"guardians" poems
dead bodies floating
in our oceans
from the Asian Pacific
to the Mediterranean
crumpled corpses lying
on our beaches
thousands drowned unknown
overcrowded detention centers
not unlike concentration camps
behind barbed wires
guarded by police and snarling dogs
nobody feels responsible
not those who started wars
destroyed whole cities
made millions homeless
and into refugees
not those who take advantage
of the chaos for their own gain
abusing the names of their gods
or some ancient figurehead
to excuse their atrocities and greed
not those who live
in comfortable homes
and wish the desperate crowds
would just stay on the TV screen
and not come close
nor those who pretend
to be the guardians
of our great humanitarian heritage
but show no backbone
against nationalist fanatics
it is the shame of the world
to sit and talk and watch
and not do enough
those who turn away
the needy and homeless
could also
quite suddenly
lose their homes
forced to rely
on the kindness of strangers
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
The night sky we see
is not the same,
as the one our ancestors looked upon.
Stars have faded,
urban sprawl has invaded,
and the once perfect span of night
may be lost in our sea of light.
The busy people do not notice.
No one looks to the stars anymore
The thick black sky,
speckled with whispers of distant life.
Beautiful lanterns floating in the dark.
Guardians of our universe,
watch life dance with death,
as they silently fade away.
There are no more answers from the gods.
No more stories in the night.
No more questioning how everybody came to have life.
The world is too busy,
drenched in it's artificial light.
Too busy to get lost in this magnificent expanse.
Too busy to look to our creators.
The sparks that create life.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
Ancient gardens where dragons roam:
Guardians of Grove protecting Flower Rose.
In wanders uncanny courageous bone,
Ghost hunting for salvation.
Tempted for the rose, face to face with dragon's nose;
Swallowed by the tales and the mysteries.
A seed untold, yet to follow unfold..
Blooms the next flower in the garden of my dragon guarded home.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
She’s a rose
Her thorns are my flaws
People always say how She’s pretty but leave her without picking her up,
They harvest her and put her on display what is that called? Life?
People complain about her thorns like no other rose has them?
She’s proud of her thorns they’re part of who She is,
Call them battle scars
Call them her guardians
They won’t hurt you if your tough enough though?
Why do you think roses have thorns?
Why don’t you just try and pick her up?
I promise her thorns won’t hurt you!
They just want to be valued for being part of her,
Get to know her as a whole I promise you won’t regret it?
Maybe you’ll find her thorns beautiful too!
Take her outside this flower store
Call her yours
We all have flaws,
We all have had something that hurt people before,
It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be given chances,
Doesn’t mean that the rest of us don’t need love,
Open your eyes see the beauty inside her,
In the things she survived
She’s strong,
She’s worth more than gold,
Don’t give up on her,
Pull her out of her roots,
Give her life somewhere else,
But if you can’t pick her up because of her thorns your wrong!
She’s a rose,
She’s the voice the winds the beat and she sings a beautiful song,
Don’t be afraid of what it takes to get her,
Be afraid of losing her,
Something so beautiful,
Yet so fragile,
Don’t break her,
Just love her,
Please just give her a chance,
Don’t judge her thorns from where you stand,
She’s beautiful, unique, life changing, Loyal, Understanding, so much more than you know and just wants to be valued.
She’s a rose
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
You are the town and we are the clock.
We are the guardians of the gate in the rock.
The Two.
On your left and on your right
In the day and in the night,
We are watching you.
Wiser not to ask just what has occurred
To them who disobeyed our word;
To those
We were the whirlpool, we were the reef,
We were the formal nightmare, grief
And the unlucky rose.
Climb up the crane, learn the sailor's words
When the ships from the islands laden with birds
Come in.
Tell your stories of fishing and other men's wives:
The expansive moments of constricted lives
In the lighted inn.
But do not imagine we do not know
Nor that what you hide with such care won't show
At a glance.
Nothing is done, nothing is said,
But don't make the mistake of believing us dead:
I shouldn't dance.
We're afraid in that case you'll have a fall.
We've been watching you over the garden wall
For hours.
The sky is darkening like a stain,
Something is going to fall like rain
And it won't be flowers.
When the green field comes off like a lid
Revealing what was much better hid:
Unpleasant.
And look, behind you without a sound
The woods have come up and are standing round
In deadly crescent.
The bolt is sliding in its groove,
Outside the window is the black removers' van.
And now with sudden swift emergence
Come the woman in dark glasses and humpbacked surgeons
And the scissors man.
This might happen any day
So be careful what you say
Or do.
Be clean, be tidy, oil the lock,
Trim the garden, wind the clock,
Remember the Two.
6.7k
The back door. Green eyes and smelly fur! The werewolf comes for our kid. Its time! White Knight teddy armed with a wooden sword and Judy the red Raccoon and her magical red powers! Its time to vanquish this nightmare before it even starts! The werewolf tears down the back door and howls in the darkness. All we can see is the bright green eyes shining in the blackness. And there awaits White Knight Teddy and Judy the Red Raccoon! W.K.T lands a flurry of blows with his awesome unbreakable wooden sword as the werewolf cries in pain! Judy the Red then emits waves of magical red beams that knock the werewolf out the back door as it screams in fear and scampers back into the woods!
And so W.K.T And Judy the red Raccoon triumph over the would be nightmare that was trying to haunt their kid. NOT TONIGHT!!!
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
Miss Nancy Ellicott
Strode across the hills and broke them,
Rode across the hills and broke them—
The barren New England hills—
Riding to hounds
Over the cow-pasture.
Miss Nancy Ellicott smoked
And danced all the modern dances;
And her aunts were not quite sure how they felt about it,
But they knew that it was modern.
Upon the glazen shelves kept watch
Matthew and Waldo, guardians of the faith,
The army of unalterable law.
6.1k
http://m.wikihow.com/Unhook-a-Bra
Pinch the eyelets but oh so gently,
To properly unhook the device to safely release paradise
From it's containment chamber.
This be one of many secrets to unlocking
The mechanism that holds some of the happy things
The human body artist conceived
To perpetuate the
Species.
According to the internet,
To extract joy to the world correctly,
Depends upon both your station and your
Positioning.
Thus, it helps to have GPS,
Which most men think is that pointy thing
Between their legs,
But is not.
Given the laws of gravity,
And other natural limitations,
Sadly that utensil of little avail
In this surgical operation.
If one desires to release the tension
Between the connectors of the protectors,
Guardians of her heart,
It will be necessary to
Let your fingers do the walking.
So cut and paste the title above,
In your web browser place!
Do your homework or risk feeling
As petite as a schnauzer.
Seems your natural tendency,
Righty or lefty, matters in this endeavor,
Of which I was unawares, oft pressing the incorrect lever.
This, the likely cause of my spectacular
Teenage
Fumblings and failures.
Had I known that fact,
In the days before the Internet,
Surely I would have brought along my
Catchers mitt
To step up my game.
Sage advice the article provides:
*Get a bra, and practice, practice, practice!
It gets easier with experience.*
But methinks that is a bit of a
Risky adventure,
Lest you be seen boy,
Practicing upon yourself,
Or even a dummy,
Dummy!
So cut and paste the title above
In your web browser,
Do your home work or risk feeling
As petite as a pocket schnauzer.
But the most important tip
This wealthy article of information provides,
The conclusion.
In the hour of your desperate struggle,
Drooping
Ego
And
Crushed
Pride,
Ask for assistance from one more practiced,
Hopefully nearby,
Whose help usually comes with a charming smile
of touching condescension
For your male idiocy and verbal in-articulation.
*She, unawares, that you have got her
Positioned precisely where you want!*
For when you lift her up,
In a free state, the one Divinity intended,
and in your arms, enfolded and protected,
In one grand poetic gesture,
Sweep her off her feet,
Her surprise will be
**..
O
So Touching!**
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
I am the Individual Isness incarnated in this body.
I am not the body.
I have travelled through many lifetimes in many bodies.
always learning learning learning.
I have developed nous from my experiences only.
I WILL NOT EVER-
accept a mind in my head.
accept any conditioned identity as being me.
cede control over my brain centres to any mind or groupmind
that exists anywhere..
I WILL NOT EVER--
cede control over my brain centres to any conditioned identity or
group conditioned identity that exists anywhere.
or accept that any other but me,the Individual Isness, using my brain centres,using my brain the way I,the Individual Isness,want to and can do
to be in charge of the brain centres in the head of this body that I,the Isness,am incarnated in.
I WILL NOT EVER--
be prey to opinion-formers and experts and pie charts and
focus groups and surveys.
be manipulated by PR men and women in shiny suits.
see Edward Bernays book--Propaganda.
be manipulated by GroupMinds into thinking their way.
be taken in by brutal security forces posing as "guardians of peace.
respect in any way any member of any military forces anywhere
no matter how fancy the uniforms or excuses for ****** they wear.
I do not respect these parasites anywhere as they are nothing more than paid mercenary murderers on behalf of various Oligarchies..
see Jaques Ellul's book--Propaganda.
I WILL NOT EVER--
take any dangerous addictive cancer causing drugs
such as Alcohol and Tobacco primarily--
food additives...
No one has ever died from any cannabis product.
or from LSD or Mesccaline or Psylocybin.
believe in any so-called "god" or "goddess".
believe in any so-called "prophet" of any so-called "god"or "goddess".
accept any so-called "holy" book as valid or truthful
or valuable in any way except as
emergency papers to roll a grass joint
or to wipe my **** on.
be taken in by depraved words and concepts in any of these so-called "holy "books that have led to endless wars and still ongoing terrorism and atrocities in the name of one bloodthirsty "god" or "goddess".
I WILL NOT EVER--
accept anything as reality unless I can see clearly that
it is beyond duality.
accept any Conditioned Identity as me.
For I am the Isness which is a small but equal,individual,
autonomous and independant part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe--!.
which is not a "soul" or Atman or spirit
or any other religious concoction.
I WILL NOT EVER---
accept Mind as a necessary evil
accept GroupMind as a necessary evil.
I WILL NOT EVER ---
eat junk food of any kind.
drink tap water anywhere except in direst emergency.
eat white sugar or any other pure carbohydrate.
be a hypocritical moralising vegetarian.
become stoopid through bowing and scraping
and stooping at stupas.
I will be just a Self realised man living on a big ball in space
with a Self Realised woman playing and singing and dancing the Song of Our Lives.
www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
Lisbeth stands watching
The artist as he prepares
To sketch. Her elder sisters
Stand in shadows whispering.
Her younger sister plays
With her doll on the floor.
Their father said to do as
The artist instructed and
Don’t misbehave or be rude.
The artist stares hard his
Dark eyes searching their
Every move and expression
And body gesture. The elder
Girls mutter in shadows
Their hands over their mouths
Their blue eyes like shallow
Pools. Ready? The artist
Asks putting charcoal to
Paper his fingers blackening.
Lisbeth says just as we are?
The artist nods. His grim
Features express do not disturb.
The youngest sister plays
Ignoring the artist her eyes set
On the game at hand. The girls
In shadow turn their profiles
Set to mystery their hands on
Their abdomens like guardians
Of virtue. Lisbeth wonders as
She watches the artist’s stiff
Moustache and beard the slow
Movement of his mouth as he
Mouths words and stares hard.
The last artist employed some
Year before younger and less
Brutal in expression and manner
Had drawn them each in private
Rooms and set them down on couch
Or bed and kept their images inside
His head. He was dismissed and the
Drawings destroyed and nothing said.
Lisbeth had thought it just a game
Something done as lover might in
Private corners or lonely spots on
Quiet nights. The artist sketches.
His blackened fingers move and
Made their mark. Their images
Captured. The scene set. One sister
In the shadows yawns the other
Stares in still contempt. Lisbeth
Poses as young girls do. Nothing
To show of interest and nothing
Hid no secret self no other you.
That’s it the artist says we’ll begin
The painting another day maybe
Next week if all is well. The girls
In shadow look away and resume
Their secret games. Lisbeth studies
The artist’s blackened fingers as
He rolls the charcoal sketch and
Puts away. He gazes at her standing
By herself a glimpse of smile and
Glimmer in her eyes like small fires.
