"dictions" poems
So, after reading this Programme with her
And felt the Blood up-river past your brain
She was Smiling. And thus I beg-confirm
How to abdicate this Throneful Pain
Do Tears from your Fans ever sensate you
Even when their Pillars support your Fare
Bitter Notes will tweet; And Pretty Souls too
Just how you Falter these Dictions beware
She was Brave enough to post the Same Event
At Risk to debit their Frustrated Fears
Brother and Sister: Most live Excuse meant
A Funny Welcome to whom they Revere.
Please. This isn't the first Turtle Reflex
Of Four-Digits-Two minus Year-of-Six.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 3:41 AM UTC
I apologize if my eyes,
Tend to wander into your worlds.
Penetrating the walls you’ve built,
To get a sneak peek into your last nights
And next years
And what are you doing todays.
I apologize,
If my ears air-waved into your waving dictions,
Dropping tones,
Dimming voices,
Dictating the peace you want yourself to attain
Through the side conversations
And the cocktail effects
Attending, to what you’re not aware of.
And I wasn’t aware that you are going to treat me that way;
I gave you my heart over dinner
Last night; under the table your family was sitting on-
As we put on our decorous smiles
And threw our shy giggles;
Cracking up with strong inner laughter within,
Because the same
Lost, upset, wild
Shoot first ask later couple
Are pretending to blush over “grown up” jokes
Made by our fathers
To test our inner surfaces;
I gave you my heart over dinner last night,
And that was
THE last night;
Because my heart and yours
Stopped exercising their vividness
On a Tuesday morning.
They, stopped writing musicals of us,
For my heart was executed
And yours got shattered-
Nowhere to be found;
Martyred in between the lines of a political message
They wrote with your blood
Forgetting about mine,
They carved their letters
With the nymph in a black sweater;
And the river that she used to own,
Took her away
Before anyone can see,
The disfigured goddess now list in the sea
Of blood-of my thoughts and reflections.
My voice,
Now layered into dissimilar tones;
The lowest, is the one I use to constantly pray for you
And the highest is for me to scream for your fallen eyes.
I stand steady
Against the tidal waves
And write on the walls
The poetry I kept inside,
The walls you’ve built;
The walls everyone builds
And I try to penetrate
To get a sneak peek
Of their last night’s
And next year’s
And what are you doing today’s.
Because my walls are destroyed
My pillars are demolished
My life is but a living memory of hers,
And my eyes are nothing but thieves,
Staring their way to steel the words
From the faces in the crowd
In order to write something
That can get me to forget
That I am mourning;
That in my head plays a sad guitar,
With a silent base
And a lost drum beat.
I apologize for writing this,
For letting your eyes conquer these papers
For letting your ears hear those words.
I apologize for feeling the urge to apologize
But that’s what I grew up on
And no one can seem to get rid of their bad habits…
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 6:04 PM UTC
Add
Add
Add
my
Addictions.
dictions (diction's) lost
my addiction's dictions (diction's) lost conviction
excuse that last part, it was intrinsically self-involved
because advertisements
tell me to want.
everything.
Add
Add
Add
all my addictions
then divide by whats left.
Chandler says you can't divide by nothing.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
Im serving lifes with this pen/
Convicted for Killing time
Im
Eternally trapped within/
For my sins
Solitarily confined
In these lines
where do I begin/
Can you read between them
It never ends/
The margin is marginal/
Carte blanch
Ive over stepped my boundaries
Broke the rule cardinal/
Now Im in an invisible/
cell feeling miserable/
My time shouldve been
More productive
This is NA Not Applicable/
23 hours in the whole
Lost ours in part
Another 60 gone/
Thought is food
scarf down words/
Appetite absurd clearly just observe/
work the mind
Stay fit/
only way to survive inside
Mental aerobics Various signs/
Shape it
chin up chin down equals a syllable/
My own worst enemy
My dictions despicable/
Train everyday to enhance
Considerable/
For I know never leaving
These sentences for life/
Are habitual/
Even before I got booked
They extradited my freedom/
The right to write
When I tried to free lance
I was just free writing/
They cuffed my free hands
Life sentence to this pen
Now they want my annihilation
Too many things gone missing punctuations
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 12:51 PM UTC
Check the twenty-twenty fission
Adam splittin' Eden vision
Bustin' caps in gas emissions
Spittin' written ammunition
For the first-world problem chillen'
Droppin' free speech bomb sedition
On the third-world problem villain
Grand old wizards' ku klux gizzards
All white **** meat chicken dinners
Suckin' Christian dictions'
Hissin' contests over spoils
House of Slyth'rins witherin'
The shale-shock sowing soil
With Satan seeds of ignorance
Still thirsting for indifference
From money hungry London royal
Global warming blizzards
As they're bleeding dry the rivers
Into liquidating oil
Treasure buried with a shovel
In oases brought to boil
Nine eleven popped the bubble
But with Jesus in the building
Turning metal into rubble
Smelting graces into gilding
From the melting *** he's spilling
Into off-shore power drilling
Making killings on the rigging
As Mohammed was displayed
As a scary, bearded, brown-skin man
Through tricks of terrorism's trade
And God's right sleights of winning hand
Pulled rabbits from Fatah's grenade
And cooked 'em in Afghanistan
For PTSD noise parades
And hot dog chugs for Uncle Sam
To waste the land, supply demand
For ol' Osama's unmarked grave
Obama hosted-masquerade
White-washing New World fear campaign
Them masks of patriotic acts
In place as they removed Hussein
Disguised the ethnic cleanse crusade
With bush league mass destruction claims
When the caliphate they made
Went Khomeini on Iran
A stand against the David camp
Shelling bibles to qurans
So the shah's Allah mirage
Put the profits in the pockets
Of the prophet's arbitrage
Camouflage the Green Zone spans
With pyramids of Reaganomics
Tricklin' into sovereign sands
Long before heathen jihadists
Flew their kamikaze plans
Into Trump towers' blacklist fists
Of modern warfare contra bans
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
I think I'm full of contra-dictions
And contra-distinctions
You disagree
But you're a Sandinista!
We're bound to clash
Jul 25, 2021
Jul 25, 2021 at 12:54 PM UTC
Have you ever had an open box of cornflakes
slip out of your hands
(at the precise time you were constructing a poem in your head)
and scatter all over the kitchen
like the fragile egos of self righteous partisans
(creating a bigger mess if you trample them)
and thus, you find yourself on all fours
sweeping a recently swept floor
once more.....
We’re brought up looking for divine expedience in any mishap that happens:
“Maslehat” they say.... there must be a hidden benefit in this!
“it’s a small loss in lieu of a bigger one that it prevented”...
....and we tune our frequencies from ambition to complacency....
year after year,
generation after generation,
till that becomes the default station.....
I even start looking at the benefits hidden in the mess at hand...
I’ve discovered crevices under the stove where my cleaner never reaches,
(now I can prepare an admonition for her
—-wouldn’t have happened without the corn flakes.... thank you!)
I imagine worse scenarios.... it could have been the bag of flour, or the spice jars .... or.... glass bottles.
The work instantly becomes less tedious, as I weigh it against shards of glass and invisible weapons of potential exsanguination....
oh shukar , shukar, shukar..... Alhamdulillah.
It’s ok, it’s only cornflakes....
It’s only cornflakes, and my attitude.... ( that’s in question)
keeping things together, even when they’re crumbling,
cleaning up messes, and counting on second guesses,
Using crafting glue and bluetac to hold up foundations
( this doesn’t merit any recommendation!)
A friend once said, “ sometimes you have to let it break, so that you can build it better....”
but what is better, when each damage is a consecration
that is the conundrum of creation
it’s all a substrate
it’s all a message
its all salvation
I had told my friend, “listen I don’t know how to use metaphors,
and I only have a few of my own,
will you give me some on loan?
I need them to break and remake my ache.... “
The silence meant yes.
I could take all the phrases,
all beautiful words, all dictions, all praises
In these clumsy hands, ( since the heart understands)
And if I spill them like cornflakes,
no matter what it takes,
I’ll find a way, to scoop them in a poem.
A.
20.9.18
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
I find myself in prison,
Imprisoned by your torrid love magic,
Though I'm been cared for,I panic,
Panicking for my charges of treason,
I dont want to leave your estactic cells,
In your confines i want to dwell,
Now and forever,
For the comfort of your gates,
Holds my shackles and chains,
And constantly depriving me of strains,
Am here alone;and glad with no inmates,
But you and me,
I pray am not arranged before court,
So i wouldnt know my times,
The days,months and years,
But if am sent to court in tears,
I will plead to your jury,
To sentence me for life,
Am afraid to lose your sight,
I cant explain this feeling,
Neither it is tacit,
But where did you come from?
My pretty monarch butterfly,
Even the flowers beseech your proboscis,
The skies rejoice with your presence,
I know words are not enough,
To explicitly express how i feels,
But i pray as i kneels,
My dictions should not bluff,
But carries my feelings,
In humility to you.
@Historian E.Lexano
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 1:59 PM UTC
The eunoian feeling was disrupted by the sardonic entity. Crushing and terrorizing the meraki from my soul. Taking away my will. My will to live. My will to survive. My will to do as I please. Because that's what toxic people do. They **** you soul out of your body through their words. Their oh so characterizing language. The dictions of ***** I'm a daydreamer and a night thinker. My soul was bound to be beautiful and spill these numinous words upon the wilted paper in the black and white text. So you can **** my will but I will always exist in the language of my ancestors, just as they exist within me. Jokes on you depression no one decides my fate but me. So let's keep this rhythm, you'll be the king and I'll be the queen in my little psychosis induced fantasy, pretending that all is well even when society shoves "normal" down my throat. I'll be my own light.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 10:13 AM UTC
I think sadness is beautiful because
I see this life I carried without the buzz.
I certainly drank a lot bringing death quicker,
But I couldn’t help it with this arsenal of liquor.
As a kid that smoked too much cigarettes,
And read enough Vonnegut, as much as he gets,
He felt happiness for too long and forgot what
It’s like to feel like **** Chasing a girl’s ****
Sinking himself into the sea of delirium
And avarice, his life isn’t far from our requiem.
Without divine servitude, our lives are free. Yet,
We are shackled by the fortitude of my creative debt.
It’s they we should blame, those that beat our brains
With damaging dictions, leaving our souls with stains
That can’t be washed away even with medical bleach
That doctors syphoned into my body, as far as they reach.
I am feeling anger, which will be soothed by my impending
Sadness; the finale of my emotional vicissitudes. It’s ending,
But not until I remind you that we can only feel happiness
When we allow our decaying bodies to sometimes accept sadness.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC
My ink is drying
loss for words..
my poetic mind
shrinking in its size
try few romantic lines
poetic dictions are gone
need inspiration perhaps..
Give me a hand..
my ink will be filled by you...
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
Look -- O’ look
The books we could be;
Seas of lumber
Slumber in dusty sleeves.
Thieves of the night
Write on our eyes;
Lies in the form of words,
Worlds in forms of home.
Some call it fiction,
Imagination calls it sanity
Gravity of our own two feet
Meet to stay alive.
“Strive” it tells me.
“Be all that you can and more.
Doors lead to windows,
Intros to the Galaxy.
Actually living more lives than one.
Undo the restrictions-
Dictions people have over you.
Few are even close
Most will never get there.
Here there is only you
Through the woods behind the books
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC
Devised before the moment of birth,
A blueprint was created by God.
A chain of events that will take place,
Designing a predestined future that shall occur.
These trends are all part of the plan,
Setting up a test built upon virtue.
The pattern consists of many barriers,
A journey one must complete for glory.
The trail will provide two dictions,
Providing an exam based on faith.
A road which offers darkness,
And a route that provides light.
The almighty already knows your choice,
Foreseeing the quest that’s already predicted.
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
(Dedicated to the late Prof Chinua Achebe)
Mountain ranges in the east wind,
Like wet dew on a grass.
Amid soggy tears,
Enthusiasm denies us.
Squeal of gongs and drums
Sound throughout the land,
North and South:
Poignant blood runs through our veins.
Indeed, things have fallen apart...
Spring thunder -The Iroko has fallen!
Albert Chinualumogu Achebe.
You it was who issued the great call
For us to rebel against despotic rule.
A glittering colossus among literati,
With an esoteric mastery of proverbial dictions.
The literary luminary and patriot,
It's the very best we have had.
Storms of the societal reformation
have brought a flowering of heroes on the land.
In the wind and thunder of cultural revolution,
The rising sun casts a myriad reflections.
Achebe's thought glows golden bright,
Struggle-criticism-transformation;
flowering everywhere.
Though the dogged messenger has become silent,
The candid message-wave still dance in my ear,
I wipe warm tears from my eyes,
And press my hand to my throbbing heart,
Keeping the peerless books in my *****
Oh yes! Achebe was here,
And we felt his magical pen.
Adieu! Great Iroko of our land.
© A. O. Nwulia Literary Diary 2013
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:26 AM UTC
Books and books
one after the other,
I shall let myself drown
in all its comfort and warmth,
and live vicariously through the lives
of these pretty paper people
that’s much more preferable,
for as long as I please
I shall hope and dream in fiction,
Sing words of poetic dictions,
Find peace of mind in metaphors,
or both hilarity and clarity
enveloped in poetries and fantasies,
Perhaps I’ll let my guard down,
and fall in everlasting love
with the men that breathe charm and ooze chivalry (Re: Dawsey Adams & Mr Darcy)
So brb world,
I'll just pore over these books
as I pour myself another cup of tea
and perhaps read another page (or two or three)
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
I saw your brilliant poetry inside the moonlight
its explosive beat composing its harmonies
on my framework
a jazzy scenery blazing outward and upbeat
a seamless balance
between spectacular art and exhilarating English
more like a collection of captivating dictions
leaving its imprint on the core of the universe
a slow contemplation of rich rhymes
rotating in circular motions
drumming inside my angled chest
smooth breezes drifting in the glimmering air
folding and unfolding into a starlit scenery
a patchwork of rivers rushing down a sloped stream
of electrifying passion
beyond bridge and bone
beyond commas and semicolons
drunken in stillness and creativeness
exquisite without reason
a strong sensation rising in the atmosphere
in stunning dreamwork
every delicate design wearing an extravagant frame
of blossoming attraction
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 11:37 AM UTC
I want to inscribe this piece with a red ink like the blood
For I want people to know that I scribbled it from the depths of my heart
Perhaps, they must discern the sacrifices that I make to mix these words into a cup like tea
Or, let me write this piece with a black ink like the ***** blood
For they must know that this came from the beliefs of a black man with history, values and culture to protect. Alas, someone must be willing to tell our story the way it was, is and will be
For western civilisations have wiped away the classics of our time embossed and engraved on our hearts across the sea
Or let me write these few words with the blue ink like we used to,
For people reading this must know, like blue is to the sky,
My writings cover the entirety of the human race.
Wait, let me brew fine words from the lexicons of the old, for within their thoughts lies philosophies and secret elixir of life, immortality of the tongue.
Wait, let me write this piece with the utmost level of sagacity, prudence and wisdom, for my children must grow to appreciate my intellect.
I wish this piece brings some plagues to my desk, and a travelling ticket to roam the world
So where and how should I start?
Wait, I must make sure these arguments do not offend the big men and the highest
For they clench the keys to my door of no return
Wait, let me write about the contemporary issues in town, the trending news that all are discussing, for that will sell fast and put some few bugs in my pocket
Wait, let me read wide and re-examine my dictions, for issues of copyright and plagiarism can cost me my lifetime savings.
Wait, I must examine when and how I place my metaphors, ironies and oxymorons to fit in this piece, for literature students must study my works too.
Wait, when the power comes back, prompt me, for I did not save the last paragraph I just typed.
From the chest of a writer, comes the greatest dilemma of life, like Nelly or Kelly.
Words that are sharp and powerful to divide the flesh from the bones. Within the chest are graving issues of national consent, issues that matters the most.
From the chest of a writer lingers the verdicts of our time. Words that can make or unmake a nation.
Arguments that have the potency to divide and unite the entire universe. Peace and War.
Apr 22, 2020
Apr 22, 2020 at 7:02 PM UTC