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"enriching" poems
A SOCIETY WRITTEN IN FLAMES; SHROUDED IN DARKNESS *The tears flows in an endless way Bemoaning the days of yore Watching with eyes that sparks red, Sunken and beaten from the tragedies of yore Helpless and wishing for a relentless call As tragedy hits her most sensitive part, Bemoaning the tides, All her days of glory, Now a shadowy story* *She had been ***** by her very own, The children she yearned and bled for, The men she fed and trained, Where her rain fell full and vast, to soothe their hearts Where she gave it all, and smiled, hoping that someday, they will realize her sacrifices and sleepless nights, Her nights of terror and horrors Where she stood in the midst of the stormy eerie night, shrouded in darkness* *It was her ******* they ****** and clunged to, It was her arms that shielded them from the shadows of the dark, But when they grew and flew, She waited still Praying and wishing they would remember the days of yore* *Then the dark hour rolled away, And when morning came, it was harrowing. It was harrowing how she waited abandoned and dejected, As her sons and daughters peaked at the sky, Trampling her down, Relegating and belittling her Painful it were, as she cried from the agonies of the days of yore, Where she laid all her virtues down, Giving it all to see her children smile,* *It is this dejection that has brought her to tears, It is this wickedness of a child to a mother, that has made her weep endlessly It is this tragedy that have swallowed her glory, As her children keeps flying above huddles, in peace and harmony, Forgetting her, It is this callousness, that pushed them to sapping her virtues and enriching themselves with it thereon* *What is worse than a child abandoning his mother? It is this penchant, that drives them It is the love of greed, It is the seed of corruption, It is not an inherited trait, It is a despicable decision Like a monstrous shadow, Twirling the back of the night. It is the fire that burns within their heart, The fire to **** steal and destroy To take what she can never give again To live, To live big at the expenses of others sorrow and agony It is this evil that has perused Nigeria and has rendered her a roaming wretch And now tragedy looms, It booms and blooms,* A society written in flames Who will save MOTHER NIGERIA? Ovi Odiete© 2016, Oct. 31 All rights reserved Note Children here signifies the evil politicians and men that has sapped our country dry with their evil penchant
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Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
"~~Nigeria-Written in Flames~~"
A SOCIETY WRITTEN IN FLAMES; SHROUDED IN DARKNESS *The tears flows in an endless way Bemoaning the days of yore Watching with eyes that sparks red, Sunken and beaten from the tragedies of yore Helpless and wishing for a relentless call As tragedy hits her most sensitive part, Bemoaning the tides, All her days of glory, Now a shadowy story* *She had been ***** by her very own, The children she yearned and bled for, The men she fed and trained, Where her rain fell full and vast, to soothe their hearts Where she gave it all, and smiled, hoping that someday, they will realize her sacrifices and sleepless nights, Her nights of terror and horrors Where she stood in the midst of the stormy eerie night, shrouded in darkness* *It was her ******* they ****** and clunged to, It was her arms that shielded them from the shadows of the dark, But when they grew and flew, She waited still Praying and wishing they would remember the days of yore* *Then the dark hour rolled away, And when morning came, it was harrowing. It was harrowing how she waited abandoned and dejected, As her sons and daughters peaked at the sky, Trampling her down, Relegating and belittling her Painful it were, as she cried from the agonies of the days of yore, Where she laid all her virtues down, Giving it all to see her children smile,* *It is this dejection that has brought her to tears, It is this wickedness of a child to a mother, that has made her weep endlessly It is this tragedy that have swallowed her glory, As her children keeps flying above huddles, in peace and harmony, Forgetting her, It is this callousness, that pushed them to sapping her virtues and enriching themselves with it thereon* *What is worse than a child abandoning his mother? It is this penchant, that drives them It is the love of greed, It is the seed of corruption, It is not an inherited trait, It is a despicable decision Like a monstrous shadow, Twirling the back of the night. It is the fire that burns within their heart, The fire to **** steal and destroy To take what she can never give again To live, To live big at the expenses of others sorrow and agony It is this evil that has perused Nigeria and has rendered her a roaming wretch And now tragedy looms, It booms and blooms,* A society written in flames Who will save MOTHER NIGERIA? Ovi Odiete© 2016, Oct. 31 All rights reserved Note Children here signifies the evil politicians and men that has sapped our country dry with their evil penchant
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59
OLD HOUSE They retain precious memories, intimate feelings of inhabitants passing through its sagging doors. Romantic are seekers of forgotten times memories encased in hard wood floors; as lath plastered walls ooze remnants of a history while we; when inclined listen. We don't go very often, to abandon houses, perhaps on a dare, or at Halloween. Are we passed enjoying extremes into this another world, musty energy a curious child. That was the yesterday which now waits behind musty, dusty, derelict halls. I stand I stand at paint chipped banister, a faded worn carpet once carried dancing feet, children playing before they sleep. The broken coat tree on the floor. From the third floor murmuring, a wind storm jars loose fears, of time once lost to dreams. Echos billow from each room, curtains hanging yellowed by a sun where dancing light through holes in damask lace. Mice gremlin's artful droppings, tracks of nature on dirt strewn floor. Broken shards from window panes, confetti after New Years day. Branches scratched etched paths, tracks like graffiti on sill its unread words, a glif eerily cast shadows trigger echos from the past. Jagged memories protrude from every corner mixing with new, enriching our fantasies bringing us closer renewed; these musty memories long forgotten. Like waves rushing back; flooding a mind like broken dikes they crash into our world, Rembrandt's paintings on canvas fading. Silent footsteps outside a door, we hear laughter from bedroom walls; a smell a whiff of hot butter *** silent conversation coming our way. Old Doc Masters listened at my chest, as I read all by candle light, Sherlock detective stories or the Tell Tale Heart of Poe or Othello; all masters in the past. A Grandfather clock stands silent, keeping time, lost its tick yet still striking, it stands tall, upon a clueless floor. Knowledge lost to a past in a house so worn, births, deaths, wars, wrapped forgotten, encased by neglect, I visited a house besotted, neglected waiting to be remodeled into another century moving it to present times. Ajerry Archival Jan 5, 2011
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Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
Memories of an Old Houses
OLD HOUSE They retain precious memories, intimate feelings of inhabitants passing through its sagging doors. Romantic are seekers of forgotten times memories encased in hard wood floors; as lath plastered walls ooze remnants of a history while we; when inclined listen. We don't go very often, to abandon houses, perhaps on a dare, or at Halloween. Are we passed enjoying extremes into this another world, musty energy a curious child. That was the yesterday which now waits behind musty, dusty, derelict halls. I stand I stand at paint chipped banister, a faded worn carpet once carried dancing feet, children playing before they sleep. The broken coat tree on the floor. From the third floor murmuring, a wind storm jars loose fears, of time once lost to dreams. Echos billow from each room, curtains hanging yellowed by a sun where dancing light through holes in damask lace. Mice gremlin's artful droppings, tracks of nature on dirt strewn floor. Broken shards from window panes, confetti after New Years day. Branches scratched etched paths, tracks like graffiti on sill its unread words, a glif eerily cast shadows trigger echos from the past. Jagged memories protrude from every corner mixing with new, enriching our fantasies bringing us closer renewed; these musty memories long forgotten. Like waves rushing back; flooding a mind like broken dikes they crash into our world, Rembrandt's paintings on canvas fading. Silent footsteps outside a door, we hear laughter from bedroom walls; a smell a whiff of hot butter *** silent conversation coming our way. Old Doc Masters listened at my chest, as I read all by candle light, Sherlock detective stories or the Tell Tale Heart of Poe or Othello; all masters in the past. A Grandfather clock stands silent, keeping time, lost its tick yet still striking, it stands tall, upon a clueless floor. Knowledge lost to a past in a house so worn, births, deaths, wars, wrapped forgotten, encased by neglect, I visited a house besotted, neglected waiting to be remodeled into another century moving it to present times. Ajerry Archival Jan 5, 2011
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65
Failure is not only a concern, but also a part of life Ignore it, deny the same, defy it, however, facts never change. Like the odds when they come along the way, which need to be tackled, they prove to be of use, of great benefit in enriching prior experience, similarly, in the same way, failure is the first step towards success. Never get disappointed, don’t give up, since prevention has always remained better than cure One wrong step never meant it's end of the world One wrong step never meant to be a full stop One wrong step, however, definitely means not to repeat the same mistake again. Definitely failure is not only a concern, but also a part of life, best when agreed upon and accepted, so as to make sure that the same thing never happens again, all over again.
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Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
Failure is the First Step Towards Success
In a Skype chat room Topic : I Like Haiku's ************** Me--- (LadyBird) Haiku's I do like for they are so easily written in three worded lines Friend--(TonyS) Writing in Haiku forces me to think about, what is important Me--- (LadyBird) indeed you are right writing them is important and can be therapeutic would you mind if I add your words in my Haiku giving you credit ? this conversation we are in is very fun what are you thinking? Friend--(TonyS) I find great solace in the idea that my words are that important! I have no problem with allowing you to use my simple verses! Pining for someone who I love very dearly takes most of my time. Me--- (LadyBird) awesome Thank you so much; I really enjoy this writing is a passion as you can see I enjoy the flow of my words and all that inspire you are so kind I will for sure keep an eye on your wonderful wods thank you very much hoping I was no bother to you my dear friend I try to keep my pen with me jotting down all my thoughts from within it is so nice to meet someone that shares the same passion for writing please do keep in touch I will for sure stay in touch with you my dear friend Friend--(TonyS) The pleasure is mine! To meet a friend is always an enriching thing. My name is Tony! It is always nice to meet new internet friends! Me--- (LadyBird) your name is so cool it is indeed very nice to make a new friend it is so funny I knew your name was Tony from your user name this is the most fun I have had in three long days I do enjoy it Haiku-ing is like text-ing with out a cell phone it is fun indeed Friend--(TonyS) The pleasure is mine! To meet a friend is always an enriching thing. Me--- (LadyBird) I find great solace to know that you share the same interest as I do Friend--(TonyS) Names are only words, I am nice because I am who I want to be. I am Tony Stark, at least in my heart and mind. Money? Not so much. It was a pleasure, this banter being quite fun, maybe again soon? Me--- (LadyBird) Wow that sounds so cool Tony Stark is so good looking very good actor names are only words they don't describe who we are inside is what count thank you for talking to me my friend it was fun indeed again soon gonna end convo nice chatting with you my friend now I say goodbye
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Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
A Haiku Conversation
In a Skype chat room Topic : I Like Haiku's ************** Me--- (LadyBird) Haiku's I do like for they are so easily written in three worded lines Friend--(TonyS) Writing in Haiku forces me to think about, what is important Me--- (LadyBird) indeed you are right writing them is important and can be therapeutic would you mind if I add your words in my Haiku giving you credit ? this conversation we are in is very fun what are you thinking? Friend--(TonyS) I find great solace in the idea that my words are that important! I have no problem with allowing you to use my simple verses! Pining for someone who I love very dearly takes most of my time. Me--- (LadyBird) awesome Thank you so much; I really enjoy this writing is a passion as you can see I enjoy the flow of my words and all that inspire you are so kind I will for sure keep an eye on your wonderful wods thank you very much hoping I was no bother to you my dear friend I try to keep my pen with me jotting down all my thoughts from within it is so nice to meet someone that shares the same passion for writing please do keep in touch I will for sure stay in touch with you my dear friend Friend--(TonyS) The pleasure is mine! To meet a friend is always an enriching thing. My name is Tony! It is always nice to meet new internet friends! Me--- (LadyBird) your name is so cool it is indeed very nice to make a new friend it is so funny I knew your name was Tony from your user name this is the most fun I have had in three long days I do enjoy it Haiku-ing is like text-ing with out a cell phone it is fun indeed Friend--(TonyS) The pleasure is mine! To meet a friend is always an enriching thing. Me--- (LadyBird) I find great solace to know that you share the same interest as I do Friend--(TonyS) Names are only words, I am nice because I am who I want to be. I am Tony Stark, at least in my heart and mind. Money? Not so much. It was a pleasure, this banter being quite fun, maybe again soon? Me--- (LadyBird) Wow that sounds so cool Tony Stark is so good looking very good actor names are only words they don't describe who we are inside is what count thank you for talking to me my friend it was fun indeed again soon gonna end convo nice chatting with you my friend now I say goodbye
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104
This day needs tomorrow As much as Tomorrow needs today. Throw a stone, Watch ripples lick the shore, Then turn around And ripple more; Like magician's rings, Smoke rings, Wedding rings, Entangling, Enriching, Intertwining, Becoming Olympian. At the epicentre It's calm.
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Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
We Need More Tomorrows
Feeling good is: Greeting a stranger with a smile, Chatting with your elderly neighbor's, And treating them with care and compassion. Soothing another's pain, Feeding hungry stomachs, Standing with the oppressed, Rendering service to others for no return. Exploring a new idea, Enriching your knowledge, Reflecting and pondering, Planting the seeds of positive change. Listening to the whispers of love, Inspiring the next generation, Being around intelligent people, Enjoying the company of soft-hearted friends. Restoring people's shattered dreams, Be their candle and their lifeboat, Listening to the cries of innocent souls, And showing them the way to a new dawn. Lifting the spirit of the broken-hearted, Delivering them through a helping hand, Dressing your soul in a garment of giving. Lifting your voice to be the champion of the forgotten. Counting your blessings, Reciting your prayers, Contemplating the universe, Listening to nature’s songs with muted words. Hussein Dekmak
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Aug 8, 2021
Aug 8, 2021 at 1:05 PM UTC
Feeling Good
Housing waning Where do you expect me to go? Stop selling me Harrow (Not even if you talking Road). Imma Grove gyal…! I got my vibe spots and chill spots, my food stalls and book haunts. We - SJC are not just a Safer Neighbours blight Given half the obstacles - gentle gentry maybe more of us would be standing free I’ll take myself outta Grove when I’mmmm ready. RBKC done turned up that pressure though. Knocking down to wipe out The enriching colour and spice that grew out of adversity Permission to “celebrate” over the August bank holiday, No amount of stop and searches g’on make me forget. We belong here too. So get to know and stop putting up my rent.
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Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
Ladbroke Grove Calling
A circuit land, Overshadowed by late, orange, blooms. Tough powers tower high, Mirroring fear to passersby. Forest rich with opportunity, Potential plots for growth, Short showers bear us fruits, Of evermore enriching schemes. Spikes of hopes, dreams and wonders, Base levels of lost sympathies, Crying wounds of hungry symphonies, Howls of jeer, malice, and thunder. A shattered system holds us together, A web void of its structure, and spider, Leadership is not without its tethers, Binding back what was once deep. Inside those who not heed, Of the instincts that lead to their greed We need you dreamers, to help us gaze And see the stars again, through that lamp lit haze.
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Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
GTA Glow
Bending the benevolence Into a lucid sky of white, An indulgence of an Evocatively colourful odyssey. My dearest mother Of the muse, A whispering sea Of beckoning delicacy. Divulging enriching Secrets of the tides. Majestic sands of salty Caramel delight, Unravelling the enigmatic Solitude of time. Grains of meandering Contemplation; Emancipating the mind From the burden Of the distortive rhythm, And into the truest dream Of night, Where the spirit chimes solely In awakened starlight.
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Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 7:28 PM UTC
Secrets of the Tides
In the bowl where beauty lies enriching its in its glow remains an enigma that drives deep shadows to the surface we don't see everything we want to see or show , analyse, own or disown we may fail to seek all the answers a torrid past, a broken heart a blistered and bruised ego something fragile, festering fuming underneath the facade , creating a silhouette skin, cosmetic exterior, mannequin interior a patchwork quilt of emotions restless, unready, growing. we take what we see in complete trust, faith beatified drawn into the magnetic depths seeking the pole star sailing unkempt oceans raging against the silhouette that clearly conquered the magnificence of the moment. Love has no shadows just a glowing light. Author Notes The journey to love. © Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
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Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
silhouette
What are the truly indispensable things of Life? Those meaningful, forever things, Those enriching, soul sustaining, can’t live without, nonmaterial things? Those can’t reach out and touch them things? The one’s that keep one breath following another? Those things that foster the founding of religions, Those that cause poets and writers to put pen to paper? Of which most songs and music celebrate? Those things that have forever inspired questions, Without clear answers. Those all so elusive concepts that only we humans pursue, As essential to us as sunshine, air, water and food. Those things that all humans spend a life time in search of? And far too many never find. Those things that cannot be bought, with worldly riches at any price? These “things” I refer to center on matters of the heart, and one's own brain, These are the powerful, abiding gifts of self love, And the bestowing of true love unto others, And being the recipient of their love in return. For without these indispensable precious things, Though we possess everything else there is,   We remain a mere, empty vessel for want of filling.
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Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
Precious Things
Blue infinity Beautiful serenity Breaking enmity ~ Food hopes crumbling Stomach empty, grumbling Taco bound stumbling ~ Smart Polite, Educated Enlightening, Enriching, Enthralling Teachers, Students, Idiots, Parasites Disgusting, Debilitating, Degrading Disrespectful, Obnoxious Stupid ~ Rap Poetic, Spoken Rhyming, Entertaining, Battling Real rap takes skill Hip Hop ~ Cinquain Unskilled, Foolish Annoying, Boring, Defaming Cinquains wish they were poetry Joke
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Jun 5, 2010
Jun 5, 2010 at 2:59 PM UTC
A Few Haikus, A Diamante, and A Couple Cinquains
nothing wrong with Africans worshiping the sun and the Native Americans worshiping the Great Grand Father Sky and respecting Mother Earth unfortunately the Europeans conquered the new world through violence deception savagery lies deceit **** ****** colonization Christianity slavery apartheid genocide while the Europeans took land and resources from other nations enriching themselves and building their nations considered themselves superior to People of Color and Indigenous People throughout the world and the world would not be civilized without their intervention and the benevolent actions of europeans but we know that it's all about power and wealth that be the guiding light of good and evil
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Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
The Guiding Light of Good and Evil
Desire and dreams, lofty clouds casting distant shadows. Momentary shades of calm, convert to blinding flame. - Torpid question marks rearrange exclamation points. Hues of commas and periods, vibrant adjectives and adverbs. Grunts and growls of wildered existence. Perpetual noise. Such picturesque nonsense. - Belief of charging knights and moonwalks decay to disappointed waistlines shaky hands, confused with living. What beautiful strangeness, the prospect of becoming. - Do we chase the shadows or create our own; flourish roots with ardent fingers? Imagine with ferocity enriching curiosity? - Dig deep, my child, and know you're real. Or don't We are substance and shadow, words of florescence. Or won't Disheartened by cruelty unfamiliar reflections, resigned to naked truth. Or can't Do we accept, or will we refuse? Inhaling why, exhaling when. - Blooming breaths Horizons anew Warmth of sun, serenity of shade.
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Jun 27, 2023
Jun 27, 2023 at 12:19 PM UTC
Serenity of Shade
The shepherds sing; and shall I silent be? My God, no hymn for Thee? My soul’s a shepherd too; a flock it feeds Of thoughts, and words, and deeds. The pasture is Thy word: the streams, Thy grace Enriching all the place. Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers Outsing the daylight hours. Then will we chide the sun for letting night Take up his place and right: We sing one common Lord; wherefore he should Himself the candle hold. I will go searching, till I find a sun Shall stay, till we have done; A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly, As frost-nipped suns look sadly. Then will we sing, and shine all our own day, And one another pay: His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine, Till ev’n His beams sing, and my music shine.
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2.2k
Christmas (II)
Always and forever you change just like the wind Lost in your world with feelings I have sinned Whispers of your love tease through the night Awake in the morning you live in my daylight Yearning to find the place where you might be Solitude in this world I live, forever empty Agonising emotions are with me all day No tablet for relieve never going away Drained emotionally my life on my own Freezing winter winds chill to the bone Only you can fulfil my true love’s destiny Rekindle my soul’s love for an eternity Enriching my heart with love to be filled Visions in the past my hearts blood you spilled Endless games with the feelings I have sinned Realizing always you are invisible just like the wind Title of the poem spelt down the spine of the verse.
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Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 4:42 AM UTC
Always And Forever (Acrostic)
Violence in our hearts Ignorant vice of our plans Praising What we read What we see What we hear Acquiring knowledge we seek Enriching others' minds You can't always enlist Minds are being allocated Oppressive struggle nurtures servitude What is your brain being allocated for? What kind of freedom are you looking for? Can't be one of us If you're another capitalist appropriation Poster child, a temporary venture Falling in line to become another Worker or bourgeois hypocrite slave Isn't that why you study for? What kind of life are you looking for? There's no saving your soul When your freedom depends On chains of other men's hopes Fighting to keep yourself, your family Future generations being born out of you Out of the venom of oppression and pain Living life without concern or consciousness Just the same as living in a prison cell America, how many inmates do you host? Security, don't you want a guarantee? Your family may now have peace But when you're no longer here, there's no guarantee Can't be one of us If you don't join in the struggles of our brethren Because our security is not guaranteed until they're all free
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Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
Until We're All Free
for better or for worst once i was blessed to know the wonder of love, acceptance and complete trust. the trio loosened, watered and nurtured my fertile soil and the future harvest took root and grew strong and wild always reaching to the skies. the farmer never got to see the harvest only the green carpet slowly hinting to change. who is willing to take over the farmers work and tend to the lush green carpet bulging with potential? many has come forward but with hidden agendas bend on enriching the self camouflaged in the "greater good". these over time do and did and will do more damage than nature ever can inflict. despite all this the land is still present, still fertile, still growing and still hoping for a good farmer. imagining that the true owner has just gotten lost and took a few wrong turns but faith will be the morning star and lead wandering feet home. to the land in time to rejuvenate life and bring in a golden brown ripe harvest that will leave eyes wet and breathless with disbelieve at the abundance and riches despite all the hardship and pain
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Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Untitled
1 Late afternoon leaving the city the bus route intersects the terraced houses, row upon row: right to the valley floor, left to wooded heights. In a bay-windowed room a child sits at a table beachcombing the net. Tea is past and there is gentle talk of volcanoes , the Verungas, and gorillas in the midst. Outside, and a floor below, a garden nestles into the dusk, a blackbird settles itself with song. Later, at the same table. there is a silent grace. A shy five year old in scary pyjamas comes to say goodnight. For supper: a goat’s cheese flan, a simple salad, pink wine, strong coffee. On the mantelpiece: the familiar jumble of cards and photos, a collage of family faces distant shores. On the walls: grandmother’s woven rug, her grand-daughter’s textiled strata, an embroidered geology. 2 The next day, so bright and clear, the garden bench is warm by ten. We sit surrounded by the evidence of this growing season: emergent plants, the possibility of fruit, even declarations of vegetables. As ideas flow across cake and coffee so the shadows move, shaping depths, enriching tones on greys, within greens. In the midday sun, the garden becomes a wild tracery of lines as perspectives distort, corrupt, thicken . . . and space opens everywhere: foliage as yet transparent no shelter to stalk and stem. Their very arteries revealed, plants bask in the fragile heat of ‘just’ Spring.
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Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
Sense of Place: Spring
I was born into a nation of corruption, were civilization has no implementation, leaders come with their formation with no reputation , Only in the aim of enriching their pockets to satisfaction, How would there be transition in our nation, We are all creations from different locations, Even if we aren't of same complexion We are all born into one nation, All we need's collaboration, There should not be concentration & centralization on our resources, Or there would be desperation & contradiction , Which will lead to questions & implications When I was little, my mama told me not to live with assumptions, But to chase perfection with my innovation, When I feel there's desperation in my nation, I take vacation, I don't seat in front of my television, Waiting for an audition, To accomplish my ambition, All i need's vision to attain my destination , Within the limitation, Through my concentration.
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Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
CHANGE IS ALL WE NEED
Missing; nope you’re not missing In; but you’re still in my life Action; you’re the action in life With each tump of my heart you course through my veins Your love is the marrow of life and it drips from my lips with every formulation of “I love you” Nervous butterflies fly in my belly because they can’t find their nectar You’re not missing; my heart disagrees You’re clearly in; but in is a mater of perspective You’re full of enriching action; but my anxious mind struggles to keep up You’re not MIA; My pesky friend named “Mr. Self Love” took the bullet this time
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Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 9:49 AM UTC
MIA
I prefer things this way. You- six hours ahead, late night Skype calls, makeshift air mattress bed, videogame ****** dashing looks and a passion to match. Me- six hours behind, sleepless nights, early mornings, multivitamin lunches, lovely words and escaping dreams. Us- six hours apart, four-thousand plus miles separating our bodies, yet enriching our relationship one new discovery at a time. Fighting for the fleeting moments we can share until the long-term sets in. Some say we’re bound to fail. Some say we’re setting ourselves up for a collectively shattered heart. I say we’re here to prove them wrong.
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Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
This Way
Morphine & Cola, Mrs. I can't believe I told you this is, so exacerbating I Can't sleep; even this weather riles inside me as we weep. There wasn't Anything that'd have shown you. There hasn't been a single sprout of Showmanship, or the erstwhile philanthropy that needers' raise their Eyebrows to and to. This is the degree we know it. The subtle afterglow With everything that you've known, and while the snow settles on your Window sill. While winter rime binds its ice to the wheat, and every soft Little seedling sewn, whispers its final sentences before autumn while it Drifts itself to sleep. There were the cards and the faces of Jacks among Aces, places uplifted by China dishes of porcelain overflowing, like Tencel in socks, woven into the pockets of trousers. Where does the Mischief go while it certainly isn't ours, and the dandy light across your Temple bares a gleam. Some things are enriching, but yet too sordid to stare at. While the game Is enriching, the pain is too much to bear, and whether in vain or ********** the likes of you, make these lips of mine much softer against Your finger tips. Tips of fingers, petals of flowers, baskets of fresh bread Baked with wheat flour- follow the noon bird, fancy a sit by a brook, and Listen for the whistle-less, whistling of a rook. Grey is quite golden too. Like the same tencel that I've used, or the silken Web treated to a loom, like lightning bugs out for an early dance on the Afternoon. Seldom as moss on sidewalk path or the pangs of laughing Heart at mass. What does the new bird bring? The bride of this coming Spring? For every sugarcube we taste, we save ourselves from second Base. Dr. Narrod with a gentle touch, the inspection you love so much. The gentle morsels smoothed upon the hand. The girl-like woman with Her ewe-like lamb. "For all of you who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. For all of those who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. I like the way you move."
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Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
Untitled
Morphine & Cola, Mrs. I can't believe I told you this is, so exacerbating I Can't sleep; even this weather riles inside me as we weep. There wasn't Anything that'd have shown you. There hasn't been a single sprout of Showmanship, or the erstwhile philanthropy that needers' raise their Eyebrows to and to. This is the degree we know it. The subtle afterglow With everything that you've known, and while the snow settles on your Window sill. While winter rime binds its ice to the wheat, and every soft Little seedling sewn, whispers its final sentences before autumn while it Drifts itself to sleep. There were the cards and the faces of Jacks among Aces, places uplifted by China dishes of porcelain overflowing, like Tencel in socks, woven into the pockets of trousers. Where does the Mischief go while it certainly isn't ours, and the dandy light across your Temple bares a gleam. Some things are enriching, but yet too sordid to stare at. While the game Is enriching, the pain is too much to bear, and whether in vain or ********** the likes of you, make these lips of mine much softer against Your finger tips. Tips of fingers, petals of flowers, baskets of fresh bread Baked with wheat flour- follow the noon bird, fancy a sit by a brook, and Listen for the whistle-less, whistling of a rook. Grey is quite golden too. Like the same tencel that I've used, or the silken Web treated to a loom, like lightning bugs out for an early dance on the Afternoon. Seldom as moss on sidewalk path or the pangs of laughing Heart at mass. What does the new bird bring? The bride of this coming Spring? For every sugarcube we taste, we save ourselves from second Base. Dr. Narrod with a gentle touch, the inspection you love so much. The gentle morsels smoothed upon the hand. The girl-like woman with Her ewe-like lamb. "For all of you who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. For all of those who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. I like the way you move."
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When my mind is at rest I think of peace and blissful things I see the unfettered and innocent smile of a new babe in arms Or the Omnipotence gilded arms outstretch showering blessings The shores of a pristine beach with blue waves marking times Silver sunset sprinkling magic across quiet waters with no stressing Or me sat at my fathers feet as he reads engrossed in his charmes My mind rests easy in places of warmth and enriching lovings My mind has no space to linger in the murkiness of failings I do not plunge dark dept to court the uninspiring s in terms To share company with wretches with wasted mental ecthings Eyes that see dew in darkness and acrimony in fruitless farms Voices made for howling dirges and apostles of negative cravings Demented downers who drink from the fountains of fallen vamps Satiated miserably they seek to retch their stench on followings My mind finds the luminous stars and praise their spark-lings It atunes to the silent melodies of sages who now sleep uncramp It relishes the delights of the million trillion wonders tinklings Its marvels the joys of the thousand mothers holding new champs Can share the lifting dreams of hopes for happy new beginnings Living is never about waste for the Creator avails no dumps For a mind that lives and grows in the Light is forever inspired and inspiring Copyright LaurencA.1stAugust2018.All rights reserved
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Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
How I See .....
It's a common trope, the Danse Macabre that troops us toward hushed tombs. Blame its plague on Wolgemut or Bruegel (Pieter the Elder), and certainly Bergman What with his iconic black-clad Death and the parade of captive players taken hand-in-hand on a joyless march. But Life has her own fleet moments to lead, and these flip-flop pageants though ragtag are not the less enriching to behold Or so I'm told in passing by the delicate bluebell peaking its buds through a monochrome rubble.
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May 6, 2010
May 6, 2010 at 3:34 PM UTC
Vita's Dance