"civilised" poems
I saw the Maori Jesus
Walking on Wellington Harbour.
He wore blue dungarees,
His beard and hair were long.
His breath smelled of mussels and paraoa.
When he smiled it looked like the dawn.
When he broke wind the little fishes trembled.
When he frowned the ground shook.
When he laughed everybody got drunk.
The Maori Jesus came on shore
And picked out his twelve disciples.
One cleaned toilets in the railway station;
His hands were scrubbed red to get the **** out of the pores.
One was a call-girl who turned it up for nothing.
One was a housewife who had forgotten the Pill
And stuck her TV set in the ******* can.
One was a little office clerk
Who'd tried to set fire to the Government Buldings.
Yes, and there were several others;
One was a sad old quean;
One was an alcoholic priest
Going slowly mad in a respectable parish.
The Maori Jesus said, 'Man,
From now on the sun will shine.'
He did no miracles;
He played the guitar sitting on the ground.
The first day he was arrested
For having no lawful means of support.
The second day he was beaten up by the cops
For telling a dee his house was not in order.
The third day he was charged with being a Maori
And given a month in Mt Crawford.
The fourth day he was sent to Porirua
For telling a ***** the sun would stop rising.
The fifth day lasted seven years
While he worked in the Asylum laundry
Never out of the steam.
The sixth day he told the head doctor,
'I am the Light in the Void;
I am who I am.'
The seventh day he was lobotomised;
The brain of God was cut in half.
On the eighth day the sun did not rise.
It did not rise the day after.
God was neither alive nor dead.
The darkness of the Void,
Mountainous, mile-deep, civilised darkness
Sat on the earth from then till now.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 7:53 AM UTC
It's stuck in my head,
Until it's gone,
When I can make endless complaints
Endless back stabs to match.
But till its gone, it is there.
After it's been there and gone,
It is there again.
Every night of everyday
And also in random hours of my days.
I see the old, then I see the new.
It seems my world has turned black and blue.
My heart beats faster
And my eyes: they cry.
I feel I am mourning a loss;
Of someone never born to be able to die.
It's the cases like this
That are always the worst.
You think you've found someone,
When they're not there at all.
So many good times
Have all gone down the drain,
Because everyone's a faker.
Don't you know I hate liars?
You liar, you deceitful and manipulative ****
You *****
I hate you,
I hate you,
And then I hate you even more.
What you have done made me fall to the floor.
I don't know how I can get through this,
Because last time I could just hate,
Which still I am doing.
You make that more difficult.
Because when all the memories
Come back again,
I don't want to believe that was you,
Surely it can't be true?
But I know too well
To be fooled more than once,
Not that there's a way you would make it twice,
Because you hate me too.
It's all because of you.
And her
And the other.
All "best friends" do
Is end up having to stab each other.
You see I am missing,
Someone nonexistent.
I knew it was too good to be true,
But that won't stop me bleeding.
I wish the 'you' I was friends with
Was actually real.
Instead I just feel messed over,
All over again.
I don't want to picture,
Not anymore,
Of what's flashing through my head.
The so many too good times.
They've been damaged again.
I trusted you
As I trusted them all,
Because you have to trust to do anything at all.
Again and again trusting proved to be devastating,
Because there is no one who actually
Has your back.
So no I don't want to picture,
I don't want another picture game.
When I'm talking about you in rants,
The devil is your name.
When I'm speaking I do not have to be sad,
It's only the times that I get to think on my own,
When I feel even more torn down.
When I see you walking around,
I wish you were not.
Do you know not what exactly you all have caused?
I can hear you all talking,
Just like we all used to do,
Then the thousands of memories
Come flooding in once again.
And until I convince myself to dry up my emotions,
I watch the dry river banks
Become diluted without letting the rain fall.
Because my tears;
You never deserved them at all.
I don't want to picture what you may think of me.
If you hate me then go on,
You can resent me as much as you can.
But maybe you'd like to know:
I stood up for you.
Even though it was proved to be true.
I didn't believe it at first,
Because it was you.
How dare you!
If you think I didn't know reasons to take sides,
Didn't you think I would defend you as I did her?
Well I God **** tried!
And if roles were reversed then I would've taken yours,
As it wasn't out of favouritism as it stood,
But because you were so unbelievable
That nothing could be done.
No friendship was saved.
Being civilised?
Well I just try to ignore your name.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
I wear beads and African bracelets for beauty. I forget why the people before me wore them. I wear them with pride not because I earned them but because I simply look beautiful. Beautiful!? What does that even mean? My Nana has scars on her body. She shows them to me with pride. Narrates stories of the war in the past like an action movie only she didn't have a gun only bows and poisonous arrows. The missing teeth in her mouth causes her to spit almost every second she talks. But this embarrassment is only felt by me. She is proud of the hole in her mouth. Suddenly I feel the urge to remove my African beads. They have no meaning only that they are African and I am and so am entitled. But I have done nothing for my heritage. Not even fight for it. Slowly it's being forgotten and people are crossing over without a care in the world. 'To civilisation' we say. 'For the good of the people' we say. But is it? We were a community wrong as we were to circumcise women, marry them off at an early age, burn the wrong... We were a community. We loved each other. We cared. We taught our children how to feel and be the earth. We taught our children to respect the earth and in return the earth blesses us with herbs to cure. What did they call it? Aaah yes 'witchcraft'. We were not animals who forget their children in pit latrines or by the river side just because we cannot afford them or don't want them. We cared not of individualism because together we grew in spirit, body and soul. It was not backward it was culture. And culture is flexible. It can change but can never be terminated. It is not a shoe that when you grow out of you throw and buy another.
And so I am not telling you to go back to your roots because if am quite honest you were never in it. Rather embrace it. See how 'civilised' you will feel then.
yours
The Red_Head
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 3:08 AM UTC
PLEDGE TO NIGERIA
By: Adigun Temitope Idealism
From between heaven and earth stand a perilous place
Where poverty kicked us on face
Tears stand as our drinks
Where hunger eat up our meals
Our pain is a poisonous laughter
Where sadness becomes our daily activities
Where hardship becomes our ambition
And sorrow our career
Still, we need to pledge to Nigeria
Blood, bone and oil,
Are the pedestal of earth
Where killing is a lifestyle
And ****** a hobby
Where humiliation becomes our take home
And misfortune our store-house
Where graduate works by the road-side
Where poverty is titillating and titivating before the mirror of our land
Yet we need to pledge to Nigeria
Pledge to Nigeria
Even when the birds refuses to sing,
When moon dims its light,
When our days turn into nights
When sun fails to shine
And flowers refuse to bloom
When life fails to give reasons
When dreams refuse to forgive
When the weep inside birth the smile outside
When tears wash hope from our sight
Nigeria must still be pledge to
I pledge to Nigeria
Not to be one if the ambassadors that sing the National Anthem with a teleprompter smiling at them in a shameful tears
I pledge not to be a naked masquerade dancing at the village square
I pledge to steal government money for the poor when I become the President
I pledge to be loyal and not betrayal
I pledge to fight off vices and calamities with my pen
If democracy must to end
I pledge to go crazy to stop it to the end
If civilization was to make us stupid
I pledge to swim in stupidity not to be civilised
I pledge, I pledge
©2015 Adigun Temitope Idealism (Deacon)
#Muse #PurposefulPoetry #BPM #IIB #Asaplanet #ThoughtAndSociety #Poetfreak
blackpridemagazin.simplesite.com
@blackpridemag1
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC
We rode our horses cross-country,
Through the nations of the unknown,
We survived the snowy mountains,
And lived off the land and the trees,
Through hot summers and cold winters,
Through deserts storms; we circled the trails,
We learned from the birds and the bees,
We hunted the elk, the deer and the buffalo,
We fished to feed the travelling spirit,
We turned acorns into flour,
We set our senses free.
$
Europeans brought Soldiers, missionaries, smallpox, the common cold, scalping, reservations, whisky and the rush for gold.
You brought land grabbers, oil barons, fencing, bricks, barbed wire and all the accoutrements of your civilised culture!
You made this country your own; and forced it's 1st nation people into a 3rd world culture.
You ***** the land of its resources, filled it with waste.
You wasted the water to make coke, burgers,
and fantasy towns.
