"copyrights" poems
*I am an African
My skin is black
My hair is black
I am black
I take pride in my blackness
For my colour is not a badge
Of shame, but an identity,
Yes black is my identify
Africa is my identity
I am the son of the black soil,
A soil rich in history
And blessed with diverse cultures
Each unique in their own way,
I am an African
Africa a nation of the oppressed
But slowly rising to conquer
And claim what is theirs
From the oppressors,
Yes the sleeping sons of Jacob
Are rising, slowly realising
Their potential as nation ,
Yes my fellow Africans are rising
The black nation is on its knees
I'm a proud african,
Africa my roots
Africa my identity
Africa my ancestral land
Africa my home
Africa is who i am
I am African
Copyrights.
Taetso jojo*
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 2:48 PM UTC
Only you can translate
where you are
on your voyage through
this varied farce
called “life”.
No one else can dictate
to you…
or should even dare…
how to phrase
your feelings,
your thoughts,
your personal moments.
Who is anyone to
cause another to feel
inept or inferior
for wording their
experiences as they will?
We are all both
audience and poet,
consumed by the
powerful spell of words
and meaning
we are bonded
in ink.
It takes gumption
and courage
to give voice to
your vision of
the world.
It often requires
resilience and nerve
to open your heart
and peel back the
layers of skin,
and let others take
a long look at the
inner workings of YOU.
Be brave,
take courage,
let your soul speak
in its very own
language.
People will read
your words and
listen to the sweet
whispers
and thunderous shouts
that flow from pens
and keys
to release the
inner demons and angels
and the lyrical
vines that bloom and live
in our individual
landscapes,
fluidly coursing from
our own rabbit holes
with fortitude and grace
and our neverlands,
where we need never
grow up,
to share with those
that need to see
and hear and feel
and wonder.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
Dear Friends, I had composed this poem in 2008 after reading an
article by a Lady Doctor who was a Biologist, and had initially posted it on 'Poemhunter.com'. Hope you will like it! Thanks, - Raj
PHYSICS AND CHEMISTRY OF LOVE !
Love’s physics and chemistry, has forever
remained a mystery!
There are no permanent equations to resolve,
Love's unseen wave like force!
It travels through three dimensional space,
At frequencies higher than electromagnetic
waves!
It remains unhindered by barriers of cast, creed,
or clime,
Giving two beating hearts a feel of the divine!
It generates a magnetic force field, making
two hearts in unison beat!
Yet Biologists claim that a chemical called
(PEA) Phenylethylamine, -
Triggers loves molecules in the human mind!
Chocolates are rich in this PEA content they say,
And is a perfect gift on the Valentine’s Day!
The chemical Dopamine makes the lovers to
glow and feel fine,
When they live on love and fresh air and may
even forget to dine!
While Norepinephrine, which stimulates our
adrenaline production,
Makes the lovers world go round in a joyous
motion!
But Oxytoxin that 'cuddling chemical', requires
constant contact for its effects to prevail!
Cupid’s arrows may be dipped in its pail,
Before those arrows on lovers begin to hail!
Creating unbearable attraction leading to infatuation,
Making two hearts beat as one with love’s magic
potion!
But such feelings remain for a limited duration,
Varying with people with different emotions!
In a 'mercurial type' loves ecstasy gets mixed, -
And they frequently require a PEA fix!
But those who stick to a single mate,
Are said to be rich in Vasopressin content!
And finally when infatuation gradually subsides,
Chemicals triggered by Endorphine slowly overtakes,
When calmness and stability with loving bond
prevails!
This Endorphine is reputed to be rather addictive,
And firmly binds those forces released by PEA, -
which are rather seductive!
(All Copyrights with Raj Nandy of New Delhi)
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 9:22 AM UTC
In conversation with my cousin,
she says, 'Oh my God, my
brother-in-law still remembers
you
as my cousin with the 'nice ass';
the 'hottie' from my wedding.
Still talking about me after
all these years, I see.
I couldn't help but think,
'wow, quite the first impression
I must make, or is it the
impression I leave BEHIND?'
and I felt the wheels spinning
in my mind, as they always do,
trying to decipher what the
appropriate response to
such an admission should be...
in this...particular...instance.
And I heard this voice in my
mind, shout, in its softest tone,
'I...AM MORE...THAN JUST...
A...NICE...ASS, if you take
the time to know me.'
So I realize that I find
the observation anything but
flattering.
Amusing, predictable,
redundant...yes.
But am I flattered, am I
even intrigued, or...
impressed, in the slightest?
Not at all.
For me, it is just...
inevitable entertainment,
among other things I
won't freely admit at this
time.
But if, and when, I happen
to lose any components
of my identity,
I can always remember,
that if nothing else,
I am...
(not my name, or even
my fetching idiosyncracies,
but...)
the 'Hottie with the
nice ASS', and
I wouldn't be able to help,
but smirk.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
Just as summer releases its warm embrace
Ushering in beautiful colors and flavors,
Love blossoms in my heart once again, reborn.
Your memory, my son, consumes and embraces
me in its own warmth.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights 26 May 15
Tuesday
~ In memory of my Giovani, my beautiful
boy with wings ~ ❤️ ~
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
Women bent over in a circle
A quilt is being born
Created with precision
of structure, harmony
Geometrically perfect
wedding band,log cabin.
The men are far away
fishing, hunting bisons
A dying fire, logs glowing
Icy winds wisttle under the door
back out through the chimney flue
Strong women, used to dangers
hunger, incertitude
marauding Indians
hidding out in the woods
Tighten up your circle
warm up your fingers
the quilt must be ready
For the new bride of spring
Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights 2009
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
In every “Poetry Place”
There is a Copycat Corner.
We know it’s a disgrace
So here’s another “Warner”.
Why they do it I’ll never know,
Those Copier and Pasters.
Their words they seem to glow,
But they’re a bunch of Wasters.
Taking all that praise,
For stuff they haven’t written,
It seems to be a craze,
And many do get bitten.
Just Google their “fine words” or use those plagiarism sites,
And you will find the original poems
Bedecked with copyrights.
I’m sure this place just isn’t free
Of people like this,
Just look and see!!!
The Admins must get their fingers out,
And give these villainous rogues a massive clout.
Me, I will show all due diligence,
But my job here,
Is to show My brilliance.
(NOT someone else’s!).
Paul Butters
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
A lone ship,
no particular direction,
thrusts forward and
pushes through,
fighting, often,
impenetrable waves.
Waves in constant rush,
pushing back,
slamming into its
outer walls,
repeatedly,
diligently,
never losing
momentum.
In the distance,
a lighthouse makes
its presence known.
A vessel’s unfailing
guide,
a beacon of
safety and light;
a way back home.
Providing a path
out of the dark
and noxious waters,
this pharos,
with aid of buoys
of encouragement
throughout this heavy
journey,
provide a stability
not often recognized
by other ships
in the night.
Oh lighthouse,
bring me home
where roots of
benevolence grow
and branches of
serenity
may take hold.
Embellish promises
of provisions
and comfort,
as route to never
be lost in those
unenlightened waters
again.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
Mutted sounds
The city sleeps... traditional
Rest...closed shutters
Against the heat....skies white
Blinding, implacable
Brurnt, liquid: coupolas baking
Through centuries of glazed splendor
My lover's breath on old fashioned
Sheets: starched, crip...ironed flat
Our bodies recouping
In the cool inner wall... welcomed presence
Nary a sound...inanimate objects
Enrobed in silence
Languid , heavy, waiting for the shadows
Announcing night's fresh enconter.
Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights 2005
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 3:34 AM UTC
Hoy en mitad de la vida,
me he parado a meditar...
Pierdo días haciendo nada
asomada en mi ventana.
Miro hacia el paraíso
el que no esta
pero mi mente ambiciona
buscándolo sin fe
se ve como ayer
y de seguro mañana como hoy.
Más entonces,
mi torpe inteligencia
dormida en un rincón.
Y al coño, ¿Para que soy? ¿Si para siempre algún día dejare de serlo?
¡Grito¡ Y a mi lado el demonio se agita.
Pasan las horas..
Después de ya mucho haber llovido y yo sin café, una dulce lámpara arde y no hay el porque entender de esta noche desagradable.
COPYRIGHTs © 2016 ASHLEY FIERRO ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
I'm the Afrocentric Gift
you been waiting and dying to open ..,
Christmas came Early just for you this year,
I'm the Thoughts in ya head,
Mind blowing the
Essences of Sexuality,
Wisdom,
Knowledge
and a
multitude of Feminine Power,
Prowling and
Roaring for your affection,
I'm every Women,
Just not to night
I don't want to share,
Be my one & only..,
I am the
Architects building
the bridges back to ya heart,
My Prominent Black African King,
Mr.Sexy as ya wanna be..,
I Dreamed of this many times at night & also for some weeks,
Thoughts of you Thought of us become " We"
Teaming up and Doing
What lovers do,
But
I want more,
I want your heart too,
I see it in you,
the artist ;Your words caressing me,
Like painting and drawing,I'm just one of your sculptures..,
But
I'm the centerpiece of this mental non-nocturnal dream,
Your the
Author writing a great masterpiece only I'm the Main character...,
Chapter one we began slowly as our bodies
mesh&entwined...;,
Can you distinguishes between Fantasy,
I'm here and these feelings are real.
Lust so passionate you'd think you
conjured me up from your imagination.,
I'm un reasonable when it comes to you,
I want to give you unquestionable pleasure.
Be the Concubine you desire & you shouldn't have to wait,
Not tonight anyways.,
Come here and let me show you,
Be mines....,
Sacrifice yourself,
Be my love salve and come away with me..,
I want to give you this
Delicious yet delicate sweet
Afrocentric Gift!
Speak into me poetically,
Mentally blowing my mind ,
touching with words as you hurt me gently
Yet pleasing my body..
take me
cuz
right now
I'm for the taking,
I'm ready and waiting,
open me,
for
tonight I'll be your
Latin mist
You Puerto Rican *** ,
Come get drunk off my love,
Let me sooth you
and
caress you into submission.
Take what's been given.
This Mix, and blend it with you ,
dance to my song
as
I open for you.
I'm ready and willing
to be what you want me to be.
Give
me pleasure
release the yearning
deep with in me...
I'm yours ya Afrocentric Gift!
Always me Ayeshah
Copyrights © 1977-2010 Ayeshah(A.K.K.C.L.N)
All rights reserved.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 10:28 PM UTC
"You taught me the courage of stars before you left
how light carries on endlessly, even after death.
With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite
how rare and beautiful it is to even exist."
-Copyrights to these lyrics go to Sleeping at Last, from the song Saturn
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC
Each of you.
My individual singularities, Dad’s One Thing.
Conceived 1955.
Driven home, progeny, made man, unequivocal, indisputable.
Post-war night spirits undaunted ~ stop ******* me.
*** for you, stopped me.
Can’t make it the way you want. Please stop.
Backing off, I respect real you.
Don’t push me Me.
Don’t dream.
Will dream us.
Short sentence for guilt whisked way beyond what crime could be.
We combine beans and seeds and gourds.
That’s science! Culinary!
Botany, true, but I’m enaturated.
Human pod progressed.
If that’s a word, don’t dream it’s not.
Forget every word.
But make each and every word count.
Then add stash, socked away.
I concede.
Mi casa su casa.
Paint it.
Together.
Made mistake then fixed it.
Copasetic dovetails, my lady and me (not I).
We walk talk island jib.
I like the cut of your yar across the moonlit pool.
Go around with me to all haunts, snow globetrotting shaken not stirred
My déjà vu in futurum videre, I can’t believe.
Asunder goddesses should be together,
While Isis and Osiris boogie like Beatrice and Dante encircled,
Their own private imbroglio invaded
By Goth end time alchemists conjuring copyrights for gelt.
You tell me this short story.
I cringe.
My mind clouds men’s, and then conjures Morpheus.
My shadow child joins me in Paradise,
Deliria dancing in concert with Shakespearean intent.
My daughter’s got more guts in one pinky
Than all that fallen pilot on our island bargained for
In the games that decided who’s hungrier.
You could have been that gal.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
Let us play today
It’s all about You and Me
Scented candles burn
Tease me like you do
A sweet agony endured
Minds devoid of Sense
Toys all meant for play
Fantasies will come to Life
Sighs will linger here.
Fetishes will rule
Inhibitions find no place
Among these ruins.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
Two years ago a teacher here on HP messaged and informed me
that she used my poem in her classroom for a class assignment.
I've never felt so honored, I pictured twenty kids
With copies of my poem in hand analyzing it
When I inquired where on earth this school was?!
She must have been here in the states
Because she quickly disappeared
She just signed off
I never heard from her again
To tell her Thank You!
Thank you for sharing my worthless words
And giving them value..
Some of my poems/songs
Have registered copyrights
So please ask permission before plagiarizing
Although I won't be flying across the sea to sue anybody
Because face it, having my words circulate
Even further
Is very appealing.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Between earth and sky
is where I abide.
Grass grows beneath my
feet and inbetween
moments of deep thought,
longings and unuttered
desires,
as I sit, communing
with the trees
and for a while, just
doing as they do...
just simply 'being',
no matter what
as they hold majestic
limbs up
toward the heavens
in adoration or
perhaps
interrogation.
And that is but
speculation or
imagination
on my part.
I sit, quietly,
somewhere between
this moment
and tomorrow
and wonder those
simple, complex
questions of old...
What does it all mean,
in the end?
What price do we pay
for passion or apathy?
Why are we here?
In my mind
worlds collide, die
and begin again
and this most
encumbered heart
still holds hope
by the throat,
refusing, yet, to
let go.
Between earth and sky
is where I abide.
That is where
you'll find me.
Full to the brim,
with questions,
wild, vibrant dreams,
and a never ending
sense...
of wonder.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
Among the silent,
thunderous
halls of the mind,
there are pathways
one should seldom
roam, for, often,
the bitterest of
fruit grows between
the walls of an
intricate cognitive
labyrinth.
Still...
I walk the very
walkways that will
either lead me to
complete
self-destruction or
to enlightenment
and divinity.
I walk quietly,
tiptoeing around
certain memories,
so as not to awaken
them from their
slumber, and
incur their wrath.
I walk on glass
footsteps, as the
shards make their
way in through
broken arches,
in search of a place
to call home,
among the ruins of
a broken spirit
and a bludgeoned,
weeping heart.
Such is love and life
and the ever present
shadow of remembrance,
and still I walk,
leaving scarlet
footprints along
the way...
to remember
where I've been.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
Hey, kid I really like your work. You could win a hundred bucks.
Oh, Andrea Button! How sweet of you to notice.
What do I do what do I do
what do I have to do.
Create an account, handsome. Accept the terms, **** Post your best work, lover.
So you’ll give me one hundred dollars for my soul, Miss Button?
"And you license to Tallmadge all patent, trademarks, trade secrets, copyrights and proprietary rights in and to such Content for publication on the Service pursuant to these Terms of Service."
I said a chance to win, sucker.
Oh Andrea! You devil.
I am a sucker...,
for fine print.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
A place in the country is where I'll retreat.
A place in the country is where two will meet.
A place in the country is where I'll find peace.
A place in the country is where all stress will cease
Let's rest a while, you and I.
Let's lock away grief and worry.
Let's rest a while, you and I.
Life just goes by in such a hurry.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
Demagogues of our society; daftly delivering
disarming delusions of decrepit delights.
Dealing in powder, rock and liquid death,
demurely doled out in droves to the
willing unconscious, dysfunctional deviants
of the land.
Blindly offering devotions, flaccid devotions
to plastic, white collar deities; giving new
definition to internal deformity, through
decelerated dejection.
Desperate and emotionally dismembered,
defrauded by quick, cheap decadence,
debauchery, and mental decay in many
deliriously delicious forms...pick a flavor,
name your poison!
Delegate your defect, as those with
doctoral degrees in defunct traditions
do deviously delineate their demented
designs...for our future.
DejaVu?
Perhaps, but in fact, it is we
who sniff, inject and drink up their drivel,
decidedly and dutifully depleted of
intellect by way of dubious data.
Duplicitous dullards...sanitize and
deodorize their fiendish lies...as we,
WE do nothing!
Not enough of us dumbfounded or
dumbstruck by their deceitful smiles.
Full of dread and deep dismay, by
the statutes of the day...I, for one,
will dream of better days, when we
shall defeat these diabolical demons.
But for now, down beaten, downtrodden;
we will continue to be denigrated for
the duration.
Clever dissection; dumb as they want you
to be,
disparity of all creativity...individuality...
and all of your rights...controversially.
Our disgruntled displeasure doomed...to
fall on dormant hearts...and we,
debilitated and daunted, lives dismantled,
are now forever haunted, by our freedoms
demise...by days we could question
their smiling lies.
Demagogues; Big Brother...such delinquents
dosing up the masses with a deluge of powder,
rock sedation and liquid elation...pick your flavor,
name your poison.
At the end of the day WE are ONE...duped,
defaced, defeated...and to continue on this
road, our final denouement will come
disturbingly disguised...as DEATH!
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
I read through a bedside stack
of my poems labeled The Heartfelt Architect.
They were bound with a paperclip
reshaped to accommodate their numbers.
Half the pages featured watermarks
around the edges like emotional copyrights.
I had written about friends' frustrations
with loves and losses for three years,
stressing that paperclip every day
before realizing I had written an autobiography.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
He is the painter,
painting images of
desperate desire
and vistas of love
and secret knowledge,
upon her skin.
Each patient and
skillful brushstroke,
weaves obscure
and cryptic symbols
in subtle, vibrant
tones upon the
supple texture of
her curving form.
She is a leather bound
notebook,
swelling with promise
of verses and poems
yet to be birthed.
He is the quill,
his ink flowing
abundantly,
spilling fertile words...
filling her every page.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
Twirling madly with his stars
In Arles
Surrounded by night at the café
Where he drank pastis
Bonding
With his sun illuminated wheat
Taking a walk among
The wind blown cypress trees
His girating irises
His spinning suns
Loosing my eyes
in his self portrait of red hair
intent stare
Of genius
How sad ...they never told you
What a giant you were
Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights 2005
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 9:41 AM UTC
Who could’ve thought…
certainly not me…
how the fires of love
would burn so intensely,
and consume me
in the miniscule span
of three precious weeks.
Actually though,
it was longer;
it began
eight months earlier;
before the final
three weeks of your
most cherished life.
It was before I
tenderly touched
your fragile skin,
so paper thin,
and looked into those
beautiful amber eyes,
when you’d open them.
My own amber eyes
looking back at me.
You were my mirror
and I had no idea, then,
just what I’d see,
or what YOU could see
as you looked right
into me.
You, my little one,
showed me a part of
myself I never thought
existed
before you.
If I hadn’t held you
for the treasured
time allowed,
if I hadn’t felt you
with my own skin,
seen you with my
own eyes,
reached out with my
own heart,
or enveloped you with
my own mind,
I wouldn’t have believed
how much the fickle
fires of the heart could
grow, expand and
utterly consume me,
in the span of those
three precious weeks.
The moment you exhaled
your last little breath
and died in my arms,
you took a piece of
my very soul
with you.
Keep it safe, my love.
You planted it deep
within you long ago,
allowing it to grow.
I love you always,
of that never, ever doubt…
till we meet again
my treasured
first born.
I missed you then,
I miss you still,
and for forever
always will.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
~~~~~~~
~ In remembrance of my
Giovani, born and died
14 years ago this 5th
of July. Never forgotten.~
❤️
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC