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"enthrone" poems
Nigeria our great and beloved motherland, where multitudes of tribes unitedly stand. Our land of hope by two rivers divided, with lush vegetation by nature provided. Nigeria our home of people resilient. A land of great icons in works diligent. We hail thee our great and revered black nation, our land of human dignity and redemption. God arise and take your place as sovereign Lord. Enthrone Thyself in Nigeria's seat of power. Make her edicts and laws Thy eternal word. Let justice prevail in her courts by the hour. Our flag will peace and industry symbolize, whilst our history will always immortalize the deeds and sacrifices of our heroes past. Help us Lord to serve our beloved land with zest. Nigeria the blessed will pervasive peace know, even when the threats of tumults seem to flow. Her crops and yields will neighbouring countries nourish, from her fields that inexhaustibly flourish.
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Sep 17, 2021
Sep 17, 2021 at 5:01 PM UTC
Nigeria My Motherland
I can not cry; but try to alter the faulty System unjust; exploitative, crafty. Not by guns or bombs; but by words Sharper to pierce the heart of lords.. Oh! In oil India boils, by brothers‘ plan, As chicken- in the political, luxury-pan While the fans of selfish Capitalism fan The gas ,Cylinders gasp violently, man! Inflation by salary hike conflagrates As corruption fumes out choking rates At the wading helpless, hopeless voters By fiscal magic masquerades of looters. In surging words as mirage in deserts They drag us through the slums -concerts To vote, to enthrone them with whips of laws Supported by the ambitious callous fellows But, I hear the giggling behind the curtain As silhouettes briskly move for certain. No more sobbing ,dear ,in our tribulation But opt ,no more sale of votes in election. .
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Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 12:02 AM UTC
I cannot cry
I can not cry; but try to alter the faulty System unjust; exploitative, crafty. Not by guns or bombs; but by words Sharper to pierce the heart of lords.. Oh! In oil India boils, by brothers‘ plan, As chicken- in the political, luxury-pan While the fans of selfish Capitalism fan The gas ,Cylinders gasp violently, man! Inflation by salary hike conflagrates As corruption fumes out choking rates At the wading helpless, hopeless voters By fiscal magic masquerades of looters. In surging words as mirage in deserts They drag us through the slums -concerts To vote, to enthrone them with whips of laws Supported by the ambitious callous fellows But, I hear the giggling behind the curtain As silhouettes briskly move for certain. No more sobbing ,dear ,in our tribulation But opt ,no more sale of votes in election. .
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Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
I cannot cry
Like the serpent, Danger must never be directly approached, but discreetly addressed. Power is vernomous. One bite and your moral senses are paralysed. The night is the moment for shedding; Either to assume new evil for the personal good or to enthrone morality and good service for the greater good. The threshold to strike back in revenge is sensory education. Nature makes us susceptible to pain, harm and disdain. Wild actions prevail to cover Timidity in veil. The tentacles of pleasure relief the pressure and gives you something to treasure. Universally, we are connected in more than one way with an ounce of darkness in each way
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Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 6:12 AM UTC
Tentacles and Serpents
Heavenly downpour is here To wash away every fear, Cleanse the impure souls And actualize unachievable goals Heavenly downpour is here To make the leaves and flowers Bloom by her superpowers; The birds dance happily and stare Heavenly downpour is here To carry the burdens we couldn't bear; Enthrone the gloomy slaves And enliven corpses in the graves Heavenly downpour is here To drown faithless failures and sins And celebrate the lasting wins To prove that she truly care Heavenly downpour is here To announce another harvest year; Farmers till and toil the land, Hoping for bountiful harvest as planned The cloud cackles and tickles As she sent down her blessings To the deserted earth in trickles Touching the trees by caressings Children play hide and seek Both the strong and the weak; The pitapats of hails on the roofs Invigorate homes to sing and hoofs Couples savour the blissful breeze, The scented moment drew their lips As their hearts and mouths freeze, Holding hands and waists in grips
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Sep 12, 2020
Sep 12, 2020 at 5:23 PM UTC
Heavenly Downpour
The waves are like dominos and metronomes. Your fear plays the tide, and I, the sand. Tortured simultaneously by blundering blows. Torn and composed from hard to crisp to soft. Laying there. Taking it. You glide across, pulling back with your constant motion. Knowing you could drown me, Collapse my core, Enthrone my solidity and override it. Still, You draw back. Over again, and I know you can cover me. Weaken me. Shatter my grain. But we are one. We are what everyone knows us as. We coincide, collide, Divide. The foolish sand and her molder.
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Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
waves
Less any objection with the missus, versus never experiencing living alone well...yes during that rough patch, (sans during early adolescence), I existed in a bone huff fied impenetrable cocoon, and just maybe before yours truly dies, a clone can be created from stem cells of this doggone melon collie, whimpering beastie boy finally revelling, where destiny does enthrone me rendering unfettered with round the cluck nymph fone mani yolk hen pecking, nagging, and leaching... from blood ******* vampire spouse foregone as a "bad" dream worse than getting Rhode Island sized gallstone removed subsequently saving said as gemstone whiling away hours, days, weeks... chiseling away at my gravestone, no matter yours truly will get cremated ashes scattered, liberated, and dispersed finally exempt from grindstone, where thee spirit of Math Hew Homophone Scott Harris appeased as powdery gray flecks similar to limestone, that swirl reintegrating with Earth, this quirky I poetically intone, and soundlessly utter from jawbone, perhaps communicating more clearly by knucklebone.
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Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 5:15 PM UTC
...On Wanting To Become A Bachelor
Darkness? Bringing a harshness Surrounding all who walk Coming from those who talk Is darkness depression? Do we need to do a confession My footsteps are heavy Walking through this bevy Crumbling, I lost some ground Where will I be found In others opinions Seeking dominion Is darkness ego? This is our amigo Ruining our picture Maybe our permanent fixture Is darkness a victim? Come see the sitcom Funny, I should say that It presents **** Darkness is it being alone? This is what we enthrone Does darkness turn to light Or shall we keep up the fight?
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Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 10:29 AM UTC
Untitled
I laid the first curse While eating wild Lotus seeds Encased in revenge To enthrone the power of greed The second curse wildly spoken went straight through the heart For the acts committed by one who crave riches Were very arranged, cruel and dark The third curse would spew the truth of humiliation Unexpected violence the teacher Blows tethered to ego degradation The fourth curse and most deadly I flayed the soul alive With immense satisfaction took one last look Into cold blue staring eyes So what was sowed was reaped Wealth, prominence and land But death refuses to accept this as payment And you must bow to his demands All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Nov. 9, 2017.
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Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 1:59 PM UTC
The Four Curses
The Muse in the tower,   whose debt you enthrone Those jewels that you borrow, —her crown still on loan (Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
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Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 11:21 AM UTC
Crown On Loan
There will be days when the darkness will claim the right , of the day , to refuse it’s light , for in these times when our dying embers burn, Stoke the flame . There will be days when our bodies ache with all the strains of worldly pain and dark days with all their pleasures Will enthrone , but for now , yes for now , hold fast to love . Then there are the darkest days in the battle fields the Spectors lies Seem oh so real , you fall once again for his slithery hook , but still the cavelry marches on And we play around with sin like building blocks that leave our pens wide open , and the rattles we shake are venomous snakes , which leaves our bones abroken .. For you can’t see what has happened here , for all is dark and filled with fear , when you can see no silvery clouds above that starry hill , the sun moves ever on . Yet  we see only ghost riders near when their horses nostrils flair , and a frost covers the icey air , for daylight is oh so near , beyond the black clouds that we hold so dear , our Cavelry marches on For in. your mind all you seek is rest , from the ghosts and Spectors you once called guests , run . And so you hear the Cavelry charge , the clink of armour , the sword , the steel , 50 ,000 angels near , In light the sun rises like a King , Sword held high , the spectors death . Valor and integrity  rise above their defeated foe . So as the sun rises to Colours that stretch out the land , to crimson blues and golds , in Christ the victory march unfolds .
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Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 2:05 PM UTC
Ghost riders and Angels .
There will be days when the darkness will claim the right , of the day , to refuse it’s light , for in these times when our dying embers burn, Stoke the flame . There will be days when our bodies ache with all the strains of worldly pain and dark days with all their pleasures Will enthrone , but for now , yes for now , hold fast to love . Then there are the darkest days in the battle fields the Spectors lies Seem oh so real , you fall once again for his slithery hook , but still the cavelry marches on And we play around with sin like building blocks that leave our pens wide open , and the rattles we shake are venomous snakes , which leaves our bones abroken .. For you can’t see what has happened here , for all is dark and filled with fear , when you can see no silvery clouds above that starry hill , the sun moves ever on . Yet  we see only ghost riders near when their horses nostrils flair , and a frost covers the icey air , for daylight is oh so near , beyond the black clouds that we hold so dear , our Cavelry marches on For in. your mind all you seek is rest , from the ghosts and Spectors you once called guests , run . And so you hear the Cavelry charge , the clink of armour , the sword , the steel , 50 ,000 angels near , In light the sun rises like a King , Sword held high , the spectors death . Valor and integrity  rise above their defeated foe . So as the sun rises to Colours that stretch out the land , to crimson blues and golds , in Christ the victory march unfolds .
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with the roundaboutness of an ill fitted crown, phrenologically slipshod as his kingdom. though not without charm. courted by the full revolutions of flies, he sits on a chipped plastic lawn chair. weathered dull to its whiteness, agonizingly rickety when cast to enthrone. outflanked by weeds burying the ***** cut of a lawn, before an abandoned house. standing testament, as once was-- the ghost he is, to himself and his subjects. dynastic-minded, he shuffles through succsessors, always forgetting where he left off. it's the damnedest thing, the embodied centrality of being a king. the psychic conduit of a people, spokes to a hub--ground to a halt, he. unnerved to limbo, a footfall's difference the living, and or the dead. the people of his kingdom have come to call him: The King of the Weeds. always uttered with utmost deference, midst his overgrown mind.
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Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 12:33 PM UTC
The King of the Weeds
And back into the world I go To tread this path alone Though often one of shadows With the pharaohs I enthrone My mortal soul has seen the glow Of Horus, chosen sun Of Isis and Osiris I was bred to be as one To learn these lands To lend these hands As but a grain Of shifting sands   Until my time is done
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Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 4:08 PM UTC
The Drifter