"bossom" poems
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
let me begin my salutation to you
by expressing my angst about your ghastly night experience
that you go through when in the hands of the policemen
who often walk around in the name of security patrols
while in truth they bettle terror in the show of evil mighty
they swop you down and arrest you spreadeagled
asking for bribes substantially the money of your proceeds
from the ware of your trade your body the temple of christian God,
Wherever your lack money
your beauty saves you as they go on to **** you in circles among themselves
as they glorify the power of your bossom in their policeman's slang,
where beauty , tyranny of bossom and your bribe is absent
you are forlornly arrested from the streets of Nairobi and Lagos or Johannesburg
then rounded down to a dingy police cell to be charged
with heinous crimes of prostitution and vagrancy,
when the true origin of your fortune's tomfoolery
is powers that be as they glorify anti woman crude cultures
beseeching a girl child into despair and depravement,
they are these men who refused to see you as a beacon of glory
they always link you to the filthy bedrooms from which you ennoble not.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
There are more and more misfortunes in the world
Known to you dear people in your diverse conditions,
But my life and experience has taught me unique lessons
Of kindred to befit me Elizabeth, a daughter of Zinjathropus
Hailing in the savannah desert, Turkana County of Kenya,
I have graduated in to a single lady without test of marriage,
As desert men look at me in their irritating impotence,
**** clothes wrapped around their slender waists passing on me
Like a dog passing on American dollars; cursed be desert men,
I thought my beauty of dark African complexions will give them a ****** tease
But to my chagrin; desert men have a fear of beautiful ladies
My conscience tells me that my beauty is an eye sore to them,
I thought my bulging hips will entice them as is a promise of fertility
Leave alone not to mention my concupiscent ****** warmth, uhmmm!
Desert men have dared not to see and appreciate my **** bossom,
They often pass on me driving their donkeys and emaciated carmels,
I thought my ***** sharp pointed ******* assign of virginity
Will call them to me into a treat of love, affiliative love,
But sadly enough; these dudes are erotically blind,
They they nonchalantly pass on my **** *****
Wielding a begging bowl in their ***** long hands
Running like drunkard chimpanzees going to Oxfam stores to beg for food,
Cursed be Oxfam an imperialist agent, it has crashed flat
The testicles of our desert brothers into ****** insensitivity,
Oxfam has made African desert men to beg like Hebrew lepers
Other than standing up on their feet to feed their women,
Normally as men would do from the sweat of their brow,
I thought my education will attract them to me,
To love me with those romantic University kisses,
But desert men have crude cultures and slavish religion
They rebuke girl child education as if it is a devil,
Oh my dear God of the forsaken desert ladies
Of the forsaken African daughters,
Take me out of this ****** desert
Take me out of the city desert of Lodwar,
Take me to the equator line and give me a husband,
My eggs are pretty ready to conceive and sire children
Sons and daughters for your own glory O almighty God,
Take me out of this ****** desert,
Where no man treats a modern woman,
Take me out of here and give me a fresh man of my dream.
Because I have known from today;
It is accurse to be a woman in Africa
It is a curse to be a beautiful lady in African deserts
It is a curse to be a woman graduate in the African desert
It is a curse to have ***** ******* in the African desert,
O! Help me God.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
He is the lion strength
He is the Pride of Africa
He is the unbending tree along the ocean waves
He is a different being
He is the African warlord
He is the Affican hero
The African knight
He is a leadership model
He is a piller of the African walls
He is a continental delight
He is Our true Legend
He is the African Legend
He is our true hero
Goodnight African papa
Goodnight African Nelson
Goodnight mandela
Sleep well in the bossom of the creator.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
There is a dull ache in the pit of my bossom-
maddening and riveting as the alcohol scalds
my tongue, my throat and settles in my stomach.
Far away,
In the different weather and scent of-
streets, alleways and my bed not quite the same.
Long way from home,
Amidst a place not quite my taste-
missing and kissing in the the corner streets.
Epiphany as the place; that is not quite the same,
reminds me that it is not the missing piece;
Rather, that I am the lonesome traveller.
A stranger, a moribund
In this far away land of sorrow and of memory.
Long way, homesick in the vast expanse of-
memory lane;
A place not quite the same as the one left behind.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:57 AM UTC
My arms you cannot touch
my voice you cannot hear
my tears you cannot wipe away
but my heart is pierced by your cries
my ears hear your silent wails
on the other side of this world
i know your pains but
i do not feel you -
oh faceless one!
oh persecuted one!
do not lose yourself because
of these deathly struggles
do not let the fire burn down
finish the race sweet sibling of faith-
get your reward at Jesus' feet
receive the applause of the
myriad of angels
and let the heavens embrace
you in its bossom
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
-
this page of leaves
blowing smoke of the
burning woman inside her
convenient misery
-
this, her offspring
failure to launch
-
the babes of her
black bossom bugeoning
with brokenness
delinquent
-
now does her pride purloined
of a place In the world
deliver under death
the kindred kindled
blood
-
the substance of her support
now darker . drained
the black lillies
of her bed soon
broken of
spirit
smouldering
-
she wishes the furnace
to burn away
all but
love
-
the world of her nature
still nourishing the
swarthy children of her
caligraphic countinance
forever distracted
and distraught
-
producing naught
but despair
and
d
i
s
a
p
p
e
a
r
i
n
g
i
n
k
soulsurvivor
(C) 2/11/2014
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
Washed ashore
By the angry ebb
Of lost Atlantis,
The ocean brims
In liquid Jade
And grains of gold.
The sun won't sleep
Under the blanket
Of the vast horizon,
But dances with
The velvet moon
At heaven's feet.
Divine rays pierce
The prismic clouds
Bleeding spectrum,
Rain that seethed
At the apex
Of nature's bossom.
They gushed forth
Like raging horses
To a thirsty basin,
That slithered down
The silver rivers
And shallow streams.
Neon vines
Creep in the floor
Of the sleeping forest
Cradled by the songs
Of Mockingjays
And willow dryads.
The zephyr hums
A joyful song
In the laughing thickets
As flowers bloom
Like newborn stars
In the undergrowth.
In the mellow heart
Of the deep forest
A vixen's cry
Echoed woes
Of the hidden land
And its deadly curse.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 8:03 AM UTC
Mama Africa,
She's a blessing to mankind,
Her soil is fertile and lush,
Her skies are forever sunny and blue,
Underneath the soil lies minerals still yet to be touched.
She has worked for her children, oh, if only they knew!.
Blessed to be born in the bossom of mama Africa,
Cursed!, we allow her to waste and wither
She cries tears of blood, as she watches her children slaughter their brethren for selfish gain
When would we Learn, children of Africa!
When will we learn, we are one Africa!.
-wolf
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 7:12 PM UTC
Written for a challenge on my
former site... he wanted us to
rewrite Shakespheare...
a daunting task to say the least!
I can only hope that I
did The Bard justice!
O! Wretched Stars!
Look not down upon this maid!
Your wheels moved well upon
your merciless plans so laid!
You cross' d conspirators!
You... content in your spheres...
do you not find my eyes stricken...
... with tears!
O! Morose and meddlesome Moon!
So swollen full!
Let not this dagger pulled
from my loves gold'n sheath be dull!
You... gliding the uncaring sky
as ship with sail...
let mean, pernicious fate take me...
... your winds prevail!
Take me to where
my lover doth wait...
... take me to shroud, I prithee...
... to my mate!
O! My fairest husband!
Do not lie so still!
Can you not kiss me this last time. ..
... by force of will?
Can you not, with your
fair hand instead,
Take slender blade
and pierce my bossom
til it be bloom'd rose red?!!
Romeo... Romeo!
Wherefore art thou Romeo?
At last you're dead...
... and thus without a name...
As in the halls of graves
... all occupants the SAME!
A pox on your house!
A noisome pestilence!
And thee, o dagger?
Come and take me themce!
As for my house? Let them lie
with palsey in their beds...
... but not 'til this sweet dagger
finds me... its host... DEAD.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/26/2014
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
She went to Russia as a student
To study fashionable nuclear technology
At the communist Patrice Lumumba University
At the center of ideologue creating city of Moscow,
She went there an accomplished total ******
No African eye had ever seen her naked bossom
She came from the western region of Africa
A girl so couth in all the platforms of life;
In manners, dress and ****** appetite,
With only education as the prime focus of her heart;
To bag a science degree in her African leather wallet
Under her arm pit, sandwiching culture and discipline.
But communist racism turned her into an ape *****
All the tricks of European racism were employed on her,
The young girl lost her seed of self-worthwhile sensibilities,
She conceded that perhaps she was a daughter of zinjanthropus,
In the land of dignified civilisation of the Russian humanity
Where communism struggles to achieve universal Godliness
As ***** blackness strives to achieve universal communism,
In this negative personality feat, my dear daughter goofed,
A poor girl of Africa joined communist *** workers market,
And hence the door was opened to communist loutishness,
Comrades came in arms and went out, to collectivize her love
Making her ****** rights state property, subjected to proletariat dictatorship,
Only to suffer the bane of the time on her complain of woman rights,
She was declared as an African ********** in Moscow,
Suffering from incorrigible explosive African anger,
***** irascibility never seen any where in mother Russia
Only capable to be corrected in Siberian prison .
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC
Mother Moon smiles at me
She says it’s okay to be alone
If alone is grounding, is peaceful, is safe
Because, child, there will be many battles to be fought
There will be times, lots, when you’ll be thrown into death
But now, tonight, rest in the bossom of your mother
Let her comfort you, care for you, tell you all is well
My mother smiles at me, she embraces me in her cool breeze
And I am home.
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 6:04 AM UTC
Red Lace Is Something
I’ve only ever heard about.
Never seen.
Big Hips, Tiny Waist
Isn’t real in my world.
Just TV.
Tight Seamless Dresses
And a flattering sillouhette:
Flattery?
Danger: Curves Ahead,
Comparing me to thrilling.
Not me.
Real Women Have These:
It’s either me or my best friend.
Always neither.
Bossom Buddies, Close Knit
Shower buddies using soap.
Never clean.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
I am burning inside.
My anger is a tiger,
A tiger burning in the forest
Of the night... dark as
Aged blood on a
Midnight shroud.
I must accept the truth of
My life. And find complete
Forgiveness for those who
Have done their level best
To destroy it.
The ones who have taken
The blood from my veins
And ripped out my heart.
Who killed my dreams
Now, once again, stillborn
In my arms.
I won't allow self pity to
Replace that sweet child.
A poison changeling
To suckle my bossom
And bite the ******
I'm angry.
But it could be worse.
I could have a
Body wracked with cancer.
I could have been born
In a body stunted and
Wizened... with a
Conciousness to
Understand my
Predicament...
A quadrepalegic.
I could have been born
In a sewer in Calcutta.
From dawn of day
Til day's begun
Count your blessings
One
By
One.
One day
forgiveness
Will come.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
Heat of our bodies...ignites flames of such passion...
as we hold each other so close....kisses so deep....
fingers explore skin....heightening our desire...
Oh how the hunger grows...
to play in the flames of carnal desire.....
taste of her skin....intoxicates the soul...
yearning for so much more....sharing the hearts affactions....
The sloping smooth skin of her bossom...
my hands gently ****** so lovingly....skin shivers under my touch....
souls and hearts open to each other.....
fingers and lips indulge in such pleasure.....upon this night....
We join as one...limbs locked around each other....
moving in synchronicty to our beating hearts....passion surging....
feel me baby...throbbing....thrusting....in the garden of your ***
friction between us....building an inferno of love's fire.....
succumb to our desires....we share our love....
our hearts explore desire's boundaries....
we serenade each other....in the sweet ecstasy of our love making....
forever bound in this love...forever cherishing each other.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 12:46 PM UTC
I was young, so naive
I saw beauty in your eyes
Didn't know they will leave me dry.
You would say let's fool around.
In my innocence I thought you meant laughter and acting crazy
Calling each other silly names.
Maybe I was just too innocent.
I let you in too deep.
I kissed you with fiery passion,
Embraced your every action.
When you laid down your head on my bossom
My heart skipped a beat.
The butterflies in the pit of my tummy,
So strong I had to resist your lips,
Especially when you said you loved me, you needed me,
I believed.
The table turned,
I was just another,
A game meant to be played
To experience what it felt like,
Fooling around with me was a pleasure.
That's when I realised what you actually meant.
You said "you couldn't see me in your forever."
I wasn't your world
I was just an experiment,
to prepare yourself for what's to come.
I was left undone.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 2:16 PM UTC
She said
'drink not the beer of men,
for it is stale and tasteless.
drink your fill of the beer of women,
for it is cool and harkening.
'lay not your head upon your pillow,
for it is with lonely songs you shall sleep.
lay your head upon my pillow,
for it is in this sleepless night we shall rejoice.
'you are tired, not of waking,
but of your bones being uwarmed,
your marrow unsucked,
your hair untussled.
'come, into my arms,
feel the softness of my bossom.
place your hands on the small of my back,
pull me from righteousness and pleasure retention.
pull me towards your eagerness,
your egrogious pleasure.'
burning and aching the good ache,
yearning and fighting the good fight,
she filled me with desert heat,
she encased me with oasis wet.
for her; an hour of ***********
for her; failed musings and a *** bruise or four.
honey, I'm just down the hall.
let me taste of you,
allow yourself your fill of me.
Honey, only if it do please ya.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
Did you know I am black...
Have you listened to His story....
My mother's hands planted me strong..
I have roots of strange fruits
Swinging, But Winds can't move me..
Sweetly I darken as I ripen...
I believe in The Masters plan..
I speak master of no Man..
I pray that He Rewrites His-tory
Things Only the #Master would demand..
Don't be moved by howling hounds..
I Stand firm upon shakend ground..
Hands up, around my royal stem.
Feet dangle until a breathless end..
One pulls back as ropes tighten..
I think of what could've been..
Come get a taste of sin..
I feed the hunger of men..
Look at me strangely Like deformity
My skin bares no such impurity
I am the son of Light
Burnt in the bossom of RA
My power supersedes this hanging state..
I transcended every time I'm consumed..
You only have days to repent..
Hell has cold places for hatred
Now that heavens a breath away..
Don't hunt what you don't eat..
There is blood on the leaves
As you planted gardens of death..
One hangs on as Strange fruit..
Memories linger in the frozen air..
I believe we share some roots..
Tears water the branches we break..
Stories that can't end as His-tory
Dangling Fruits From the popular trees..
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
It all seem like yesterday
When we all gathered round your bed
Kneeling for blessings,benedictions
And warnings to live as one
It all seems like yesterday
When you will rock me with folktales
Stories of how you won my mum
And the blessings attached to you as one
It seems like yesterday
When your advise cuddles me in my blues
Re inspiring my soul
With it streams words of gold
It all seems like yesterday
That the devil took your breathe away
Leaving us with a hole
Scars like tattoos
As we mourn in silence
And here,
we standing all in a dark shade of glass
Black gowns,black suits,black tie,in the rain
Spreading our ashes over you bossom rest
Blaming the devil for the theft of a good life
Though your pictures glaze our hearts
Furnishing it with your radiant smiles
The memory of you
We continue to cherish
As we hold today a remembrance of you.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
Alexander k Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
Of Orwell George and his satirical 1984
Manufacturing words abracadabra and demagogic phrases
Making juvenile English to swell in size and all
Beyond Shakespearean bossom of a teen African woman
Forming ubiquitous the double-speak whose
Attendant ****** sisters of England are
Double talk, double talk, and double smile
Who said the suavity in double love and double cross are
The twin progenitors of Eric Blair the farmer of animals
Collaborating with Jones to sleep in the pigsty where swines mate
Plummaging the world with plethorae of yutopianisism
Wherein glorious big brothers watch you African double speakers
As you sheepishly Sleigh international criminal justice in a beautiful ploy
To obfuscate mellifluous bambinos off the buffoonery powers that be
But When 1984 comes after a full circle of idiosyncrancies, the fools will be seen
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 4:17 AM UTC
There's a place in my heart where an apple tree grows.
On warm Sunday afternoons my soul rests beneath it's unwavering shade,
And there amongst the long sweet grass my fears and sorrows all just seem to fade.
How it got there, what it's for, no one really knows.
Strangely still, the ground around it strangely, somehow glows.
But it's bulky bossom and entangled arms keep my worries abade.
And when I reach to pick an apple from it's gentle depths I simply make a trade.
One bite into the golden globe and one bad memory just goes...
It's stands solemn and contright beside the sands of time,
And from there the surreal sea of dreams just stretches on and on,
Merging with the sky as it disappears beyond.
On the branches of my hope there hangs a tickering chime.
And when it sings it's time to go, it's time to say anon.
There's a place in my heart where and apple tree grows of which I'm pretty fond.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
Eve convinced Adam
to eat forbidden fruit
in the Garden of Eden
Helen of Troy's face
launch'd a thousand ships,
her lips instigating warfare
Sumptuous curvatures of
women's hips and bossom
lure honorable men to disgrace
How dare that trollop
where a pair of trousers
accentuating her buttocks!
The micro-hemline
corralled a wandering eye
to the elegant calve muscle
The female figure is
warmth and seduction,
yet devilish and misleading
History and myth
reaffirming sweet satisfaction,
but reeking of disaster
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
Alone in crowd and character
Alinier found his mate
An accident would guide them
to a golden arching gate
and as they passed eloped like lovers
under the passage's golden face
Alinier saw beyond the gate was
a thirsty, hollow place
the gate remaining open
he saw her beauty and confided
he stepped inside the desert land
and his fate had been decided
She turned to face Alinier
with eyes as amber flame
she uttered, "something you must do
before you know my name"
He spoke to her, "Pray, say your wish
so I may hold thy name!"
she swore, "you must cut both your ears
before you make your claim"
So with Shining Blade he lost his ears
and turned with crippled grin
to his smirking mistress, who spoke her name
but he would never hear again
He said to her in pleading
write to me your title miss!
but she wrote, "There's something you can do
and in return a kiss"
Alinier said, "Tell anything!
So I may keep one kiss!"
The woman said to take the blade
to both his drying lips
So with Shining Blade he lost his lips
and turned to face her, bleeding
she leaned and kissed Alinier's mouth
but he could not feel a thing
He cried to her with gurgled tongue
"My lady let's kiss and rest!"
She wrote, "there's still one task before
you see my flirting breast"
Alinier said, "Speak what you want!
So I may see your bossom best!"
She wrote, "you must remove your eyes
and I'll reveal my chest"
So with Shining Blade he lost his eyes
and as his darkness carried woe
the golden gate began to shut
and soon he was alone
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 9:53 PM UTC
There is a lady in the night
A constellation fair
Lady of the Crescent Moon
You'll see her sitting there.
She wears a diadem of stars
Opals of bright hues
Each color in it represents
A soul who's been abused.
She, who is their patron
Lets them shine like suns
She holds them in the heavens
And cares for every one.
She holds a scepter crystalline
Wears rubies on her sleeves
Her bossom alabaster stones
A tapestry she weaves.
The crescent moon behind her
It's beams are like a flood
It is a second diadem
For she's of royal blood.
AH! You cannot see her?
No. You will not see her soon
You'd only see from VENUS
Lady of the Crescent Moon.
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
A frame dating back
The nostalgic feeling of a former home
How we all stood and watched
How we all wondered how it happened
Why does it hurt again?
The three offsprings looking down
In the cushioned box whence she laid
Tears, free flowing
Mouths agape, a child cries
Its the end of the road Ma,
Pray under the bossom of the Lord
You Rest.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
Sentient street,
As we walk through the gates of sentience,
Like a child,I quirked my head,
Left~right and back with innocence,
To glimpse at their seemly slums;a nimble haul of dread,
Tucked me,as I gander the miscellany artistry,
The winsome combs on their chambers,
By builders and framers,
For all;but the aesthetics I knew belonged to the affluent,
An erudition I needed not to imbibe as a student,
Oblivious of myself;I spotted their melancholic eyes in their inscriptions,
And read the histories and encryptions,
The stares they gave tremored my heart,
And tore the arteries apart,
My soul wept for their bereavement but tears was deficit in my eyes,
As I march to the yard of his repose;I said"A journey we shall all embark"
Gawking at the annexation of other chambers,as grief berserks,
I got there,
I stood meters afar and stared,
As the priest blessed the yard;And prayed for his soul,
Conferring him into the bossom of his maker,
And instructing the digger afterwards;to dump him into the hole,
His folks quaker,
And bade him their farewell with flowers,
In their last hour,
But as they fetch sands and stones to wrap him,
In their faces I saw grim,
When the diggers spat and slapped;his coffin with stones and shovels,
For this has been their long awaited muscle,
And in deligence;they deliver,
"This journey I will embark too"I said,
As I stood in my shiver,
And withdrew and left in mopes.
Sentient Street
©Historian E.Lexano
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC