"cowed" poems
This is Nigeria
This is Nigeria; presidency turns sick leave.
This is Nigeria; one-sided democracy.
Double standard constitution, everything is dazy.
This is Nigeria; police bus be calling crowd.
Enter and become cowed.
This is Nigeria; best graduating student gets a thousand naira.
This is Nigeria; I hope we can differentiate between private and public institutions.
Lackadaisical attitudes everywhere, except religion institutions.
This is Nigeria; over a year strike in our foremost sector but it's a norm.
Corruption; a living form.
This is Nigeria; education is dull.
This is Nigeria; economy problem is solved by increased school fees.
Such government still gets a second term. Madness; it's our liss.
This is Nigeria; lot of resources but we still pray for light.
Food, security and rights.
This is Nigeria; lecturers give grades anyhow.
This is Nigeria; Animal is swallowing money.
In a government with the main aim of fighting corruption, it's funny.
This is Nigeria; politicians changing parties.
Playing with our lives like they're *******
Peter Oyebanji (PIRO)
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 5:38 AM UTC
In 1963
Mahalia prodded
the good reverend...
“tell them
about the dream
Martin”
transfixed on
a yonder time
he recounted
prophecies of
a near future
from a mountaintop
he foretold a
history of a people
returned again to
gardens of paradise
thriving in friendly
democratic soils
overflowing with a
colorful biodiversity
governed and
nurtured with a
vibrant sunshine
of divine justice
welcoming all
weary sojourners...
from the
pinnacle of
a Birmingham
jail cell
Martin burst
the bars with
the clarion peel
of a golden trumpet
proclaiming the gospel
of liberation to
the wardens of
unholy gulags
“free yourselves”
the horn emblazoned
in streaking lightning
across the sky
cowed by
prophetic truths
of righteousness,
shamed by
lies the pride
of arrogance
bespeaks to
placate the
intransigence
of dominion,
we prayed the
the walls of racism,
bigotry, prejudice
would tumble down as
Martin lit the Battle
of Jericho
today our country’s
profit driven gulags
overflow with people
of color as justice
lingers on death row
begging for a plea bargain
of a life sentence in
solitary confinement...
from the
****** Sunday Bridge
in Selma, Martin
offered a prayer for
peace, rebuking
the dogs of war
admonishing
the tenders of
blood thirsty
machines to
beat the gears
of war into
pruning hooks
and plowshares
advocates of peace
hope to steer
the plow across
the battlefields of
acrimony to sow
rich seeds of
reconciliation, planting
new gardens where
the rich yields of peace
will be consumed
by all God's children
yet these gardens
remain unplanted,
untended and defiled
by the machinery
of war that churns
churns, churns...
Martin last
dream occurred
on a balcony
in Memphis
witnessing
to the divinity
of those considered
untouchable after
a hard days work
collecting a city’s
refuse
he insisted all labor
was worthy of dignity
and the economic
justice of a fair wage
Martin looked squarely
into the eye of the gun sights
of those who thought differently
he never blinked, he dreamed
Martin formed his last
testament to an angry nation
yearning for the reconciliation
of stability and peace,
unmoved that it’s violence,
exploitation and bigotry only
stoke bonfires of acrimony
and division, condemning
the reprobate principality
to the bleakness of a
smoldering discontent and
continued generations
of recurring nightmares…
Martin's dream continues
in awakened hearts
sojourning on
Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson
Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho
MLK Day
2014
Oakland
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
* * *
don't complain of poverty -
hear, Egypt?
don't dare talk of poverty -
to me!
have a change of attitude -
hear, Egypt?
change your disposition
towards me!
and towards my sisters
in your cages -
palaces, apartments, houses, huts;
and towards my sisters -
with a bit more freedom -
how you view them
just a
piece of ****
mutilated wombs of this land's mothers;
mutilated feelings of cowed daughters;
mutilated, young and old,
for eons;
caged, inflated, broken, violated,--
___
don't you dare -
hint of poverty -
to me.
(c)kRu, 09.09.-17.09.2010
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of ***
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.
4.1k
Pride of the world, like a phoenix I rise
towering over darkness and hatred
scarred though our hearts be, but
un-cowed, unfurls my spirit, leading
aspirations to the skies and beyond.
We are Americans and Europeans
and Africans and Asians, divided
in religion and race, but here we meet
as one world, here we will bridge
heaven and earth and hew a passage
through boulders of bigotry into
the lands of brotherhood and peace.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC
As a young girl I was always expected to do as I was told.
Don’t be too loud, don’t talk back, don’t appear to be sassy or bold.
Mind your manners, hold your tongue, there is no space for being rude.
Tone it down, cover it up, we don’t want your black girl attitude.
Forced into boxes with no space to move.
Restricted and restrained with everything to prove.
Constantly combatting the narrative they paint.
Making us look like animals while they look like saints.
We are said to be angry, bitter and loud.
Troublesome, uneducated, following the crowd.
Masculine, impute, stubborn and broken.
Accessories, trophies that ”one” friend, the token.
These strings of disrespect will no longer be allowed.
I don’t care if I’m not polished enough, I’m unwilling to be cowed.
Take back your subtle hate and blatant prejudices all wrapped up in a bow.
Served on a platter with fluffy words of disapproval and the saying “that’s just the way things go”.
They say we are stubborn, unmovable and complacent.
Well , consider how our feelings are always compartmentalized and latent.
Our cries go unheard, our request are unmet.
No one to protect us, left on our own to fret.
This debt that we carry is too much to bare.
It’s just as heavy as the onus that we all have to share.
We are ethereal, complex and fed up with your satire.
You can have whatever you think of me, I’m done being your Sapphire.
Nov 10, 2022
Nov 10, 2022 at 2:19 AM UTC
I always see forever in my angel's eyes
I believe that tomorrow for us never dies
I feel him here, a man so kind and wise
Yet everyday, his love is a great surprise
Never did I see that forever is true
A better tomorrow becomes bitter for you
Devotion is a lie, it's an illusion, too
A cruel fate until you fall through
Oh, an illusion for someone with hatred
Why I should listen to you who's outdated?
What I know is love is something that's sacred
I don't want now my time to be wasted
Ha! Hate just brings too much weight
Perhaps, love is an infatuation state
Temporary as it is, a passing moment to abate
Time is wasted into dreams that don't conflate
Why do you always tell me what you think?
Those things in your mind they always slink
Don't you see your limits, your own brink?
Can't you just let me find my heart's missing link?
I am just seeing reality, thinking out loud!
Reality is crowded as life is full of cloud
A prince without a crown is not allowed
A heart lost in the dream town is now cowed
I know you have so much words to say
You can turn me down all the way
But I will still stand and hold my love's bouquet
Hand in hand we will walk forever and a day
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
Fallible, shocked to find myself low
I did not believe my descent could be so
Don't I live with magical dispensation
My life being subject to my blithe creation !
I thought I was living outside the mass rules
Sadly I see I'm asleep with the fools.
Slowly I rise, weeping thanks and distress
Paying dear price for my stubbornness
Making amends to body and spirit
My arrogance gone ? I think not, but fear it !
Humility wakened, Immortality slashed
Continuing reasons to feel so abashed.
What are the steps I must now be ascending ?
Practice beginner mind now never ending.
Sacred illusions are found to be crumbling
Retreat to the silence , relief from the rumbling
Raising my gaze though I'm used to head bowed
Trembling aside, now refuse to stay cowed.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 7:27 AM UTC
You became the light on this darkness that is me
Like the power the lighthouse has over the sea
You burst into my life so unexpectedly
Your smile chases away my angriest clouds
My anguish can no longer scream out loud
At the sight of you my demons just cowed
I get lost in your sea of blue
Sparkling my way in the brightest of hues
Your eye's fall on me like the sweetest dew
Your kisses are smoldering and cool on my lips
Our passion becomes an eclipse
As your gentle touch lingers there on my hips
What a beautifully experience you have become
To your magical way I've succumbed
I marvel at all you are helping me to overcome
You are the light to my darkness
The smile to my sadness
The strength to my weakness
With you my nights will never be starless
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 2:48 PM UTC
I got a gift of butter, now
Good butter it was claimed to be
I don't think it was from a cow
And if it was, it cowed me
A beard was growing on the stuff
A goatish beard without a doubt
Ah. it was sickly, sour and rough
With poison juices seeping out
Ah, it was slick. ah, it was grey
I don't think any goat produced it
I had to face it every day
Oh, how I wish I had refused it
The salts a thing it never knew
In fact I'm sure they never met
It sprouted spots of green and blue
It made me ill. I'm not right yet
'Twas made of grease and wax and fat
And substances too vile to utter
You may be sure that after that
Ive rather lost the taste for butter
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
If the universe is expanding and
All is in flight from the center outwards,
If what is close soon shall be far;
If all is slowing by miniscule degrees
Until the whole **** lot is frozen;
If every thriving life will cool; if I am
Mistaken and you are not the fool
I hoped you were; if you are;
If, in the vast ending of this story,
It is not the plot but the syntax
That chafes against you;
If you are a mad creature,
A dissonance in the hum,
If you can be defined by your name,
And you think there is anything to be gained
In your coming to the front lines,
If you think you can slow the creeping cold
Of mumbled words and sideways glances,
If you will not be cowed or numbed -
Gather your things, say your goodbyes
And come.
Jun 8, 2011
Jun 8, 2011 at 2:15 AM UTC
The ranch-bound bovines, in dehydration,
yet wary of Kool-aid, declined to drink.
They grazed in wonder, cowed rumination:
where does “beef” come from? A herd tends to think
of pasturage, water, and basic needs.
Ranch-hands assured them all was in order;
privileged guests enjoy the finest feeds.
Cows, content on this side of the border
try Buddhism, yoga – or simply gaze…
though things in the distance loomed ominous
(those lots at the edge of the well-hoofed ways)
– and a stench wafted into their consciousness.
Yet calves frolicked on while the bulls mounted heifers –
dreamed vegan dreams as they nibbled grasses
some earned doctorates, others went clubbing;
all loosed sustainable methane gases.
Soothing their calves with fables and stories
where cows are the measure of pastured life
they deflected the gist of the young ones’ queries,
affirming that Truth means avoidance of strife.
“It’s best to just graze. Don’t ask questions dear.
We’re on this planet without any clue.
We evolved. From just what is a little unclear –
but Cow Science has proved that it’s true.”
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
She is the typesetter’s “e”
The once-rounded uncial script,
Unbroken like the solemn vow of a monk,
His whisper, a shepherd of words under the cowl,
Murmurations of the Holy Mother to the lambswool shroud of candlelight.
His candle-flock of dreams to some hill of penitent towers, war-cowed
And broken open like faith-unfended helmets, littering the ground,
With their unspeaking tassels in babbling pagan sound of wind,
That hill too, once-rounded bare under the glittering apostles of twilight.
In the abbeywork of air, calligraphy was a cipher of souls,
He unwrested demons from an inkwell of sunsets, smothered them in blotting paper,
Freed the incarnate whole to the book of hours, nib-pointed in quills and illuminated in gold,
Line by line, in Carolingian winding sheets, he returned the misshapen to the fold,
To the carpet page of home and the warm ligatures of their waiting women.
So the shutters of the heavenly house could blow light in slanted rays to a wilderness in storm.
But he never tamed the aero-elongated, descender of Troy in a “t,”
He never knew the unholiness of the underscore or fonts as ******
Or the world unwilling to know itself in serif robes of ancient lore.
His life was a simple rounded-out syllable of one man,
Left in the muddied, unintelligible text of faith and war.
She is the typesetter’s “e” and now belongs to any hand.
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 9:21 PM UTC
Sometime before dawn
You curls in my dreams
And got me smiling
Like a promenading butterfly
Who aback;sights a garden phlox
I whirl enchanting on my cot
Until I hear the **** crow
And plug the melodrama
Though I wish relentless
I wing my arms like a baby
Thinking about you
I don't know how you do that
Or does it
But it seems you're an adept
Or probably a witch
To have cast such a spell on me
Ton!Ton! I picks my cellphone
And reads your messages
Thought as much,is her;the witch
Who incessantly sparks my match-sticks
And brighten my day
But am cowed,and wholly gobbled
Whenever I reminiscence about the oratories
"Nothing lasts forever"
So now tell me!
Your days and times
The protractions of your sojourn
And let me know"Witch
Though I'm hog-tied for your premium
I'm hog-tied for your rob too
Infatuated by a witch
©Historian E.Lexano
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 6:02 AM UTC
A bearded Sikh is practicing
his faith, you'll say
but a bearded Muslim is
extremist and has gone astray.
A pious nun can be covered
from head to toe
but a covered Muslim girl
is oppressed you know.
Respect for western woman
when she stays at home to look her child,
same is done by Muslim woman
then from outer world she is exiled.
In schools and colleges
semi **** girls are allowed
but with unjust laws
a covered Muslim girl is scared and cowed.
A Jew kills someone then case
against a criminal is filed.
but when a Muslim does any crime
then Islam goes under trial.
For acts of ******
Christianity is not blamed
then why with every bomb blast
hatred against Islam is flamed.
When a Palestinian takes gun against oppression
terrorist you shout and call
but when blood is spilt for oil and wealth
why your voices are not heard at all.
when an imperfect driver bangs a perfect car
no sane blames the car.
then why for vicious acts of few Muslims
Islam is put behind bars.
O media! O world!
why you hate why you detest.
against this double standards
I voice my strong protest.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
Goodmorning, Donald, my sick friend.
I've come to help you tweet again
Because your vision's simply creepy,
Has left you vulnerable to tweet with me.
And these visions I have planted in your brain
Are quite insane
Within the bounds of violence.
Of careless schemes you talk by phone.
Narrowed choices cobbled in stone
'Neath my control, you are a champ.
I turn your thinking to the cold and damp
Through your eyes stabs the flash of terror and fright
That blocks all light
Revealing the bounds of violence.
And in this blackened night I saw
Your MAGA People, by the score.
People jeering without speaking.
People fearing without listening.
So you tweet along to voices that they share.
And so they care
To set the bounds of violence.
"Tools," say I, "With Trump you'll know
Violence, likens more and grows.
Read Trumps words that he might teach you.
Feel my charms so I might reach you,"
And Trumps words like giant droplets fell
Which scattered cross the bounds of violence.
And these people cowed and bayed
To the tweets The Don had made.
And the News Reports flashed out warnings
But their words were never quite forming.
And the News said,
The Tweets of the POTUS are written as satanic calls
When darkness falls.
And prospers the bounds of violence."
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
When peace leaves, ever setting as winter
he bitterly tosses all chance beneath
her sun, howling madly while he pins her
mean like a crazy raver with claws sheathed.
What might to live steadfast in raging fire!
Pleading peace and fractions of smoky clouds
up after three, dogged she loves through ire
unrepentant, refusing to be cowed
while he looses logic bared of reason--
thunderous icicles with poisoned tips
cut fully in form ill-timed to seasons
of babies, bills, dogs, cats and sinking ships.
She whispers welcome to the stormy breach
wholeheartedly, forever out of reach.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 8:55 PM UTC
It is becoming harder to find people who refuse to be cowed by fear, and made to hate.
Our borders are a circus sideshow; we sit in increasingly uncomfortable pews and watch the sad, desperate clowns beg for some of our popcorn, and the chance to sit down and rest, for just a little while. We don’t want the popcorn; we want hotdogs and french fries but it all costs too much these days, and that’s their fault too.
Build more fences, send more dogs.
Children scream as their ears bleed but they aren’t ours, they aren’t anywhere near ours. They aren’t anything to do with us and it isn’t our fault or our problem. A young boy washes in the sea closer to home. The salt stings and his body starves and he’s the ultimate unwanted. He wants to return to a home that will hurt him even more, and to a family returned to the earth. Blame the French. Blame the Greeks. Blame the Muslims and the Syrians, the swarming, stinking hordes.
So come to the circus, and bring your kids, 3000 crying clowns, all walking the tightrope without a net. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my. The horses have bolted and the dancing girls have all been sliced in two. The ringmaster never drops his whip. He sits in the centre and laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
Lilted notes upon rising tides
Drums of crashing waters shore
Water rippling and ocean sighs
A crescendo of a tempests roar
The screech of gulls taking flight
Melodious wind in water caves
Marvel here at the ocean's might
With the orchestra of the waves
See here the figures, singing loud
Harmony salty, sweet, and strong
Ocean creatures awed and cowed
At the hurricane of the siren's song
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
when given over to such easy deception
a creature of such small mind impressed
or cowed reading by a cover of uniform
judging worth what is left for Mankind
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
A black maid enters.
Cowed, inarticulate,
she makes obeisance to her mistress,
our erstwhile heroine.
She is given a menial task
in a perfunctory fashion,
and you thrill at this splash
of historical colour.
But her mistress's command
is irrelevant. She is fully engaged
with two vital functions
with which I have entrusted her.
The first: she has bathed our heroes
in moral ambiguity -
she is a shortcut to complexity,
rendering the important characters
doubly fascinating,
bathing them in pathos.
The second: she has pleased you
as you recognise your own outrage:
"Why must she be black?
Why can't they treat her better?
Don't we live in finer times, you and I?"
And a happy reader
is a reader who will proceed,
enlivened, vindicated, affirmed.
And thus freshly enslaved,
she returns
to the sculleries of my imagination
as we press nobly on.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 5:39 AM UTC
They crawl along the streets like zombies:
Heads cowed over Androids and iPhones.
Busily pressing buttons,
Risking life and limb
As they cross the road.
It reminds me of “Star Trek Next Generation”
When young Wesley and the rest
Were hypnotised
By some alien “game”.
Sometimes they sit in huddles,
Messaging one another
Or playing, yes,
An addictive game.
All lost in a dream world
On Facebook or Twitter-Chat Whatever.
Soon we will no longer “fall out” with anyone:
We will “Unfriend” or “Unfollow” them.
I still prefer my laptop.
But how long before I too
Succumb to this addiction?
How long before my “Facebook Morning Splurge”
Becomes a day-long trawl?
Before I know it I will be like the others:
Lost in panic –
Frantic
Because I forgot to bring
My mobile.
Paul Butters
© PB 25\12\2017.
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 6:06 AM UTC
On
Days
Like this
When the deep blue skies
Shed their clouds
And made love to the horizons
Shall
We lay
On bedrocks
And lash our feet
Into plunge pools
And
Watch
Vuluptuous waterfalls
Walk elegantly down rocky staircases
And
Make
Mockery
Of the blue pants
The waters wore
There
The thunders
Will leer through the skies
And try to catch a glimpse
Of our foul acts
And
Even become
A parodist of her cuddly winks
And
There again
Become a beggary
Of my artistry,when I wove her eyebrows
With flowers
Moments
Like this,the rainbows stun with brilliance
And the umbra and penumbra
Will glare resentfully
Then
She will
Treasure me
All her secrets,dreams and fears
On the ***** of my tongue
I
Remember clearly
Like the romance played
By the moons at mars
When she said"without you,its hard to survive"and blush
And
I had tell her
All the tales of love from Adam
Yet
How sad!
When time gulp
Beautiful memories in haste
Like a drunkard
I had died six times
Till she came and breath life
Into me one more time
Yet
Today,I wobbled solo
To these environs like a jittered cheetath
Truly,I had been cheater
O,
How I wish
I can wash her off me
Her touches,her tastes and her smells
But someway I'm cowed
I might drown,and lose all hopes
Of beholding her sight one more time
I
Have no peace
And all prayers
For solace suspend
Beneath impervious clouds
Now and then
Will I starve silly
At motile moons and stars
With a little hope of her sight one more time
I'm caged in her absence,yet I lay in no cage
Am wholly buried yet I lay in no pit
Cheats
©Historian E.Lexano
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 4:53 AM UTC
A man old beyond his years
Mourns his son who’s not dead but gone.
He
simply
loved
that child.
Thrown into competition for custody
He’s frozen out.
An unselfish man, mild in nature
Who gave love
and kept the peace
and his counsel.
Anger subdued, repressed, burns behind the eyes that weep.
He’s impotent.
The mother manipulates man and boy to bend their wills to her command.
They are cowed but not broken.
Slowly, slowly the fire builds and gives succour to resolve.
The gentle man battles on,
step by step
His will strengthened by love.
The law is on his side.
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 12:29 AM UTC
From a whisp
To menacing imp.
Jungle rot. Panic ****
See how they run.
Granny told me tales that they told her
That they heard from the griot.
The duende. Walks with feet turned back.
Conceal his intentions.. a stalking moon.
A loon ? Oh no. Real to the night.
Blood red eyes pierces the soul.
Duende. Spirit. Beast.
Sprang from the bowels of hell...the stifled dreams
Of the children. Cowed by the dark.
One left to fend. One
Found the ark.
Ta ta duende.
Know who he is ?
Nightmare amalgam
Sum of all fears. Grandma ... scared dog **** outa me.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC