all of you
have given to my works.
Smile.
For each has left butterfly that will always
be inside my chest.

And that is irrevocable.
Thank you for all the reads and feedback.
To write is inevitable.

All Rights Reserved © 2013
deanena tierney Mar 2010
The rational connection of mind to heart, fails;  amidst oppression.
And selfs' own sake will hide away, concede;  deny expression.
As I, now, twisted internal, seeking within, my fill.
For famine of mankinds' virtues, beckons me to my own will.

To draw upon my minds' well waters, reason every discourse thrown,
But are these resolves born true? Is this slant really my own?
Or some opinion, stole in past, from man with noble name,
Or truly this, my own wit? But impressed, are they not the same?

Though  life revealed foe, of friend; the spirits' urge will still attend.
And Hope; unbound, ever present, dwells; unfaltering, fervent to end.
And Faith, oh Faith, clings on, clings on;  amidst war and grief, despair.
Such as a moth to a miniscule light, when the beam is no longer there.

Though I have no mortal hand to clasp, no steps in tune to compose,
Behold, Hope and Faith still wander inside,  and outward, in my prose.
And what of Nature? I'll tell you. Possession of a freedom I full own.
No enemy, traitor, nor judge can claim the memories I have known.

The majestic crystal sparkling, of tiny buds on trees.
When noon is at its' highest, clear day on summers' eve.
Deafening quiet, stillness yet, of brook in land, far, near.
Where all alone, I gathered pebbles, and threw to spring so clear.

To sit and almost ponder, paths foreborne, foregone and chose,
Then too pensive, outcast those thoughts, minds' purpose opted close.
And stared, vacant, purposeless; to focal point, of what?, unsure;
Oppression could not enter there; for nature and heart were pure.

And dear sweet wind to hydrate, the thirst; sunquenched,  my skin,
Yet not too fierce or frequent, that would be appreciations' sin.
Clouds, course set  by own accord, frolicking, playfully, with the sun,
Flit over, near, under, and back, and then softly, become just one.

And behold, grey cloud, rumbling, with precipice; this is natures'way,
To alter sky and mind inspire;  grant seasons within the day.
And rain; higher powers' solace, to cool, to heal, to renew,
Sparkles more grandly at times by far, then sun on the morning dew.


May life impose upon my heart, oppression, body frail, dreary cope,
It shall not ever wrench the hold of Nature, Faith, and Hope.
“Ere to sustain, I travel lone. Masked, solitary, confined.
To ensure thy bodys' sustenance; preserve sanity of mind.”
Vanshita gogri Mar 2021
Go,tell your mom how beautiful she looks,
wearing an apron and chopping a tomato
or simply just adore the way she cooks.
Go,tell a knock-knock joke to your dad
or start a tickle fight with baseless laughter so tight,
but take a picture, while he laughs like a little child
because this magical moment would be the only reason you smiled.
Just sit with your grandparents for a while when they tell you,
all the embarrassing childhood things that you did
go knitting and gardening with your grandma today,
or just paint her nails, while she tells you her young age tales.
Go,tell your siblings how supportive they've been;
maybe in growing up or a career to begin,
maybe by giving a much needed Choco chip ice cream after a breakup or just a shoulder to lean.
Reminisce those beautiful old days with your friends over your go-to chai ki tapri
thank them for always sticking around
may it be
from the first day at school, the endless gossips, the after class fun ,college fests to a legit job interview
Celebrate when your friend's youtube channel hits1k,
appreciate them when they bake a cake for the first time,
listen up while they tell you something very dear,
dance and sing with them while they are ******* euphoric.
just be with them in their thicks and thins and remember how they have been there too.
because amidst the hustle,
our hearts will only be pacified by these little gestures, small appreciations and the feeling of being connected to the people we love,
maybe its about loving and showing love that our hearts will always crave for.
-vanshita gogri
Ornaments and lights decorate trees
Traditions that we've made this to be
Presents are generous, but to be alive

Is the gift that continues to give
Because your presence
Is a present

Focus energy not on tensions
Or frustrations, but realizing
Appreciations for each lesson
Blessing, and silver lining

For Christmas cheer, is to be kind
To unite love like peace signs
And as we celebrate his birthday
To keep the good faith in mind.
I wrote this poem in honor of Christmas, last year. It's my first Christmas poem that I can remember dedicating to the holiday. I had also written a song about Christmas, but I'm pretty sure this was my first poem about it. I hope you find something to like. ^^
Danielle Rose Feb 2014
I have tried to give birth to a new and improved version of my vision
Exulting blips of exactitude and ambition
Flashes of pretension on a screen of pending dreams
Lacking mobility and projection
Inertia writhes

I'm mainly advertising trying to sell and intrigue
To those who have enough eloquence to persuade my predilection and schemes
Endorsing me providing lifelines and pure consciousness
Lacking the force of extorted themes and exulting worthiness
Cleansing my mind of the mocking bird's trash heap
Help me dissemble the falsified declarations and professions of fiends

I want to be pristine
I beg thee to teach and galvanize me
Endowing me with inexorable sight
Keeping me keen and full of bold might
I am willing to fight

Bring me to the surface of these turbulent seas
No need to mention my frailties and anxieties
All I ask is a breath from the surface of true realities

The urgency constrains my needs for rejuvenation and appreciations
For all those little beautiful things that once meant the world to me
Like pink carnations

Sleeplessness morphs into spells of insomnious hauntings
Stunting my contractions
It's completely and utterly exhausting
A labor deprived of true initiative and wanting
It may sound silly but everything is contradictory

It is these pains that leave me incomplete, ineffectual, and in paralyzing omission
Excluded and feeling great depths of oppression
Despairing and kept in solitary confinement
  
Suffering more than I'd like to profess
Distressing the matters that cave into my chest
An infiltration of insurmountable anguish
Abolished
Untouched by a shoulder or hand of accommodation
Is it selfish to push for this magnitude of isolation?

I crave cultivation
I want to grow into the Giant Sequoia
But the fires of self doubt leave my branches in ruins
Smoke signals sending sirens
A constant affliction
It's all my own doing

Contingency pleading for nourishment
Somehow knowing thee and ye could constitute for something of legends
Tell that to our reflections
Or maybe it's the fear of fire that terminates our pregnancy
Causing us to introvert instead of projecting
Withholding both you and I from mastery
Sharina Saad Jun 2013
words are to be shared not kept
words of beauty, words of love
words of  nature are not just words
Unless its spoken or written down...
some talks words of romance and love
some talks on the god's creation and beauty of the sea
some words praise the winter, spring and summer..
words.. words of praise.. words of appreciations
words of beauty and words of heartfelt love...
we all depend on words no matter how we feel...
words only words that reflects our thoughts...
words only words that shares whats in the mind
some words are not easy..
some words are so simple..
some words are just sweet words...
Sweet words of love, devotion, words just meant for you
Words that remain unspoken but the message still gets through
Words to make you happy words to make you sad
Words that say I love you and words to make you glad
some words are from the deepest core of heart
some words are merely hearsay...
some words are too good to be true..
words too can pierce a heart
But the words don't come easy
They're hung on frozen
lips standing there
While the world's anticipating love
And the words don't come easy
Lady laughs a laughing tear and says
All we really need today are sweet words
but true...
buts words don't come that easy in this cold cold freezing night...
                        ~ sharina~
WORDS BROUGHT THE WORLD TO BE
WORDS ARE FOR ALL TO LIVE BY
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
me and my grandfather, buying candles to place on graves of family members, discussing topics hushed for the public, two hyenas of the graveyard... my grandmother frequenting the grave of her mother and father and nanny like frequenting an armchair... i've heard her cry... like a joy division song: an egyptian will tear us apart! but me and my grandfather the two hyenas of the graveyard - a friendly ghost of resurrected israel, suddenly everyone in western europe starts wearing an arabian scarf in the "cool" and "educated" sector of society of a bachelor's degree... vocal terrorists who only experienced the Blitz but not the holocaust; yes, domesticated cats returned into the hands of the wild by nesting in the graveyard... oh the scent of smoked wood of early winter of Poland in the air, winter in siberia, an air of such cold as if climbing Mt. Everest, walking on the frozen tundra plateau.*

why do old men suddenly
get a monopoly on guidance?
why can't youth guide youth?
the old are guided by an automaton
of death, no one guides them
but suddenly everyone younger than
them frightens them!
why take advice from the old
who's sole concern is to die in
their sleep?
if we try transcendental passing
of knowledge we'll be left
with a 100m sprinter in a zimmer-frame
running faster than the the most
agile athlete... why take advice
from the old farts? are we in this
together or not?
are we a wave born in the 1980s
or just cripples of splintered appreciations
of past and future generations?
well, i can't appreciate the culture of youth,
younger than me... but i also can't
appreciate the wisdom of the elderly...
and that's because the culture of youth
is without experience worth a maxim...
while old age has too many maxims...
while we're craving a narration to serve
like a duty to prayer, although lessened
in terms of necessitated gesticulation
for dumb-struck rather than lighting-struck
realisation...
while old men start being avatars of death
and actors of past life,
the youth start to become competitive
and rude and un-guiding...
clench my teeth at the matter...
the young become passports of sight into lives
you sometimes wished you led
but eventually realise by their example
you haven't; and then clap... clap... clap...
you begin clapping... as a cursor to ensure they
do not conjure up an encore.
Take difficulties as a challange
never as a sorrow
Share with others with zeal
never with gloom and
Play with children
Always to bloom
Lead the team with big theme
never for a selfish regime
Give others as if it were theirs
never to expect something favours
On festivals record your presences
never try for lame pretentions
Go slow with firm determinations
never fall to false appreciations
Guide right to even opponents
never try take them with cruel hands
Try to learn in an easy way
never go for it in a crazy way
That is a nice red carpet
where you lead n hope better result
Aman Dheer Sep 2016
Her hair dangles off her shoulder

A single ponytail made from diverse strands

Dressed in different hues , she walks

And embraces new adventures daily,

She teaches with a smile on her face

With words embedded in her mind and soul,

Her body resides with Shakespeare

And lives with his sonnets and plays

Yet beauty defines her physically

For her literature is unparalleled,

Her poems juggle everyone’s vision

Yet appreciations clung onto her journal !

And humbleness steps at her doorsteps

For a teacher has a fragile but strong heart,

She tries to ignore our mischieves

Sharing every moment and bit with us

Amidst the studious atmosphere,

Her earrings define every class she takes

For she will be printed in our memories’.
amandheer.wordpress.com
Cat Fiske May 2015
I am a trying to fight myself,
someone who just wants to be right,
but is always wrong,
and what I know,
and what I feel,
are conflicting things,

Because I know how he cares for me,
But I still feel ***** with him,
I still want the boy who ***** me,
to ******* call me,
Like I've been waiting for,
for over a year,

But I love this boy who treats me well,
but I feel like I can't really,
love him,
Like I can't love anyone,
because someone went and ****** me when I really didn't want to,
and they called that love too,

so what the **** do I know about love,
because i've been so blind to it all,
Love from me since the **** has just been appreciations like friends,
and I am sorry that I have hurt you like a boy hurt me sweetie,
but I can't be loved,
and I don't want you to waste your time trying,

so maybe its best if we part ways,
because everyday I feel as if i'm holding you back,
because I am afraid for anymore impact,
because I just want my life back the way it was,
before I knew what **** and abuse was,
before my PTSD unlocked all the secrets from me.

having PTSD showed me,
No sweetie making love to boys,
isn't going to make you happy,
so I can't love someone else even if I willingly want to,
Because is it fair to any boy to be loving me and have me start crying,
because I feel like there the boy who ***** me,

but I know the boy who ***** me is bad,
but I feel like he is the only one who could love,
a mess like me,
because he made the mess,

I just want to feel safe around all guys,
I just want to feel loved,
And my mind and heart,
are a battleground over what I am supposed to do,
because it's hard to move on just a little over a year after you learned,

the boy you loved who you dumped ***** you,
and how your breakup had nothing to do with the ****,
and how that makes everything harder and complicated to get,
and you just are always upset because he still never called,
and you really want that phone call,
so you can say you're sorry,

because you just want to be happy,
because even though things with him were bad,
you were happy,
and you want that back,
instead of crying over the bad thing that happened in the past,
you just want something good again.
my problems
Poetic T Jun 2016
My aroma of thought may differ in essence,
but just because our aftertastes are lingering
on different pages, do not presume that
yours will fill thoughts any different.

For each word that is served to others is
digested upon different appreciations.
But I will compose each syllable in
tastes that linger for me not others.
Some like my writing others think it is to dark, I write for me as I love writing not to appease others thoughts of how I should write. We all have different tastes please let me dine on mine.
Trapped in a prison we are,
Forged by our own greedy hands
Till the days of sentimentalism have become the past
We all live with dressed up souls
Taught values and fake appreciations
Never knowing our true potential or selves
The reflection that stares back at you
Purely manufactured
let us break away from this lie
And find true meaning with in our self
Away from this land of concrete and stone
Away from these material objects
Away from these horrid teaching and
Away from this brainwashed state
Let us finally find our own spirit,soul, and mind
SaWal Mar 2018
Shaded, faded, degraded
But i promise you my ending verse would be I MADE IT

Grated, rated, penetrated
Hope is with what all my pain I traded

Waited, bated, segregated
You trying, well so am I, therefore you won't see me retrograded

Pierced, teared, speared
Failing is something I never Feared

Cheated, bleed-ed, mistreated
No appreciations, no acknowledgements, little bit of understanding is all I needed

Raided, shredded, perforated
No matter how dark the tunnel gets, for them dreams I WILL MAKE MY OWN WAY

Alackaday, doomsday, mayday
I have felt them all that's what makes 'it' so special- MY PAYDAY

Bitten, smitten, mistaken
Words above define my ride, feel my rhyme and make the most of THE ROAD TAKEN..
Dimas Dumas Feb 2014
Here I am. Walking with shame within me. Through the times of the unforgettable past that has been tormenting my present until this very second. Towards a road that I have never set foot upon, I never said a word of any vulnerability nor weaknesses.

Apart from all that has happened, nothing has ever stick into my mind nor my heart. Not even a bit. Only the scars of regrets which are marked inside of me. No appreciations had ever been soared to my ears.

When rain starts to shower the land, I do embrace it. In the hopes of getting rid of those scars, I dance under the drops of the dark gray & cloudy skies. With all that effort, nothing has changed this pure feeling that has been covered by the past. Like an arrow that hits a thick ancient wall. Nothing has been changed.

Probably, nothing will.
When you smile stars shine and twinkle to celebrate
Your wonderful style and your beauty like sweet lover
When your eyes carry stars to twinkle to coordinate
All heavenly bodies grow, glow to give sweet answer

Universe is ready to serve and to extend its all charms
It kisses you like a lunatic lover to be your real sweetheart
My beloved your beauty blooms in all seasons to norms
To ask for its appreciations by lover never ever to depart

Come and dance with me on my heartbeat and soul's tune
Embrace me and take me for the sake of your sweet beauty
I can feel warmth of your beauty in winter in spring in June
Let me feel free to worship and to your terms to fully agree

Col Muhammad Khalid khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow
wordvango Mar 2018
Throws longer on green
Grass the younger
The new sun up above
Seems in the
Mornings

As the grays turn
More cold as the
Trees get more
Brittle as the birds
Speak less
Bolder
As the horizons
Get closer

Appreciations set in
Almost glaring in relief
Standing out quicker
Bolder more
Noticed.
More serene

Like birds I've never
Noticed on wing
Near the clouds near
The forest
Careen float
Like asterisks on clean
Paper
Awaiting their
Call

And as the shadows get
Longer and bolder I
Allow them, no enchant and
Caress, each one
As an angel
I've missed.
Marshal Gebbie Jan 2021
Light and deep shade dancing
As I stride the mountain pass
My fascination prancing
As appreciations bask.
There's a tui in the cherry
And a magic song he sings
As he annoints the morning air
With the joy a summer brings.
There's a vibrancy a-hovering
And a crispness to the feel
A clarity so scintillating
One might, actually, doubt it's real.
A sky, so blue to be azure,
Extends across, on high,
Cloudless with a baking sun
Impaling you and I.
These old volcanoes soar aloft
They, now quiescent, stand,
Clad thick in stands of Kamahi
And towering Rimu, grand.
Great Egmont with her snowy crown
Rears high above it all
To dominate the beautious-ness
Of ***** and waterfall.
A tiny fantail flits about
And so entrances me
With aerial bombardments, flung,
In near impossibility.
The song of rivers plummeting
Down ferny glades and stone-
Causing me to laugh aloud
In serenade of home.
And sauntering through this wonderous-ness
Of magnificence in green,
This glory of New Zealand,
Is, indeed, the very best ...I've seen.

M.
Midsummer Taranaki, NZ
30 January 2021
I am the new story
The story of being and nothingness
A Story where all guards is  let loss
Where glory is only of the Most High
The benefits I abound And the crumbs my satisfaction.
Drunkenness when on display not loss of mind
Mockery  could be the seeming perception
But true brothliness is key to sharing
And pride of friendship brotherly protection.
Value is layed  on appreciations  
appreciations of me and you
Our applications of Self in truth.
Truth of you  and me to honor
Of being and nothingness,
Of mind to guard
of our dusty flesh to guide.
To guard and guide a duty call.
Stupor and sensibility are tenets
Liquor is good but temporarily.
Sensibility is awesome and sensibility wisdom
A guided Spirit not a dampen soul.
My story is of self truth,
Truth of mind  made up
Truthfulness seen not told
A different me A different story
Heard from my preciousness of heart.
Golden and curative are gracious, my friends.
We Hunger and thirst for who we truly are
A never ending self search
As We strive for nakedness.
preservationman Apr 2019
FOLLOW THOSE TABLE LEGS
DINNER WILL NOT BE SERVED THIS EVENING
WHY?
THE DINNER TABLE RAN AWAY
BETTER YET, AWOL
SO YOU WONDER WHAT THE REASON FOR?
THERE WAS SUPPOSE TO BE A DUCK AS THE MEAT
THE DINNER TABLE REFUSED, AND FELT IT WOULD RETREAT
THE DUCK NEVER COOKED
IT WAS STOLEN BY AN UNINVITED CROOK
WELL SINCE THERE IS NO SERVING DUCK
THE MEAT, WE MIGHT BE OUT OF LUCK
SO I OFFER A BOLOGNA SANDWICH
THIS IS BECAUSE WE HAD TO SUDDENLY WHICH
THAT IS AS CLOSE TO MEAT AS IT’S GOING TO GET
UNFORTUNATELY THAT IS MY REGRET
PERHAPS YOU SHOULD HAVE MADE RESTAURANT RESERVATIONS
SORRY, HAVE NO APPRECIATIONS
**** THAT RUNAWAY DINNER TABLE
I SHOULD HAVE CUT OFF THOSE LEGS
NOW WHAT WILL I USE AS A DINNER TABLE
I HAVE NO CHOICE, AND IT WILL BE A PLAYING CARDS TABLE
AT LEAST IT IS ABLE, I HOPE?
WELL IF AND WHEN THAT DINNER TABLE RETURNS
WHAT DID I LEARN?
DON’T DEPEND ON ANY DINNER TABLE, IT COULD DISAPPEAR WITHOUT NOTICE
IT COULD BE PAPER PLATES IN EATING IN THE GUEST LAP.
Galbraith Frase Jan 2018
Local cursors, yet so clever
Bribes an adrenaline
Her addiction through the keys
Felt like nicotine
Copy paste,
Copy paste,
How many words to chase?
Delete or erase,
She astonished a few mistakes
Only realizing with an aftertaste

She would scribble down new abbreviations
Silly explorations,
And sincere appreciations
Highlighting them in Italics

Countless minors criticize,
Eighteen, selected font size,
Affix buttons of grammars or otherwise,
The error might sound automatic

Detached quotations,
Unfinished conversations,
Unprepared preparations,
These flares are somewhat emphasized in Bold

Published chapters,
Wasted hours,
She double-dipped in his sweet & sour traits
And then betrayed her own heart of Gold
Hating someone that loves you is the greatest betrayal of all time
Isn’t it?
Disliking someone that cares for you,
****** isn’t it?
Zero appreciations were given,
Heartless isn’t it?
Disparaging an admirer,
Who the **** are you?

You never asked me to love you
You do not want me to love you
So what? I’m a rebel
Now that I have left you -
You missed me,
You begged for pardon

Betrayal is it?
I do think so
That’s what I felt
And I am not talking about my love to a boy
It is to a man -
My father
And so I understand why mama left you
Adios Padre,
I’m happier with my mama
As well as my new father
zebra Oct 2017
oh, the poet
antagonist to the good and evil alike
a sobbing child
let lose in the world
with words and appetites piqued and sensual
transgressors of the middle class
and dull speak

their literary magnitude
sometimes perfume and sometimes stench
dripping on wet pages
written by electric brains
nimble figures and wet crotches
to relieve themselves of stupidities accumulations
wrought by their culture
mired in stink think
of either or

from the head up
high minded saints
from the hips down
undulating demons
each in denial of the other
a buffet of lies

the poet
purging private pleasures and torments
for the bemusement of the world
laid-out on the page
like public masturbations
for all to see in the theater of the ear
genuflecting
with mellifluent grace
and silver tongued appreciations
Asominate Feb 2020
Thanks, appreciations!

I plea to thank you?

(We're unpleased)

Gratifications!

Certainly welcomed!
Noted and appreciated!
preservationman Dec 2021
2021 with another uncertain year
One wondered, where do we preserver?
So many things were happening during 2021
Virus Strands
It spread quickly throughout the land
Masks and Vaccine’s held true
This is something for 2022 to pursue
Racial Unrest and rage
It didn’t matter what age
Senior’s Attacked
Breaking News showed the fact
Murders and Road Kills
The reason behind with a pause still
The day the Capitol was seized and broken in
It was surrounded by an Election questioned
For the world, it became a learning lesson
Black Lives Matter
Surfacing was so much negative chatter
Soon 2021 will depart
2022 will be a fresh start
What can we expect?
The most important part would be hope
Praying for Peace
Being able to cope at least
Embrace
This is serious with no time to waste
Unity and Harmony
Positive voices like a soothing symphony
2022 having new Innovations
A world absorbed in appreciations
Supporting and participating in communities
That would be an important reality
Understanding beyond
Tomorrow’s clear skies to look upon
Living among
Life without all these guns
Fresh thoughts
Tomorrow’s dreams no longer nightmares
Wake up to wisdom
2022, I am waiting for you to arrive
The clock is ticking
Time revolves
2022 your moment
Movement will be the world’s action
Build us like a transaction
The Year 2022
Writers words get light
When readers read
and take words as diet
It takes writers to Heights
When readers give loves and likes
Writers are inspired
When appreciations are received
Writers are blessed
When followers are increased
That's why today I feel uplifted
When 2H followers mark reached.
preservationman Apr 2019
APPRECIATIONS
ASSOCIATIONS
COMMUNICATIONS
CONTINUATIONS
EVERLASTI­NG
EXPECTATIONS
INSPIRATIONS
REALIZATION
SOPHISTICATION
SPIRITUAL­
SUPPLEMENTAL
UNIFICATION

— The End —