To reign supreme in a new-world without shame!
Savages!
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 4:38 PM UTC
Looking at the map,
my eyes find their way to the unnamed borders,
the many lines that divide the land
and the sea,
the civilised,
and the savage.
I dimly wonder
if those lines are truly the ends of the earth,
or are they beginnings of a new world?
Aug 12, 2020
Aug 12, 2020 at 11:33 AM UTC
Rascals, ruffians and rogues alike.
Slumming the alleys with their slurs,
And sewage rats.
Across the streets, just beyond the performers.
The dames of paradise carrying flowered parasols.
*A ***** she is. Stupid Alessandra!* one said.
The hooligans hugged each other with glee,
As the women struck each other,
With their spiteful words.
Filthy, is the life of the cleaner souls,
And rich, is the life of the poorest minds.
Alas, the weirdest of them all is God.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
Pharaoh Tutankhamun graced the Egyptian throne,
A ***** brisk and spry.
From his majestical hands, dangled a scepter
And on his handsome head, sat a crown.
His empire was at its peak
For he wielded influence all over africa.
The bearded Europeans and nubianS sought his protection
For egypt, was a haven.
So organised was the land:
Amun-re and maat protected the people,
The country grew with the help of viziers.
Agriculture was a noble profession in the land,
As her economic markets were the best in the world
Egypt gave light to Greece and Mesopotamia
For her civilisation altered many a life.
And also, was the birth place of man
Such, was the land of egypt
The middle ages stroke and Europe went to sleep
But mama africa gave birth to many strong children:
Ghana, Mali, Songhai and many more
These children shoke the world with their riches and organisation.
Such was the history that africa recorded before they came.
Fredriech Hegel in want of speech said:
“Africa never had a history before the whites came.”
Such a mediocre declaration from an illiterate
For in place of his brain, graced a kidney.
Africa was well civilised before the bearded people came:
We had a religion
We had education as seen in egypt
We had a well organised system in all aspects.
We had everything needed for prosperity,
We attracted them with our gold, thus they came.
But most of all, we believed in equality.
Such was africa before they came
But when the bearded people came,
They altered our ways and put us in stocks
Then said: “we had no history.”
Oblivious that africa had made history,
BEFORE
AND BEFORE
THE
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
It's London, all the time,
when at night I close my eyes,
it's when and where I get to roam and dwell,
in the city I know inside-out so well,
where all the narrow streets and cobbled stones,
teacups, pint glasses, and fresh scones,
lend themselves into the misty English air,
of London's ancient, yet so modern flair,
of Piccadilly, and Hyde Park Corner's box,
riding Black Cabs, or a big Red Double-Bus,
evening gas-lamp walks with ol' Saucy Jack,
fish and chips and shandys for a perfect snack;
then the changing of The Guard at Buckingham,
where native Cockney's and young mums with prams,
gather for a view of Lizzy's Royal Family Show;
but, my, how rich the April sun sets and does glow,
over the rolling raging river Thames of yore,
where ancient Roman armies marched to shore,
proclaimed: LONDINIUM! -the regal rest,
of civilised peoples and the Royal Crests,
where lives and deaths would go and come,
yet The City despite all odds has lost and won,
in the hearts, souls and minds of all who take,
great London as their true hearth and home to stake,
and arise and fall the poet's versing nights and days,
whilst Big Ben chimes his toll in the foggy haze;
and alas, London from my slumber dissipates,
to that of which I yearn and love, asleep or wake,
knowing where my home of soul-keep lies divine:
in London, my dear London; it's London, all the time.
______
London:
http://beautyineverything.com/3366195864
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 7:31 PM UTC
Rotating bodies, confusion of sound
Negative imagery holding us down
Social delusion, clearly constructed
Human condition, morals corrupted
Trapped in reaction, lawlessness, war
Dissatisfaction from bowels to core
Devils technology, strategy for
Human mythologies, urban folklore
Sick of psychology, counterfeit cure
Wicked theology robbing the poor
Scheme demonology mislead the pure
Strict and strategically, studying war
Light shown in darkness, image exposed
Few can see through the new emperor's clothes
Lustful this hussle turns humans to hoes
When the blind lead the blind
Just more trouble and woes
It's the mind that they chose
It's designed to stay closed
Standards of jokers, court just a logic
Sick looking cosmics, from schoolyards to college
Primitive man with civilised knowledge
System collapse and he still won't acknowledge
God is the saviour, studies behaviour
Trying to fix the mind that he gave ya
Stiff-necked scholars on prescription meds
Wishing their problems were all in their heads
Moral dilemma, pride is the root
Misguided from youth, heart divided from truth
Egyptians and Grecians, spiritually dead
Imperially led, by the gods in their head
Motives and thoughts
Industrial wealth
Global economy, in for itself
Heart full of madness, covered with kind
Pleasure designed to take over your mind
Furnished in godliness, painted in good
This talented priesthood got real saints misunderstood
While classes in government, set up the veil
And cultivate minds for more mythical tales
Typical Hollywood follies good girl
While vice and corruption take over the world
Motives and thoughts
Check your motives and thoughts
Blind with the wickedness deep in your heart
Modern day wickedness is all you've been taught
Lied to your neighbours, so you get ahead
Modern day trickery is all you've been fed
Motives and thoughts
Check your motives and thoughts
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 7:52 AM UTC
It closes
The surrounding darkness is somehow contracting
Though it was always equally lacking in light, the walls approach on the edges of your vision.
The jagged edges that hold a promise of riches never yielded their prize.
They fall and crush, snapping your vertebrae without thought.
Pinned to the damp floor, your skeletal remains give up their fight.
It has won.
Not daggers, no, far less civilised, far more brutal shards pierce roughly through your chest.
The sound of your screams is replaced with silence
The battle is over.
Yet still the blows crash against your skull, the pounding on the inside of your head starts to break out.
Perspectives reverse
Not dark, sunrise, not rocks, a quilt, not screams, but beeps.
A day begins
It
Was
All
In
Your
Head
Does that make it alright?
Do you feel better for that truth?
Your mind tricked you, is that what you want?
Which restricts more, a prison of rock or thoughts?
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
Beggars line the busy streets
cup and cloth outstretched
the look of desperation etched on their faces
like the dawn shadow of a carved lithograph
they don't ask me for spare change
just a simple nod of acknowledgement;
even after a shower and a change of clothes
I must have their look, that broken beaten look
the look of the street.
George Square is busy today
tourists happy clicking panoramic memories
admiration of forced foolish bravery at the Cenotaph
a list of names they will never know
and marvel at the antiquated architecture
to later revel in the wonderment of how anyone
in a civilised and modern society can do without skyscrapers
while they grudgingly share a half-measure of a single malt
I sit on a bench that marks a families love and remembrance
to the passing of a woman named Judith
the pigeons flock in carnal mass gatherings
knowing I've been there for 3 hours already
because I have the look of someone who hides his crusts
because I have the hungry eyes of the look of the street.
The well dressed man at the end of the alleyway,
the plume of carcinogen cigar smoke
like a coal fired power station in the sunlight
this is where they go for over-priced craft ales
with Sautéed Wild Rabbit starter and £65 Wagyu Tomahawk Steak
a place for fine pickings in the alleyway ashtrays
dispensed cancer sticks left disregarded
the half-finished defiance of another £9 packet
that was simply spare change to begin with
I hover around making false promises on a deadline phone call
pretending in mime to be semi-OK
that the compadres are running late
and "tell me about the theatre show later"
the misdirection amid the camouflage of plastic peace lilies
while my other hand rummages the unspent tobacco
and the black-on-black door steward keeps clocking me
because I have the look of the street.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
mothers of
"β"-males;
and the whole world,
and all the world,
⠃⠇⠊⠝⠙
a civilised world...
without a chance
to think!
i just think of:
mothers of the beta-males...
how sooner i am
to relinquish the act of
impeding death!
i die: but also make a relief
of having had a mother!
as man...
loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser...
the one word mantra starts
bugging...
loser with that sort of
quiff?! twitter addict?!
president of the united
states of h'america?!
now you're *******
joking...
you aren't?!
no comment.
no comment.
and? no comment.
i like thinking about
β-males... in terms of feminism,
and in terms of β-males having mothers...
by beta, i mean you don't / didn't
have a mother...
o.k.?
now you know the answer
my father would give...
the d.n.a. ******** ends here!
now!
you have your little
existential tirade about:
holding a car-boot boutique
in an essex field...
you're fine... have it:
i'm happy as ego becoming
extinct...
******* snow fairies.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 10:01 PM UTC
Quenched thirst I deserve
I need to quench this thirst
I scatter and scampere to
quench this thirst.
I fumble and scramble
in quenching this thirst.
This thirst I must quench
cooling effect protruding in
inner me.
can the thirst be quenched?
I should quench my thirst
with no time.
I need cascades of quenchful
waters in inner me
to quench my thirst
I deserve this thirst quenched
mother, quenching my thirst its
only what I want.
The thirst is still here
quenching it needs
give me a platter of civilised
waters
I am here to quench
this thirsty thirst.
I need help
in the thirst quenching
please share with me
the holy waters if possible
I would adore to quench
my thirst.
Thirsty thirst like mrrh
elongated thirst
embers of thirst in inner me
I must quench my thirst.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 3:06 AM UTC
After the snow,with nowhere to go,when the streets are so hard,a yard thick in ice,it's not nice,
but for those with a home and a nose for some heat,the drifters can shift,because you can't beat a bit of selfishness ,
and surely them what has less, do not deserve more,or what the hell are we working for?
Let them eat cake, courtesy of this great welfare state who give benefits for,to keep the wolves from our door.
It's all give and take at the end of the day and at the end of the day they drift slowly away to some courtyard or bridge,ridges of ice on their brow,
how sad it all seems when the Queen's got so much and the dickwads in Whitehall are so out of touch,
such is the way of the city today,we bypass and pass by,some glance and some wonder why, but most of us really don't care.
It's not us who's there,no concern of mine and no time to stop and see what they do not
it has to stop.
We are the civilised and it's time that we realised, that it's not dog eat dog,we are all just a cog in the workings of life.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC
I do not like olives.
They are the only food
I have been unable to educate myself into.
Just one food,
Most people have more,
But I will eat anything
Rather than an olive,
I'd rather gobble down a rotten egg.
I want to like them.
When the waiter brings a little bowl,
Balsamic, bread and oil,
I sigh and let the wistfulness kick in.
They are so civilised,
So summery,
I feel I'm missing out -
- But I just can't -
They taste like mackintosh,
Or shower gel,
Or toothpaste gone wrong.
I feel sorry for the olives,
Offering a holiday vibe,
A Mediterranean ambience,
And meeting revulsion, rejection,
(Juddery shuddering).
Perhaps I am making too much of this,
No-one can like everything,
They will never know.
Perhaps I am someone's olive aversion.
Perhaps they are
(Juddery shuddering)
At the thought of me, right now.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
Irresponsible behaviors.
Civility of civilised on test.
Much arrogance and pride.
In extremes who's the best?
Insensitive to alien customs.
Insensitive to other's belief.
Then why teach tolerance?
Kindly explain, please debrief.
**** anti-Semitic cartoons!
Didn't it led to Death Camps.
Can we call this Freedom.
Ask yourselves, O Champs!
I am Charlie! I am Charlie!
The echoing words I hear.
I am Kouchi! I am Kouchi!
Might be heard I fear.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
In nature, as in civilised homes, there is evidence of conformity
That only significant study would make apparent,
but his studies were suspicious and neighbours would talk
The nose is bleeding and his pretty song is skipping
on the jukebox by the bathroom door
Anhedonia now is constant, the pathos inherent
As their mother went missing years ago
While they read Proust by the window,
and the day was drawing closed
Their father was sick with Absinthe shakes
whilst little duck starved in the pond behind the house
On disagreeable days,
profound introspection
becomes not more than
subversive psycho-babble
and the words he speaks
are dust on the tongue
a bother and little more
Purported to be perpetually depressed, his cool demeanor left an impression
on his sister, as she would gaze upwards at his face, displaying world-weariness
So Weltschmerz they called him and his cool was palpable
but only her smile could bring colour to his fa-*
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
well acting is a metaphysical assertion of the physical act of theft, in Cartesian terms: a part of the extension is stolen, for example an object passed down via generations, your grandmother's wedding ring... acting is in a sense a theft that defines creating a civilisation and eradicating tribalism: galoshes, guttering, sewers and irritable bowel movements.
some said acting
was a subtler form of
defining theft,
given the term
doppelgänger;
i.e. i stole your shadow,
all you have is a hand
to mimic a shape of a hare's head
to please children,
deal with it.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
Back in the twenty first century
The world was in chaos.
There was no World Gov.
Democracy was limited to certain “Nations”
As such territories were called.
(We were so territorial then).
Millions died of malnutrition
In places called “Asia”, “Africa” and elsewhere.
Factions fought for land, resources
And “Religious” beliefs
That I will describe to you later.
In those days people were persecuted
For their race, gender
And any way in which they differed from “the norm”.
Anyone who spoke up against injustice
And countless other wrongs
Was branded “Un-PC”
Humiliated
Before his (or her) peers.
Those were troubled times,
Back in those “frontier days”.
Be thankful we are now civilised:
United Human Race,
Worldwide Democracy,
People Loving,
Compassionate
For the Good of All.
Welcome to my history class.
Let us learn from our mistakes,
And never repeat them.
Paul Butters
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
Dear warmth,
May you rub your back against my shoulder
‘til the windows mist with condensation,
and we fall back into youth, hiding
away from the older.
May your temperature, rising to the point
of red cheek puncture, provide an oasis
under the sand of duvet’s cover.
May your hair whip around like every
flame I’ve ever seen, no agenda or judgement,
just sheer ecstasy and excitement.
May you conjure up that lone shower feeling,
that one where for a brief slot in time everything
you know and have become floats away through
that extractor fan, out into the air- climbing higher.
May you provide that gasp of heat that
hits the cook in the face, after opening the oven’s
gate in hunger and haste.
May you be that holiday sun I always seek.
May you be the metal womb of a car when
outside in the myriad hospital world
where it’s cold.
May you be humorous and humid and
totally lovely to be with.
May you be a heated conversation and argument
and disagreement, that torment of words
I need to hear.
May you be my laugh that bubbles up
from the volcano underneath.
May you be the heat caused by key
and lock, that one that stops
others from coming in and making
for ruin.
May you be that first sip of ‘the
most civilised thing in the world’, as
Hemmingway put it, and let it ignite
a dance below.
May you not judge the mixture
of my grape and grain, and my love
for walking in the rain and my waiting for
ex-girlfriends every time they call.
May you always let me bed down
in that manger in the snug, though
Steve doesn’t know I borrowed his
blanket rug.
May you forever toast that bread
at midnight, just before bed.
Yours faithfully,
The Cold.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 9:59 AM UTC
Oh, how we strut about the world
We, the civilized population
Unsatisfied until we've unfurled
Blankets of our cultivation
How proud we are of the machines
That gauge and plunder the earths crust
To farm by artificial means
Deemed by the "uncivilized" as unjust
The "uncivilized", those wayward tribes
That naively worship this blue globe
Need alcohol and such like prescribed
To adjust malfunctioning temporal lobes
Can they not observe our contentment
And our superior living standard
They squat and rant with some resentment
We are progressive, they have meandered
I wonder when those of tribal birth
Will mature and see we've got it right
And that their unkempt patch of earth
Will make a fine farm or building site
Or better still, once they're packing
Up their dwellings and possessions
We can begin some civilised fracking
With our governmental concessions
That's what separates us from them
I hope you have now realised
It is a government controlled by business
That makes us so very civilized
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC
Tiptoeing on velvet vines
silky and smooth to the touch
we dance in the twilight shades
of subtle poetic lines
trying never to say too much
thus preventing that anything fades
Imagining alternative scenes
in flexible collaboration
we dream in adjectives and verbs
as sentences rush through our veins
sweet figment of imagination
all our civilised structures perturbs
Dancing lightly across the keys
our fingers and souls thus create
quiet symphonies on backlit sheets
wishful journeys across the seas
of what we dare only comtemplate
as we immerse ourselves in these beats
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC