"epiphanous" poems
**Put down that pen
Relax your hand
Please quit writing
Smash your keyboard
With a sledgehammer
Please quit typing**
I’ve had enough with the compliments
On your half assed verses of antiquated love
On your verses of woe is my childhood babbling ********
On your verses of epiphanous enlightenment
I can’t believe that you’re what passes for good poetry
All that praise must be going to your head making you loco
Thinking that you can get away with writing that utter crap
I can’t believe you have so many admirers, so many followers
Hanging on to your every unsurprising word
Mad-Lib poetry, paint by numbers
It’s nice to see that that thesaurus and rhyming dictionary
Are working wonders for your writing
Like you’re some ******* messiah
Writing the perfect words for how they feel deep down
Like you're some ******* prophet
That speaks the word of the masses
Listen to the masses speaking from my tongue:
**Put down that pen
Relax your hand
Please quit writing
Smash your keyboard
With a sledgehammer
Please quit typing**
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
He comes out of his house, off into his ****** limousine,
The pride and glory of American handicraft,
Drives away past his main gate, guarded by a Luhyia national,
The nation from which watchmen are mass manufactured,
The gate is banged closed with a sharp emblem dominating;
tafadahli umbwa kali, please fierce dogs are in don’t dare enter,
when no piece of a dog is in, hen pecking husbands perhaps,
He drives away in low spirit, like the tail of a snake,
Sharply contrasting his tiger thoraxed debates in the parliament,
In defence of state corruption; Anglo leasing and her sisters,
The wife has chased out our state officer, his sole Succor,
of the night and chilly loneliness so nameless ,in the streets of Nairobi,
Is the epiphanous street of koinange, after Mbiu Koinange
The colonial orchestrator of intellectual globalectics,
He sired political immorality that sired social depravement,
To rove his avenues as the state and money capitalist
Convert beautiful daughters of the poor peasants
Into defenseless protégés of class misfortune
Roaming the back streets minus
Any lingerie in their bosoms.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
I went to that well again and again
And never refused what my lips desired,
But after a while I knew deep within
The cost would be steep for what I acquired.
I turned a deaf ear and then a blind eye,
The well was defiled and yet I still drew
And drank my bitter fill of every lie,
Until I was nauseous with what I knew.
Then daybreak’s dawning and with it came grace.
My soul was washed in an epiphanous rain
That fell on me like a lover’s embrace
To grant me ablution erasing the stain
That clouded my eyes and hindered my heart
-I’ll never again feel life’s torn apart.
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC
The wind careers across the years
Gathering leaves and dust,
Sweeping lives before it
In cartwheels of redness and rust.
Epiphanous moments of magnitude
Through special occasions employ
The will o the wisp of everyday stuff
From sadness to anger to joy.
The billowing tumble of living
Through vaulting halls of trees
In the dappled light of sunshine
And green corridors of breeze.
The exquisiteness of living
When senses soar in the air
When the colours of being are rampant
And we savour each moment with care.
For the living time goes quickly
It flares and fades with speed,
‘Tis best enjoyed boisterously
With passion, love and need;
‘Tis best when tasted piquantly
Like a claret on the tongue
When you cloak the days with good things
And you hope your dreams die young.
Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
29th January 2009
Nov 28, 2009
Nov 28, 2009 at 8:51 PM UTC
The rage I feel
At the loss of one so fine!
So young, so lovely, so calm, so together...so KIM!
I rage at the turbulent waters that stole her promise.
I rage at the annals of chance which paved the way to her end.
I rage for the agony I see on the face of her father, her lover, friends and work mates.
I rage for the tears and heartbreak of my darling wife who loved this girl as a sister, since her days of skinny
childhood.
I rage for the missed moments of tomorrow’s laughter which will now, never be...
and the vacuum of fun in her words of dry humour, which will now, never be uttered.
I share this rage with ALL OF YOU!...because the death of this beautiful young girl IS JUST NOT RIGHT!
But I DO CELEBRATE the GIFT of the PLEASURE experienced in sharing her vibrant, living years.
There is, however, a wonderment here amidst the tragedy...
Because Kim voluntarily bequeathed the gift of hope to unknown others.
She gave three unknown people her organs, her heart, her kidneys, her cornea.
SHE GAVE THEM THE PROMISE OF A TOMORROW!
Her beautiful heart lives on in the soul of another...and for this I give thanks.
THE WINDS OF LIFE
by Marshal Gebbie
The wind careers across the years
Gathering leaves and dust,
Sweeping lives before it
In cartwheels of redness and rust.
Epiphanous moments of magnitude
Through special occasions employ
The will o the wisp of everyday stuff
From sadness to anger to joy.
The billowing tumble of living
Through vaulting halls of trees
In the dappled light of sunshine
And green corridors of breeze.
The exquisiteness of living
When senses soar in the air
When the colours of being are rampant
And we savour each moment with care.
For the living time goes quickly
It flares and fades with speed,
‘Tis best enjoyed boisterously
With passion, love and need;
‘Tis best when tasted piquantly
Like a claret on the tongue
When you cloak the days with good things
And you hope your dreams die young.
Marshalg
@ the Gate
Mangere Bridge
29th January 2009
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 10:27 PM UTC
Flowers bloom,
Susie notices,
While the weather looms.
She blithely sings,
"All is sunny, despite the heavens' gloom..."
But, near a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Says it only spells of doom.
With spirited skips
She twirls
As her hair billows and whips.
She courageously croons
Songs of praise crawling from her lips.
But, near a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Yells, "All only smells of doom!"
Then the storm clouds corral
Them both and open fire
Like a showdown at the OK Corral.
Witherspoon bawled: "You're happy to die?!"
She countered: "No; but die happy I shall."
But, near a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Shouts, "Your death only tells of doom!"
She heeded no single warning.
Blissful, the winds lifted her
Into the dark morning.
See, Susie had determined,
"If I must die, I will not die mourning."
Meanwhile, above a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Cries, "Life is merely tales of doom!"
Then suddenly, beneath a fine awning,
Susie's eyes flashed open
To embrace the dawning.
Her frantic pants were slowed
By a gasp of yawning.
A new aura filled her room,
Her bed caressed her
As her mind began to zoom.
She arose in shock by the beaming sun
And the flowers' bloom.
See, Susie never heeded a single warning,
She ignored many blessings—
Until that morning.
And from thence determined,
"If I must die, I will not die mourning."
Susie leapt & left from that room,
And ventured somewhere—
It was near a tomb.
She sat next to Old Man Witherspoon
And crooned a tune: "All will be sunny, despite the present gloom..."
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC
Placid water parts,
Up flies quick, a cormorant;
Epiphanous this!
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 1:26 AM UTC
Rats in a line,
All ordered and filed,
For miles, they stretch,
Each tail to a head,
Faces calm and well-worked,
No scuffle, noise or protest,
No words, because they know none;
Every few moments they shuffle,
Further down the dirt path,
Approaching a pit,
A pit, very wide,
The width, of course, not their concern,
The leader stops
Before the pit’s mouth, staring into blackness;
With a thought, he falls, silently,
Carelessly,
Wind rushing between his legs,
Whisking itself up against his eyes, ears, and lips,
In fantastic flight
Into uncertainty
A new leader takes hold,
This one, shaken;
He stares into the abyss,
But soon realizes the
Horrifyingly insipid Earth surrounding him
Soulless branch after branch,
Teeming with filth and despair,
Rays of sun dampened by a
Caustic fog
A nudge from his successor
Forces him out of his
Epiphanous trance,
And into the well of nothingness,
Squealing
Who falls the fastest,
The philosopher or the realist?
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
Of all observable phenomena,
you persist most favorably.
A circular hub of arrows aimed
at a center already hit, dislodging
freedom.
Arrowheads split down a hair.
Epiphanous bulbs counting
the new number needed to
stay conscious.
Of you.
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 6:10 PM UTC
What is… inherent,
what’s not… implied
Epiphanous moments
—waiting inside
(Bryn Mawr College: January, 2021)
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 2:33 PM UTC
Poetry travels
where Prose cannot go
To sleep with the stars,
by heaven aglow
Each new verse a planet,
orbiting round…
An Epiphanous light,
—burning profound
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC