"forewarn" poems
I am the barbed thorn
the serrated reward
facing savage cruel winter;
sedition in transmission.
I am the only pawn
on your chequered board
facing a feisty queen;
of restricting submission.
I am the demonic exon
a heraldic discord
facing bleak futures;
an inherent disposition.
I am the stillborn reborn
the aberration restored
facing anomalies instability;
violation on a mission.
I am broken and worn
a fallen sword
facing a grim battle;
outnumbered by division.
I am the brass horn
the out of tune chord
facing orchestral expulsion;
a musician in remission.
I am history's forewarn
the contrite accord ignored
facing penitent absolution;
clemency in transition.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
His kalenjin tribesmen planned for tribal wars to cleanse kikuyus and luhyias
From the their lands, planned out of tribal sadism,
He was fully aware, as he understood the kalenjin coded language of war
And preparation for war, war of the years 2007 and 2008,
He did not give any holy bishopric **** to save his non indigenous folks
The people to be killed and tribally cleansed were the members
Of his catholic church in the dioceses of Eldoret,
The ones to **** were his kalenjin tribesmen,
But bishop korir could not counsel nor forewarn,
He did not give out any peace focused advice
That a catholic should not **** a catholic
Because of politics or worldliness,
Instead he gave respect to his tribal sentimentality
He behaved as a kalenjin first then a catholic later,
A spiritual paradox of the century,
Only equated in the Biafra tribal sentimentality between igbos and yorubas
Redolent of European ****** or the American ku Klux ****
But after all the non kalenjin Catholics from his dioceses
Had been killed, burned up in the church, ***** up
Homoerotically perhaps in the madness of tribal scorn,
That they now became refugees in their own country; Kenya
And then solemnly condemned to the refugee camps,
Is when Bishop korir Cornelius came out of his tribal kernel
With vices of a kipskiss sadist , holy rosary in his hand,
Singing an out dated poem of Hail Mary the ******
Mother of Jesus Christ to them, the IDPS,
He then promoted a priest from his tribe,
The one kimengich up the hegemonic altar to become
The bishop of Lodwar from where they loot
The illiterate turkana catholic peasants their relief foods,
And even jobs, and clothes, only to give to those who are not needy,
To the kalenjin who are not even catholic nor marginalized, some even Moslem,
All these happens in the sweetness of tribal syndrome,
A social disease which the holy sacrament of the catholic faith
Have not and never will heal Bishop Cornelius korir.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
It’s man and man all the way
Cut down jungles
To make a rail way!
Why in protest cry
When the wheels crush
A few elephant would die!
Men would then embark
On their old game
Railway or forest
Which department to blame!
When comes the night
Man’s greed would speed
Elephants aren’t on sight!
The drivers would not see
There was no forewarn
Death would come easy
No hearts shattering mourn!
Railway would remain dour
There isn’t enough watch towers
Forest dept. would blame the wheels
The pilot didn’t whistle!
Men would again go back
Cut through the forest
Not leaving elephants’ track!
Evolved men heart of steel
Without a remorse a feel
Laying rail is big deal
Must move our progress’s wheel!
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 4:05 AM UTC
Bravery is not a trait to be learned,
but a decision that's yet to be made.
When standing against overwhelming odds
there's good reason to be afraid,
but despair does not ensure cowardice
and adversity does not equal defeat.
Every man still has a fighting chance
as long as his heart still beats.
Be always valiant and forever fearless
against what others may forewarn,
because the decisions made amidst catastrophe
are also when heroes are born.
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 10:14 PM UTC
The orange fire of morning sky
blazes through birthing branches
green with sprigs of spring.
Wrens announce their intentions
to live this day as a breeze from the west
kicks buds of oak-leaf hydrangeas toward the sky.
A grey bank of clouds fights to claim territory.
Soft pit pats, pit pat across patios, sidewalks and roof-top shingles
forewarn the burst arriving against the earth.
Rain, beloved by some
disfavored by others,
becomes relentless.
Bolts, sharp and direct,
provoke clouds to participate
in the deluge.
Rain, beloved by some
disfavored by others,
shifts gears to softness.
Rain, beloved by some
disfavored by others,
owns the day.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
I woke up to the rose colored glasses being welded to my head. The pain is excruciating and i can’t remember, but according to the paperwork i asked for this. I willingly walked into this life. I refuse to leave. Why would i? Each time reality catches up to crack my perfect view, it’s fixed without me ever having to even ask. I try to see through the break. Please don’t think your other life goes unnoticed. I’m more aware to the deep and dark reality than you’d think i am, but i prefer to ignore it when I’m around you too. Our world is so much better. We’re on a downward spiral, in every way imaginable. I have never felt more safe. I have never felt more cheated in all my life. Why couldn’t you forewarn me just how good deception would taste laced with your spit? Some type of heads up that i’d become addicted to the way we feel skin on skin. if we can make it down this far, why couldn’t we go up too? It wouldn’t be easy, all of this has been so difficult. You’d only have to want to.
Jan 22, 2025
Jan 22, 2025 at 10:37 PM UTC
I tried strumming the strings of a broken guitar,
I tried rebuilding a city back up from its ruins,
I tried singing the words of a distant lullaby,
But had I known once a rose has tipped its head
Watering it would become useless;
I would've left our love's broken pieces
For the wind to come and sweep away.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 12:58 PM UTC
where broken souls gather-
where hollowed hearts meet-
where happiness is evanescent,
their demons will make their greet
and he will bestow malady 'pon her-
and he will make her nether-
but should he then bathe in her blood,
she'll break their silky tether.
and she will provoke his passionate rage-
and she will use it to make him fall-
but should she cross the line time after time-
he'll build another unbreakable wall.
and danger is screamed in their ears,
but blinded they are to the forewarn,
their intertwining is selfishly reckless,
alas, another violent delight is born.
so where broken souls gather-
where hollowed hearts meet-
where happiness is evanescent,
their demons will make their greet...
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 8:15 AM UTC
Infantile, juvenile, call it what you will
For now I shall believe that my life's been one big spill
and for notches in Your belt, or notches on Your bedpost
I ran along the snowy banks vying for lost hope
My bare feet turned to ice blocks and for me that's my burden
I did it only to inform the other birds that You'll lure in
To forewarn them of the gentle hands that mend broken wings
because in the beginning all is heard while angels sing
and maybe by the end I’ll harbor brand new feathers
but the fingerprints upon them are now far too much to weather
Sat atop an emerald pedestal in a cage spun of gold
A window has become all that's left of old
So fair warning to all whose veins are weak:
don't give away your hopes to just anyone that will let you speak
For what it's worth my wing does seem improved
Although the brokenness was my only form of proof
DDD
(3/14/2013)
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
How does a kite fly
with just a simple
paper and a thread?
A kite..
It seems so beautiful
from afar
Innocence deceived me
I breathed as human
But I was flying
like a kite
Enthralled of
the colors I thought I had
Felt safe with the promise
of a thread
I soared higher
Gliding through the air
Looking down
at the smiling faces
Applause, praises
I have never felt such glory
Never had I known
such peace
I soared higher
But no matter how hard
I tried
The thread pulled me back
I felt suspended
Unable to go on
Was I really flying?
Or was I only being tossed?
Solitude in the air..
I thought the clouds were
cotton candy
But when I took a grasp
I touched nothing
It avoided my fingers
And the sun
Was not a bowl of gold
Then sadness took hold
Mama once told me
Winds were dusts of silver
That is why
we close our eyes
When it blows
And nights were
dusts of coal
That is why we sleep
Maybe Mama was right
It must be dusts of silver
For when sadness came
I felt the air clogging within
They are indeed dusts of coal
For I found myself in tears
as I closed my eyes at night
And dreamed of a happy place
Ah! Chasing rainbows
And gloom took over
bluish sky
Forewarn of incoming rain
And I was dragged
by the filament
But the wind delayed my descent
The overcast covered the earth
and the rain poured over
It washed out my colors
It shattered my beautiful paper
My master ran for cover
And there I was alone
In that perfidious
summer storm
She let go of the thread
I came spiraling down
Like a falcon
that has been shot dead
Slumped on the solid ground
That was when I discovered
I didn't have colors at all
Nor did I have nice paper
And the thread was not that strong
It suddenly dawned on me
That the world will not
always be a summer
That I didn't mean to fly
I didn't belong to the sky
A **** on the rib cage..
Reality knocked
And it knocked me off indeed
It was a great revelation
Maybe a moment of enlightenment
That I was actually a wooden stick
Solid and strong
Stronger than the thread
The thread
that has dragged me down
I was disheartened
Yet I was relieved
As I saw new wonders
out of my sadness
That I am a tiny wood
In this big, wide world
Although the sky is not mine
I finally knew what I am
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
It's like skipping to the end of the book.
you know the outcome, but miss the fun of reaching the end naturally.
that's how it feels.
or it's more like a deadline. quite literally, in fact.
you must have done this much, by this time, or... well... who really knows?
now is not the time to reflect on the spiritual aspect.
there are things to do. and to prepare.
things need to be organised, papers need to be signed...
people need to be informed.
oh, why. not only do I have to meet this fate, I also have to forewarn the ones I love of it. as if the knowledge of what is impending wasn't bad enough.
I have to see their faces as they accept it.
I have to see the tears and the shock.
I have to witness how they love me, in the worst yet most beautiful way.
How do you divide your life into boxes to go to different people?
how do you say good bye, finally?
How can I be expected to do this? to handle this?
how does anyone do it?
do I just say "Hey universe! thanks for having me, it's been swell! say hi to God for me!" or is it more than that?
Do I need to say anything at all?
can't I just lie here... and wait?
or is that all I've done my whole life?
all we do is wait to die.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 5:14 PM UTC
Incense and steam listlessly fractal
into air molecules. Keyboards weep,
A typewriter ticks on awkwardly.
The hallway wide awake;
Kids crying.
Letters can't reach you quickly
(I'll write 7 by the time you have 1).
There aren't enough hours in the day.
Phones should be like lions' roars.
I wish I didn't have separated parents.
Hoping you have a full stomach.
I saw your warm bed.
Hoping your ears are covered,
Your back straight, your hands strong
Your grip tight.
I want you back.
Let's make love.
Sketches of you scattered.
Sirens forewarn rescue.
Maybe yours? (Please)
Please be free.
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 8:39 PM UTC
The Flying Squadron of Church Ladies
At First Communion the Flying Squadron
of Church Ladies surround the children to:
Reprove, reproach, command, censor, chastise,
Berate, exhort, implore, upbraid, adjust
Chastise, upbraid, embarrass, harangue, rebuke,
Enjoin, dictate, direct, require, apprise,
Advise, inform, beseech, explain, uphold,
Impart, compel, remind, forewarn, correct:
Because since Peter’s time, all this is what
The Flying Squadrons of Church Ladies do
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 5:19 PM UTC
Take a deep breath,
see the pain was just a catch.
This ship has yet to sail,
so just exhale.
You might think your heart’s mangled,
your throat’s so raw from screaming, it’s like you’ve been strangled.
Fists clenched,
hair drenched,
mascara so far down your cheeks
it appears in muddled black streaks.
See you put your heart in the palm of his hands
thinking to yourself, “the rest of the world be ******
so sure taking care of it was what he planned.
Two feet in,
love rolled out, seeking you like a bowling ball and you the pin.
You never stood a chance,
this love was a “Bad Romance”
but that song didn’t forewarn
that there was nothing like his scorn.
You wanted his ugly parts, but not this
for it was seeping into your every shared kiss.
But, take solace in this,
the fact that you’ll experience a bigger, real kind of bliss.
This pain will fade,
you’ll meet someone who doesn’t use his words as a blade.
These wounds will heal,
and you’ll start to feel
new things; a new start
in this book of life, you’ll realize this hurt was just a small part.
Next time, a man’s fists won’t hurt, they’ll mend.
His words won’t aim to tear you down, but for you they’ll defend.
Your hair will be drenched, not from a fight in the rain, but from a shower shared.
Your mascara will be spared.
Your heart will stay steadily beating,
for this time his love won’t be fleeting.
It’ll be with him, that ship will sail
and hand in hand you’ll both prevail.
So take a deep breath; exhale.
Use this knowledge to your avail.
Stop making excuses
for these healing and newly formed bruises.
Stop fighting him, and start fighting for YOU
it’s time for your beautiful beginning; for you to start anew.
Leave the hurt and the heavy weight on your shoulders behind
for even though this is only a poem you’ll find
that you now understand,
the risk that’s at hand.
Realize what you deserve,
show him that he’s not someone you serve.
Know your worth,
and know you’ve been destined for so much more than this since birth.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 1:29 AM UTC
This poem is the result of a cancer scare for my partner and I imagined if the worst situation were the result how I would cope without her....
My body, still thirsts,
For your touch;
As the desert, craves the rain.
The melody,
That once was us;
Will never play again...
The Rose,
Symbolic of our love.
One day, forgot to bloom.
Did not forewarn,
Its thorny wounds;
Had yet, to play their tune.
Poignant memory,
All that's left; of
Blissful days we knew..
.
The day you died;
I sat and cried.
And part of me died too....
For I was lost;
As a star is lost,
Above the suns' bright hue...
And every day;
That comes my way.
Is spent in missing you.......
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
You worry me.
Your eyes dilate
as though an extra sorrow
enters them.
What is their colour?
You have told me
but the quirks of memory
forewarn the image
of my search
until a resurrection
seems impossible.
Perhaps I’m colour-blind.
Today I caught a conker
falling from a chestnut tree.
It dovetailed to my hand
and lay quite still –
a little stained but perfectly intact.
The surface shone translucently:
a brilliant, brown-red gloss.
Perhaps you’ll disbelieve me
but I thought : this colour’s like Anne’s eyes.
A little later wings of blue
persuaded me to change my mind
and then a blade of grass began a long interrogation.
Shyly and involuntarily your eyes appear
like music fading to a silent close.
from "Poems People Liked (2)"
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
Beyond these thick and earthy browns
Past the muted greens and river dams
Lies the skin forewarn of many few
Holds the chatter far past due.
Here they lay in beds of tears
Made from the anguish of their peers
Not one heart, the beats are mere
How can they breathe when no-one can hear.
Incantations spoken, memories cried
Why do they act like someone has died?
No-one has passed, No-one is dead
She must have a poor, false, clouded head.
If we are the people that live when we die
How can we live if we all survive?
How can we speak when our enemies fall?
When the truth is unveiled, salvage us all.
To win and to victor are two different things.
Whats winning when winners live through the slings?
Whats being a victor when victors always fall?
It's a concept when enemies are made of us all.
Every body buried is another body burned.
Every body buried is a lesson not learnt.
A lesson taught from the beginings of time
And a lesson ignored past the world's decline.
Don't shrug your shoulders, don't join in the cheer
These people they murdered, slaughtered and feared.
They ruined the lives of innocent new
Innocent old and the revered few.
Spilling blood in revenge or prevention of cause
Still stains your hands with that guilty remorse.
So don't be fooled by the excuses they make
Slaughter is laughter with and S and a take.
-By Anisah Mariah
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 2:13 PM UTC
Will you falter and fade
In a Palliative room,
With beeps and tubes
Confirming your doom?
Or a fiery crash
And screech of rubber
As onlookers see
Your hair aflame;
Will you fall from the sky
In a laser marked plane;
Get shot while buying
A lottery ticket,
Die doing something
Horribly wicked?
Perhaps the sound
Near your ears at night
Will forewarn your demise
By a mosquito bite.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
Make me out a monster
when I am merely a damsel in distress
refusing to digress
into the arms of just anyone.
I can't view others for more than playthings.
I'll stay for awhile if you ask nice.
I am not a girl. I am mice,
Something your mother fears.
I'll break through your door
before light does your window.
Many find that hard to swallow.
There is no permanence.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
the steep ceiling held culture and resistance,
as if it was to forewarn my angles and eye sight of the
high powers and street talk that hung over the bad ones.
i guess i don't know enough about religion or the great
enlightenment to feel comfortable to intellectually
give the word to the people.
(i could almost feel the jealousy burning off my fingers as i write this.)
"i wish i could sway you with the words
i contained in dainty letters and home-
made thank you cards, but nothing settled
this debate."
i sweltered through this indication that you had it,
you were better than me by a few sentences,
and i plotted a gentle whisper through the hole in the plaster.
i took a record player and some water from the fridge in the
hopes you could see how serious i was.
you didn't notice.
i locked myself out to forget about the times your synchronized
collection followed me out of town.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 5:43 PM UTC
Mpayinfo) Akwaaba,
The melodies streaming and vibrating,
Are lyrics inked
By the rankled lightenings,
On the dark clouds,
And blown by the gods
From their retributive flutes,
Prompting the thunders to chorus,
The terrors,
Mpayinfo)
The legs of time is stout,
And will stride wearing not,
For the coals and brimstones creeps,
And will be pernicious,
Even to your progenies,
Mpayinfo)
For the language of the gods,
I speak not,
But their deep seated pique
And bruises,
I tell and forewarn,
Mpayinfo),
Where is Okyeame and the Omanhene,
Where are they?
Why come without them?
I guess they know;their clandestines
Have fallen before the sights of the gods,
Vultures that eats from the pots of the eagele;In his absence,
And smear faeces on the tips,
Traitors of traditions,
For the alien groceries
Have tucked their intelligence,
And left them groggy
Famished Dogs
Mpayinfo),
Why sit-tight and watch;
As aliens contrive a throne
Over our goods?
And defile our land
With their iniquituos schemes
Ubiquitously,
Mpayinfo)
The gods sing the blues,
And grieve day and night,
Their tadpoles have lorn them,
And clung to an alien deity,
For this I say and forewarn,
Like I told your fathers before,
If the witchweed is not uprooted with vehemence,
The creeping coals and brimstones,
Shall surely surmount entirely,
"A word to a wise";They say"it enough"
Now go,
Oracle
©Historian E.Lexano,
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
Things are getting bad again
It was a long time coming
I try to escape it
But I’m tired of running
Things are getting bad again
How can I outlive this ghost?
How do I know it’s not me?
They say there are things
Lurking in the deep you can’t see
And there are some things we must be
Befriend the ghost
Things are getting bad again
We came down this road
Potholes, sinkholes, dead ends
Rerun and rewatch the episode
Things are getting bad again
Just a matter of time
Like I said before
Like they forewarn
Flirting with It so obscure
I am running out of time
Then in the nick,
I make it out — barely alive
Things are getting bad again
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 3:42 AM UTC
Deranged distortions thinking i could contort just right foot red left foot blue twist and turn on trembling tip toes so i might fit into pocket or palm, remain calm if claimed clammed up im bearable woman being rearranged into commercial jingle ring "im good, how are you" stuck in head or throat tote a hoarse smile stinking of another blah facade forlorn forewarn follows fake plant growth in (t)his sunlight promised life to the rubber made grade points plucked like pencil pushing excuses, effort isnt tallied into parking lot anxiety attack lacking attendance peer remembrance of your presence in bleeding nailbeds ****** into sweatshirt smothered eraser faces, forgetful social graces self slap lap up launguage barrier breaks cant breathe without letting words escape race to wring the worry whimpers that echo out of bitten lips split a panicked pulse quicker and louder shout not now mouthy mislead slink in your seat enter dark disengage garble gag on empress embarrass
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 8:00 AM UTC
She is the Angler's flooded candela.
Rotting in polished abalone opposing the currents.
Sheltered by the wretched Leviathan of vilified lore.
Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.
Rhapsodies of calamity shatter the pearl's mantle.
Hippocampi forewarn of the seafoam's ambush.
Preparing for the inevitable euphotic zone's descent,
She is the Angler's flooded candela.
Tumultuous floods cascade over the ruined acropolis.
The aqueducts conceal larimar encrusted scriptures.
All cognition is forcibly devastated by vengeful rapids
Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.
Malformed Scylla hasty to pilfer decaying remains.
Charybdis reckless to crush with its numerous jaws.
Souls pillaged for their misfortune in splendor.
She is the Angler's flooded candela.
Shrouded solely in the fathomless, stygian depths.
Oxygen minimum commences its terminal quest.
She is the Angler's flooded candela.
Now she is regarded amongst the caprella.
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC
All I saw were eyes
Fixed on me with an intent
Then I felt breath
Strength and heat
The beast’s presence
Overpowering, mythical
Black dog
Black dog
What is it you say to me?
Of what do you forewarn?
Apr 24, 2025
Apr 24, 2025 at 9:11 AM UTC