He closes the tired lids of eyes
And smoulders down his old desires.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 8:26 AM UTC
Ancient doors creak and groan
scraping back the dust
of ages gone
A formidable sight...
like standing guardians
since time immortal
Slinking in
past swirling fog
I pause to calm my fear
adding strength to resolve
when suddenly...
a deafening voice ERUPTS
with EXACTING FASTIDIOUS truths
Solid ground shatters beneath me...
I hover helplessly
Below me...
a noxious boiling maelstrom
The voice of truth EXPLODES from above
ECHOing my 'Every Sin'
the resounding shock-waves
drive me down
Legs lifted high
to avoid the searing pain
then
a tangle of blistered hands reach out
and drag me within the churning inferno
Blinding spin and unbearable suction
envelope
Scream fades to gurgle
Unconsciousness welcome
though never met
The searing pain still rising yet
Each fibre ripped apart
to molecular particle
Riding the vortex of purification
Separating sins from soul
Finally
Cast out
and caught yet again by the uterine web
with the voice of truth
still taunting ...
" BETTER LUCK THIS TIME "
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
Amadou awakened with a start, it was Omar one of the guardians(security guards) of Yaldagou (the largest Hospital in the capital of Burkina Faso) knocking on the window of his taxi, Amadou had just settled down for the night after a long day in the heat and fumes that was Ouagadougou it was just after midnight on Sunday, he struggled to wake up rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Omar explained in Mori(local language), that there were two white people in need of his special service.
After a quick explanation that someone had died in a private clinic nearby and the body needed to be transported to the morgue at Yaldagou, he snapped out of his sleepiness and thought for a moment how much he could charge the rich white people, it was two days after Eid and as a strict Muslim he had been celebrating the holidays and now he had been offered an opportunity to supplement his taxi income, someone had to do it and it was an unsavory job and anyway on the few occasions he had done it, it had been lucrative, it might as well be him!
Amadou thought to himself, if you had the misfortune to die in the day time there was a private service but in the night dignity went out the window and it was up to people like Amadou and a select bunch of taxi drivers with seats that could be configured to accommodate the corpses of the recently deceased to perform this service, so taxi 87 driven by Amadou would take this lady who had died from kidney and other ***** failures, after struggling for some days she eventually lost her battle and slipped into unconsciousness and finally died.
Amadou finally settled on 10000 CFA(local currency) a fair price, after all the so-called professionals would charge 30000 CFA three times more and it was around Eid "Allah Akbar".
A quick "Thank you" to Omar for helping them and the two white people left with him for the short journey to the clinic, after the usual discussions the body was released and transported to the morgue to join the other recently deceased waiting for burial in the morning,
Amadou, rearranged the seating in his taxi after parking up in his favourite place under the trees of Yaldago it was just after one thirty, a good ninety mins work he thought to himself, yawned, and settled down to sleep a few more hours before dawn prayers.
This was Africa and "someone had to do it" was his last thought.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 7:26 PM UTC
she’s so phat!
can’t deny
a simple fact
it’s worth a try
to start anew
all that we knew
to forget
for good
or for worse
i don’t need a purse
have all the mon
in the world
all the gold
so cold
make it warm
love’s a storm
has no form
but a sphere
wild deer
still dreamin’ of ‘em
ain’t no Eminem
just a young man
of arms
charity and alms
such a rarity
in our selfish world
of calamity
unthinkable disaster
tulip, rose and aster
make your heart beat faster
like a drum machine
Dash Berlin
voice and beat
so neat
that girl
a friend of my soul
rhythm
with no blues
happiness
i choose
to carry on
fighting
for what’s right
sleepless
day and night
shaken but not mixed
i still get my kicks
from palm reading
all my wounds
are bleeding
with red wine
guardians of time
lost in their stride
stick to your pride
follow your dreams
anguish sins
belittle the devil
within you
there’s a universe
of wisdom
an ocean
of beauty
get no *****
but acclaim
your name
done in clay
on the walk of fame
let’s call it a day
21.05.2012
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 3:13 AM UTC
(Angel Warriors)
*Angel Warriors by our side
Be our lamp, our light and guide
Guardian Angels hear our prayer
Keep us in thy loving care
Guardians of light of love and of truth
Unseen warriors fighting for you
Though you can't touch them they are always close by
No need to fear so wipe the tear from your eye
*Angel Warriors by our side
Be our lamp, our light and guide
Guardian Angels hear our prayer
Keep us in thy loving care
They guard and protect you they'll keep you from harm
Though you can't see them don't be alarmed
There is never a moment when you are all alone
They are present always; even when they aren't shown
*Angel Warriors by our side
Be our lamp, our light and guide
Guardian Angels hear our prayer
Keep us in thy loving care
They walk right beside you wherever you go
I feel a calm, a peace; and in my heart I know
Watching over you all day and when you sleep at night
Surrounded by the enemy they stand and fight
*Angel Warriors by our side
Be our lamp, our light and guide
Guardian Angels hear our prayer
Keep us in thy loving care
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
*(Not a home, I said.
An address.
The badges and the blossoms
Bragged ‘excess’.
Etched into every tree
The word:
S U C C E S S)*
I am London
And he is me,
Not ever knowing which London to be,
A button eyed orphan,
A one man band,
A Dickensian madman
Whey-faced and untanned.
I was a Ruby Infant,
(Montpelier)
Via turreted school
(Machiavellian lair)
My conspiracy of ravens
The guardians of lore,
Falling in feathers
To a barbershop floor.
My mind is confetti -
From each Westminster wedding,
Each pill, each stumble,
A little be-heading.
I first kissed a girl in Trafalgar Square
And the memory of her is still there in the air,
In the backdrops of photographs snapped up by tourists,
In the lost eyes of pigeons,
(I know it, I’m sure of it -
because I know London
And he knows me -
We flow into each other
Like the Thames, to the sea).
Gobstopper ******** in Whitechapel lanes,
Knee-deep in the streets, leaving opal-ghost stains,
The bleeding graffiti of Mary Jane Kelly,
Our deaths, our murders,
So many, so many...
Bells,
Chiming,
Dark
Oubliettes,
Cradle me, London,
My bowed silhouette,
Settle me down
in your newspaper bed,
Love me,
Watch over me,
And when I am dead,
Make me a martyr,
Smooth out my head
Swallow me up in your gum studded streets,
Somewhere busy where I can feel millions of feet
Treading into me,
Over and
Over again,
And every so often, now and then,
Play out your bells for my syllables four,
*Ding **** ding ****
Four and no more,
To remind yourself, London,
Of silly old me,
Who like you,
Never knew,
Which London to be.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
I wish my mom thought we were more important that the T.V.
I wish my stepdad thought we were more important
than his nightly bing drinking
I wish my stepsisters wouldn't be depressed to come home
or afraid to stay after dinner
instead of fleeing, alone
to their designated shelter
I wish my stepdad was less angry all the time
I wish my mom didn't have to thirst her sorrows with
boxed Franzia Red Wine
I wish she would stop complaining,
and see all the little things worth enjoying
I wish they knew their lives were slowly wasting away
faster than the drinks they put down
and the sarcasm they put out
I wish they knew there was a world outside
because I'd like to experience it with them
and leave some good memories inside
I wish they knew that missing their life
was more important than missing their show
I wish they knew missing their children's lives were too
I wish they could sit down with us
and learn what brilliant family they have
But we are too boring
We are no ****** mystery, crime
sport, beer, or wine
I wish they would be honest with themselves and each other
and admit out loud that
they are unhappy
I with they knew the energy they expelled
the atmosphere they create
makes it a home of one almost hated
They are good guardians, they protect us, feed us, love us
and I know they care
Still lingers this sad, constricting, and distant feeling in the air
I can come and go as I please
but I wish they saw their daughters
had the running away disease
Whether inside themselves, to their room, or a friends,
They should not want to escape their homes in the end
Their children have such inspiring minds
They are beautiful souls,
ambitious, intelligent, kind
I wish they could see
but it's blocked by the T.V.
and all the Netflix movies
I wish they could tell I am an outsider looking In
and I don't even know where to begin
Mainly I wish they would open their eyes
and realize, their lives and their family
are passing them by
We love them so much
we miss them
we know they love us
but I wonder if they miss us
Or if they even know who We are..
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle
The rabbits beneath the deck,
Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery,
Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead,
Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach,
All inquire:
Was it better wherever you went?
Were the:
Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin,
Eagles, double headed, of Russia
Herring, fried, creamed, wined,
From the vendors on the docks of
Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn,
Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm,
More impressive,
Tastier than our striped bass,
Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently
For their chronicler to return?
Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin
Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen
Welcome you more warmly than your friends,
The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls
Who overwatch your steps and safety
When hiking in Mashomack Preserve?
Are the interlacing tidal creeks,
Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged,
Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island
Any lesser than those of Scandinavia?
Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the
Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland,
More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe,
Who carry you swiftly home to us?
The National Geographic people say that in
Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone
Is one of the ten best in the world.
Guessing they have not made it yet to the
Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks!
Were you unaware that our isle settled before
Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand
Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg,
Route 114 was a traveled forest path,
By settlers and Indians, not serfs.
Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage,
The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace,
Wrote not a single word, we observe.
Your attentions, they did not deserve?
The answers all, self evident.
Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of
Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay,
Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere,
Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall,
Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island
Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed
Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp.
Silver Beach
July 22, 2012
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
Older boys telling younger boys “bad” jokes is part of the traditions in schools, much as the guardians of Elite Schools might deny it…here’s something that happened in the 1960s, and perhaps before too, and perhaps always….
*“Who’s the best person to marry
when you’re grown up?”*
asks the Senior boy
(with his double entendre)
in the shed behind the canteen
three juniors shrug their shoulders
and then one ventures: “Marry a traffic cop?”
“No,” answers the Senior
*“Never marry a traffic cop
cos at the crucial moment she’ll say: ‘HALT!’”*
Some boys laugh, one or two innocents scratch their heads
“I’ll marry a doctor,” says another
“Yeah?” says the Senior
*“At the crucial moment
she’ll be saying: ‘OK -
you can put on your clothes now!’”*
Now the juniors laugh;
they are getting wiser
but still an innocent says:
“I’ll marry a bus conductor”
“Oh no, no,” says the boy Senior
“She’ll be insisting: ‘Ticket, please! Ticket, please!’”
*“I’ll marry Susan at the canteen
where she makes the best
sandwiches for all those who hunger,”*
says the boy, obviously from a very charitable home
“No, no,” says the Senior. *“She’ll be roaring:
‘Who’s next? Who’s next? Who’s next?’
And you’ll have all the men
within three miles
queuing up at your doorway!”*
The juniors have gotten too smart now
Nobody offers any other possibilities
But innocents die hard
and there’s one last little boy:
“I’ll marry my teacher!”
“Well, isn’t she the best,” says Senior
*“for at the crucial moment,
she’ll be saying:
‘Do it again! Do it again!’”*
Now, the boys enjoyed it all; the girls never heard it, except when they married these initiates…and all the eminent people in the professions have been none the wiser…
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
3am again, its cold under the blankets. I contemplate getting up as I usually do, catching a buzz but it is cold, too cold even for bumblebees. I am tired, I wonder what it is all about apart from being guardians for our children of course The pain is searing from the ground up, it has to reach my heart of course, this is why it hurts so much I understand in an instant, you just wanted the pain to stop, like i do now. In a ball under the blanket, with only this hint of life radiating from my palm, bright too bright yet, I continue, it is better than cold - where did all the warmth go? At what point did it stop? The chemicals have run dry, the last tear drop, cold dead night Autumn night, my muse my lover. Cold under these sheets the warm side taken up by my child my faithful cat on my pillow gives me no solace, only more pain, I know he will die soon. Then, even the comfort of his heart beating softly, his paw holding mine, will be gone.. all of it gone! I reach out to you far away, I know you feel me, hear me, as I do you. For the first time I feel alone, Miss Independent everything is fine, soldier on gone! I want to feel warm blood in my veins, not cold, not pain. This wounded healer cries in vain. No point in wondering why, this must be how it feels. I understand why you wanted to die
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
Why do the tongues of little birds
converse with the morning?
And their hearts stanza their beaks
to parley each dawn?
Have men lost their voice?
That creatures so small;
Should be the guardians of days night.
© Qwey.ku
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 3:17 AM UTC
Long Journey,
yet it was never too late
to crest the memories of yesterdays
A voyage that was finished before
and here I am gazing beyond
through oriel windows once more
An ocean wide stretched from afar
with a quill and vellum on my hand
I wrote these words and understand
life was never easy reaching its core
self must refine from silver to gold
dreams red as velvet, white as snow
Pure as the heart of every little boy
molded from a mother’s fervent love
brave, a father’s heritage in honor of
Blessed by the gift of God up above
toiling day and night from my storm
He never left me lonely, till all is won
I gazed back to the oceans and saw,
Someone familiar...
Could it be…
Land A Home,
it was a moment of spring
I step the shore, my heart felt its beat
And Lo, my guardians caress on thee
for there is no sweeter victory
than the ones who truly loved me
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 5:01 AM UTC
Blessed with matchlessly magical Parents,
Their supremely good, serenely happy raising,
design our thought processes.
Their loving, comforting storytelling skills,
leave indelible footprints and heartprints.
Thankyou God for this Benedictory Love!!!
Blessed with a bombastic Brother,
self-styled natural, perennial itinerant,
Sentinel of sisters life-long.
Sentiments flow unabatedly,
for our illustrious, boisterous beloved younger.
Thankyou God for this Blissful Love!!!
Blessed with delicate darling Sister,
who wears expressions benignant perpetually.
Wiitty, gritty, easy-going habitually.
Evident protected favourite of all surely.
Fondest moments born in her queenly company.
Thankyou God for this Harmonious Love!!!
Blessed with solicitous Husband,
His silent romanticism, macho protective ways,
smoothen tumultuous paths.
Terribly correct and sober better half,
Brokers peace, plots life's happiness graph.
Thankyou God for this Angelic Love!!!
Blessed with an endearing Child,
Whose arrival, auspicious, momentous and miraculous, Rearing the divine and sublime born,
definitely, a definition for the guardians.
Our child, our panacea, promise of better tomorrows.
Thankyou God for this Supreme Love!!!
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 2:06 AM UTC
When I arrive would you take care of me?
We empty emotions on the count of three.
Visions of black and white, do you bleed?
The hotness of this earth,
holes in the body, do you still hurt?
A mutual destruction on my part;
rewind time for the birth
You were sent to watch over me,
an empty shell of a man with destiny.
When we get there what will we see?
"Villains of circumstance we will be,
Can you handle it?"
Little monster, are you learning?
The art of squirming.
Guardians of light and sound,
save me now or we're all going down.
Sinners, not winners, are in the round
Place me in your arms and protect me now.
Hold me like no one is around.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
There is more free space than matter
My zenith is far from touching land
A wing tipped by the ring of Saturn
The orb that many thought unmanned
My zenith is far from touching land
With a silken era of neon speed
The orb that many thought unmanned
The Guardians acknowledged their time of need
With a silken era of neon speed
A gaseous clash of friend and foe
The Guardians acknowledged their time of need
And songs of victory may never know
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
Sometimes I think of selling pictures of my feet online
Then
I immediately think of the state of my feet;
The state of me.
After conforming to your dress code of black dress shoes and shattered dreams For 11 long years.
For 11 long years
I sat in rows of grey white and black
Perfectly poised in the presence of our educators
Our guardians
Our wardens.
If we deigned to relax,
Laugh,
Breathe,
They would find more to give and give and give
Until we became nothing but frayed nerves
And therapy bills
That should be addressed to our parents
And then I think
I can’t sell pictures of my feet online,
How could I correctly value them
If I don’t correctly value myself?
Sep 30, 2021
Sep 30, 2021 at 2:41 PM UTC