"hails" poems
fischers rap
on a hot tin roof
bristol creek pools
over rock and seed
english wolfhound (and the barkbuster)
stroll pine lane
vibrant colors
of a cool spring
in cob yellow and
forest green
field mice squander
in cotton wind
goats and ferret
hold seven hour trim
raven and ****
meddle and forage (on a splendid fiaker goulash!)
crickets and frogs
hidden
in swollen grey logs
creepers fill the
cut stone walls
coy wolf high
on a frayed white rope
eagles perched
at trudy’s bend
catamounts laze
on a snow base cedar
(pared arbutus bent
through a failed ground rock)
brush spider spins
a timely web
brown bears fumble
at the spirit jamboree
quizzical squirrels
crack their nuts
as pillow clouds float
over telegraph trail
12 point dances
on talus and scree
hen hawks float
in a big hard sun
clydesdale and coach
trot copper smith road
(glancing down
on finch and the warbler
whistling through
colander row)
lavender fills
the peat soil box
mountain cats
guard the heavenly gates
black eyed ridge
is wide and open
the country squire hails
this fruitful land
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
Went to my ancestor's home on a Spring season that year..
On a Holi day in the land of Chanchadari
A peaceful morning in Hoshiarpur, the doors to Himalaya
Happy Holli day!! The kids shout with cheer
Holi Hai! Holi Hai! Lets play Holi!!!
He woke up early morning that day..
With a bucket of colored water waiting for me
I stepped outside my grandpa's door
In a split second I was soaked in a coloured water…
From head to toes… red, orange, yellow, purple… the colors of Holi…
Ohh It's a Hoi Hai day alright…
Lets play Holi … Lets play Holi..
Hails spring with ecstasy and joy!
The trees smile with their sprout
of tender leaves and blooming flowers,
The land of beauty and greatness,
India, witnessing color of happiness and peace.
Nation come alive to enjoy the spirit
A celebration of color- Holi!
An experience of content, harmony and delight.
Holi colors of red, green, yellow and countless.
A day's canvas - a riot of colors.
Lively crowd running, dancing, playing
Rainbow of colors, Lets play Holi and splish and splash!!
Lets play with the frenzy colors .. play on Holi Hai day….
I am dreaming of playing with colors with you
It is the Holi celebration after all.
I can't play inside my home, the carpets will get tainted,
I cant' play it in the yard, the grass and outer walls will get painted.
I thought I would go to the secret garden of ours,
and play with you Holi hai day …
It's a colourful day just you and me..
In love on Holi Hai day…. Lets play Holi..
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
The flame in my flesh burns tor like
Above conventions of average humanity,
Propelled to hatred of their opposite
By the pristine charm in the streaks of culture,
Their Florence comes from the glory of orthodoxities
In the time long fibres of religious pockets,
Islam, Christian, Hinduism and all that steadily
And firmly in piety aver perfection of Godliness,
Forgetting the flame of same *** with oral spice
In the God made flesh of the dear lesbian daughter,
Spell binding the equivalent in blossoms of the gay,
Provoking hatred from the threatened heterosexists,
But the oral *** of a lesbian is an apex of human pleasure
Surpassing all on earth and in heaven, as no human barricade
Of whatsoever caliber will cull lesbian’s feelings
From the glorious power in the genitals on kiss of lips,
As the tongue of the chic wag from side to other
Touching fountains of ****** glory in cement of sameness
Throwing threats of law and black order to dustbins
And trash yards of anachronisms as the power of LGBT
Engulfs the young world into in its protégé,
Shamelessly tethered on the sensual tentacles
Of maximum gusto in the ***** of oral *** with a dear ‘less’
In tune with all rhythms of the times
Remaining strange to the conservatives,
Ever seeking pleasure from where pain hails
Living gloomy life on a brink of melancholia,
Worry not lesbian daughter you are powerful,
In one away or so, rise up and walk tall
You have power in your oral ***
Oral *** Oral *** Oral *** of a lesbian!
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
the earth is curved - sure y’all knew that.
but to get to the Northwest,
Interstate 84
ain’t le route plus directe
nope curve north to Ontario,
wave to Bex as I cross over
London and Toronto, also can’t recall
which poet from Rochester hails,
or did they shuffle off to Buffalo?
Crossing Erie, Huron, and Michigan Great Lakes all,
brings to mind
my mother’s birthplace,
Last of the Mohicans,
and the three years I did in the Cleveland Penitentiary,
where sun was illegal and baseball was a pretend play
of cowboys and Indians
but by god, it made me
the penitent fella I am today
Look skyward to Montreal,
yes, there he is, the Leo Priest,
the baffled king,
blessing this poetic meet ‘n greet trip
with a smiling unsurprising
hallelujah
Apparently some US citizens still can traverse O Canada,
even if one forgot their passports,
and are not PNG’s (Persons Not so GREAT)
over Minneapolis shed a tear for Diane,
a poet- gone-missing, and wonder if you reader come from
St. Cloud, Fargo or Duluth, Bismarck or Aberdeen,
surely they still speak poetic English there
in a twangy metering methodology - well, message me asap
wow there really is a Saskatoon!
the pilot asks us to lean left in our seats
to help turn the plane
so we go to Portland and not to Vancouver...
me thinks he might be a touch Rockie Mountain High,
considering we are at 30 thousand something Imperial,
as he walks the main cabin with an oxygen mask and a
huuuuuge grin
see the distant Cascades
through a crack in the shuttered windows,
must be close to “the coast”
(as if, harrumph, there were but one)
ah, words in the clouds, ripe for the plucking
must be getting close to Oregon,
where poets grow on trees, woody words like ****
and log-float poems down the Columbia to the sea
gonna drink me some poets
under the table cause this
trip I ain’t no driving and I am already
“flying” ‘n scribing and arriving
on a high tide and a good wind
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 5:47 AM UTC
God ensures everyone a shore
floating on the sea of the soul!
No stone is as solid
lying in any temple.
Light up the flame lay it on
the passage to the truthful
selfless human conscience.
Unleash from the unseen
the one true enduring origin!
The more one understands
the universe's more meaningful!
Hails from the one yet to expose
the utmost intelligent of all!
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
The screaming cheers
travel a distance far
in the divided hall
the yellows and blues
await the serving ball
an overhand strike
the ball speeds
across the mid-line
the yellows
dig, set & attack
the blues
fling & smack
fearless & skilled
the crowd hails
winning or defeat
is a victory for all
for the love
of volleyball
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
The day is bright and blue,
While the night hails the universe's true view.
The sun, hailed as the giver of all life and the first true fire,
As the moon is considered all of death's lyres.
While life is given power by the sun,
The moon is the cloak for all of its assassins.
As the sun is fiery and passionate,
Our moon is quiet and loves maleficence.
As the day gives only the bare truth,
The night covers all that who are to sleuth
Sun and moon,
God and Satan,
Earth and sky,
Truth and jive,
Life and death,
Fire and water,
Dusk and dawn
Diverting Martyrs
Oppositions of our humainty,
Sun and moon,
Balance our reality...
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
There's a prophet on the railway
He's coming with a book
Written by a woman
And blessed by a crook
The station's been preparing
For his arrival, coming soon
He doesn't know a single person
In the town under the moon
His robes are made of velvet
And his chains out of gold
His eyes look about a hundred
Yet he's only twenty-two years old
His hands are un-calloused
With pages stapled to his chest
In his mind he believes
That he alone knows best
His name came from Berkley
But he hails from the south
His mother gave him nothing
So he found his own way out
In the dead of the night by his candlelight
He heard a voice calling him
It told to me ride north
And let the people rejoice him
On their Sunday feast he sets down his feet
In a town of simple heads
He gets on a podium
And he lifts them from their beds
He promises them redemption
He promises them the end
And with just a touch of his hand
He promises they'll be heaven sent
It's been six long years
And his statue's turning green
Just like his money
Which lights his swisher sweets
He knows his just a man
Made of flesh and rotten skin
He knows this and yet
He's the one who wins
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
Praise thy Lord Our GOD, Praise GOD In His Sanctuary.!
Apr 29, 2015
1View0Likes0Comments
Praise thy Lord Our GOD from Heavens, Praise THEE In Heigths.! Praise GOD All His Angels, Praise GOD All His Hosts.!
Praise HIM, Sun And Moon, Praise HIM All You Stars Of Light.! Praise GOD Thou Heavens, and Thou Waters above thy Heavens.! Let them Praise thy Name Oh Lord Our GOD, for HE Commanded and thou were Created. HE also Established thou Forever And Ever, He Made And Mode A Decree which shall not Pass away. Praise thy LORD from thy Earth, thou Great Sea Creatures and All thy depths... Fire and Hails, Snow and Clouds, Stormy wind, Fulfilling HIS Word.. Mountains And All Hills, Fruitful Trees and All Cedars.. Beasts and All Cattles, Creeping things and Flying Fowl... Kings of the Earth and All Kinds, Princes and All Judges Of the Earth. both Young Men and Maidens, Old Men and Children.. Let them Praise thy Name of the Lord Our GOD, For HIS Name Alone Is Exalted, His Glory is Above the Earth And Heaven... And He Has Exalted thy Horn Of His People, the Praise Of All His Saints Of thy Children Of Isreal, A People Near to Him, Praise thy LORD... Halleluyah... GOD Is Our Strength.. GOD Is Love.. GOD With Us.!!!
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
When fierce conflicting passions urge
The breast, where love is wont to glow,
What mind can stem the stormy surge
Which rolls the tide of human woe?
The hope of praise, the dread of shame,
Can rouse the tortur’d breast no more;
The wild desire, the guilty flame,
Absorbs each wish it felt before.
But if affection gently thrills
The soul, by purer dreams possest,
The pleasing balm of mortal ills
In love can soothe the aching breast:
If thus thou comest in disguise,
Fair Venus! from thy native heaven,
What heart, unfeeling, would despise
The sweetest boon the Gods have given?
But, never from thy golden bow,
May I beneath the shaft expire!
Whose creeping venom, sure and slow,
Awakes an all-consuming fire:
Ye racking doubts! ye jealous fears!
With others wage internal war;
Repentance! source of future tears,
From me be ever distant far!
May no distracting thoughts destroy
The holy calm of sacred love!
May all the hours be winged with joy,
Which hover faithful hearts above!
Fair Venus! on thy myrtle shrine
May I with some fond lover sigh!
Whose heart may mingle pure with mine,
With me to live, with me to die!
My native soil! belov’d before,
Now dearer, as my peaceful home,
Ne’er may I quit thy rocky shore,
A hapless banish’d wretch to roam!
This very day, this very hour,
May I resign this fleeting breath!
Nor quit my silent humble bower;
A doom, to me, far worse than death.
Have I not heard the exile’s sigh,
And seen the exile’s silent tear,
Through distant climes condemn’d to fly,
A pensive, weary wanderer here?
Ah! hapless dame! no sire bewails,
No friend thy wretched fate deplores,
No kindred voice with rapture hails
Thy steps within a stranger’s doors.
Perish the fiend! whose iron heart
To fair affection’s truth unknown,
Bids her he fondly lov’d depart,
Unpitied, helpless, and alone;
Who ne’er unlocks with silver key,
The milder treasures of his soul;
May such a friend be far from me,
And Ocean’s storms between us roll!
3.5k
[Fanfare, obviously]
This poem should begin with the call of a bugle,
as is fitting for an ode of Braveheart Macdougal.
Children of Parklands, take heed and be wary,
as I relate now, in verse, a tale cautionary.
Benigna Murdie was a most virtuous lass,
blesséd with promise and a penchant for sass.
To peer pressure she was admirably immune,
and ne'er did she bow to the temptation of goon.
Nary a drop of ***** has e'er passed her lips,
save for politeness and church-mandated sips.
Yet even the mightiest fall-- what a pity!
(harder than I did that night in the city).
So I hope you all glean a moral from this,
and your interpretation does not go too amiss.
But all is self-evident, to quote Descartes,
so allow me to recount this tale from the start.
She hails from a country renown for their piety,
for their pacifist ways and universal sobriety.
The Scottish are known throughout the land
for their temperance of character and lightness of hand.
And our poor Bennigles was no rule-exception,
she subscribed quite wholly to this perception.
A more reserved and reclusive girl you've not seen,
virtually a saint at only nineteen.
Passed out on the couch, liquor was never the root,
only strain from the studying and academic pursuit.
A paradigm of virtue, a pillar of purity,
no “that's-what-she-said's” to compromise maturity.
But that all changed one day touched by fate,
when Rachel realized that hedonism's great.
She took to the streets to revel in her glee,
and legit nothing bad happened cause this isn't tv.
Alas, now I'm drunk and the screen is a-shaking,
perhaps of wine I should halt my partaking.
I cannot continue with this facetious ode,
as we all well know that this is a total load.
But I'll miss you, my Brit, and our shitshow nights,
our Australian exploits and your culinary delights.
Sorry I couldn't finish to detail your demise,
but perhaps I'll conclude after an Australia-reprise.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
There's this supercute girl here,
From Jammu the Sikhni hails,
I feel so lucky that I get to see her,
At times I follow her scent trails.
Made of sheer pure beauty she is,
I go ooh la la when she comes,
Both my feet just freeze altogether,
Frozen & I find my senses lost.
Harps play when she speaks,
So beautiful is her voice,
Her lips separate like cuckoo beaks,
Alive I feel staring into her eyes.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
When the Costa Concordia met with a reef,
it was certain some lives would be lost.
As she listed to starboard at eighty degrees,
Her Captain was first to get off.
Captain Schettino was schmoozing some blonde
when his ship began veering to shore.
He was unwilling to go down on his ship,-
The blonde? yes, but hold the encore.
It seems his chief waiter hails from the Isle,
the Isle with the ship eating reef.
They drew close to shore so he’d wave to his wife
an excursion that beggars belief.
The Coast guard responders where shocked and amazed;
They just couldn’t believe what they saw:
The Cruise liner Captain, paddling furiously,
beating women and children to shore.
Unlike Captain Smith, who stood at his post,
hearing “ Nearer my God to thee.”
The tune that Schettino will sing his bambinos
is “Nearer to Shore take me!”
He’ll spend time in jail, but the punishment pales
when compared to the scope of his sin
This sailor has fallen from grace with the sea
in his dreams let their screams never end.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 9:05 PM UTC
*Let loneliness' tears explode and be transformed into thousand moaning stars tonight,
As...
My universe whips with meteors...
Slashing the earth's flesh,
with scorching ***** of fire.
My universe cries an august rain...
Leaving the earth in deep waters,
breathless, it won't survive.
My universe hurls hails...
Crashing the earth's face.
My universe whispers comets...
Making the earth sigh with fiery passion.
My universe frets in pain...
Deafening sound echoes
in earth's hollow station.
That...
My universe in my arms is collapsing...
And I,
the earth, am dying with him.*
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
The thought that you can perceive perfection is one of a fool.
You cannot become perfect, nor can you see perfection manifested.
Yet it is a fools errand to not try to be better than what you see as best.
You can't expect to be seen as perfect to anyone but yourself.
Simply because if you can accept yourself, then you will often be denied by others as well.
If you can't accept yourself, then try to become more.
If you can't achieve what you want, get help.
Not enough people understand the means to achieve their aspirations, but others know how to achieve someone else's goal.
If someone hails you as perfect, then you simply share the same views.
If someone degrades you for irrelevant flaws, then they hold a different standard.
Perfection is only a concept created by fools, and people who don't understand the cruelty in the actions of others.
Whoever thinks of themselves as perfect hasn't met one greater than them.
In this world, the closest thing that I can fathom to be synonymous with perfection, is knowing that you are imperfect, but being content with who you are.
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
He has coffee in his blood,
He dances with brown camels.
White wide paths of knives
Are curved deep among the mountain passes
Of ribs wrapped in soft desert of skin.
A tongue athlet and a sound alchemist,
A reluctant nomad with wheat hair,
Who's driven by his crazy-grooving heart
So rarely though so far.
Sometimes a train, sometimes a net,
Sometimes a piece of paper
Will take him.
But most often he is joining with genies
In their bottles. And spirits take him
To the caves, the deep blood-vessels.
He's silent mostly and his back is bent
Though he is tall.
He walks all cloaked in weary clothes
And idle anger both.
As it dictates him his prideful eagle's nose.
He bears also marks of roots,
Of runes, of flame, of anchors,
Dancers.
His bones look at you in their clutches
From beneath the skin
Of his thin fingers.
He builds the towers shaky,
Weak. And so, they're almost living,
Breathing.
He've found a cat in a banana
And lets it live inside his elbow.
The grey in northern sky is his.
He reached his fine hands
And left it there. He touched the sun
And then again. He put it in his lighter
With his fingertips.
So he occasionally has a light from the sun.
He prays to metal and walks two roads at once.
He tolls the tree from which he hails.
He hangs from a branch.
Or does he just stand
Downwords and his back is lying on
The branch on which he stands?
He buried his gold and digs it out only
For fire and jokes, for bitter and smoke.
A cow of three eyes and a bee on his blazen
Are joing in drawing.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 6:59 AM UTC
O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Through the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell one another, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn’d
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth
And let thy holy feet visit our clime!
Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumèd garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her ***** and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish’d head,
Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee.
2.2k
Too much alone
Too much afraid
Too much unknown
Too much paid
To let us go
By the way
For no show
So they say
Could I tell you a story
Ole storyteller
Like bees buzzing flowers
With some honey on hive's mind
It's a modern tale
That has sat sail
All sewn up
At a rate of knots
That black book
Bought with blood money
Dares to say it holds a name
Spar - with these throat barnacles
(Alternately feeding and fighting With their feet)
bowsprit [bee block]
know your ropes, carried away deep six
It's a thieves cat o nine tales
Captain of chewing the fat
Or combing the cat
I've never seen (one) better
Dunnage topping a tonnage
From that trusty barrage
I'm everything on top and nothing handy
An eye splice on a short rope
Given and giving leeway
Haven't got a clew for true whence such hails from
...
So... She measures faces with her heart and hands
And a camera lens for a few
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
When my height is matched only by my age,the sage told me, 'that I will have found an ecstasy so rare,that no one will ever, have ever been there.
I count the rings as if I am a tree
but ecstasy eludes me, as I knew it would.
I could have counted grains of sand and after,started on the rice or carved upon a cuckoos egg,something very nice,just to let the cuckoo know,that we know why she builds no nest.
I have festered long enough and boiled up in the glare of a staring midday sun,it's time and time has just begun to interest me,
never mind the ecstasy, that will come as surely as the night begets the day,one day my day will arrive in all its splendour.
This is the agenda that I look towards the sky and pray for,
a gender difference in her magnificence and I would bow before this maiden,laden as I am with all these wantings in my head.
I read once in a book,
that all it took was just a look and then we're trapped,wrapped inside her spider web,carried off and eaten in her silken bed,but I would like to try it anyway,come what may my day will run before the settings of another sun and I will taste that which is fun or I will die,
in contempt and contemptuous of my inconsistency,I allude again to my search for ecstasy and is it that my eyes or indeed my body fail me,when she hails me from her sanctuary?
and I see only what I want to see,
something that the sage had been careful not to tell me,
fruitless.
On the tree of evolution, I am just some insects ignorant secretion and as I wait for some predetermined 'who dares wins'completion
I count again the rings.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
The trees smile with their sprout of tender leaves and blooming flowers,
Eternal nature with its transient expression,
Hails spring with joy!
Bewildering shades with so many tinges.
The land of beauty and greatness
Colour of happiness and peace makes people alive to enjoy the spirit.
A celebration of colour
And
An experience of harmony and delight.
Gulal of red, green, yellow and countless colour also explains the colourful meaning of life,
A day filled with laughter and gaiety,
A day to smear our dreams
With a splash of vibrant colours
The festival of colour brings a spring of unbounded fun and frolic!!
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 2:32 PM UTC
Let's take a stroll here in this time,
a stroll through Glory Land;
To paint a masterpiece of old,
by brush in Master's Hand.
The background hails of purest blue,
in Heaven's by and by;
No beauty matches close on earth,
to yonder in the sky.
A pathway marked by shining light,
each soul anticipates;
What grandest beauty He'll unveil,
behind those pearly gates.
They're opened now so step inside,
to see all glory there;
To feel no pain, no hurt at all,
nor shed but one more tear.
The blind will see the lame man walk,
first step on purest gold;
Each one of those who've lost a love
will have them there to hold.
Our Lord and King will shed His Light,
with Him we're soon to stand;
That oh so glorious day,
we'll see our Beulah Land!
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 8:04 AM UTC
Adventure awaits for me
aboard the Ship of Dreams.
Glory and power
love and warmth await
upon shimmering beams.
The boat man hails
as I slip into bed.
All the dreamy crew are in fearful anticipation
they shiver with dread.
For where I go
no one really knows.
For where I go
deep seas and vast canyons await.
Dark green forests,
majestic mountain peaks.
Exciting viking raids,
holding hands with a lover
as we watch the sun
shimmer and fade.
Oh how I cannot wait
to board that Ship of Dreams.
It'll take me to places
that I have never seen.
It will shoot me far up
like a magic carpet,
it will take me to a world
where only I exist
and only I can sail.
All aboard on the Ship of Dreams,
destination unknown.
All board that magical ship.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
I need to learn to
Stand up
Never back down
Even at the sound
Of a bomb hitting the ground
Creating a
Bang
All around
Flashing lights
Chilling sights
Long faces breaking
Falling apart
Electric sparks
Creating dark
Engulfing children
Demolishing schools
Screeching breaks
Of car pools
The green sky hails
A terrible storm
Out of the norm
Radiation scars
The lives it mars
Covering stars
Like a silhouette
Of a giant jet
It grumbles
Mumbles
Roars
And soars
Bellowing smoke
Like brewing a ****
The coughing stops
Bodies flop
To the ground
No sound
And just to think
I could have linked
This all to me
If I just stood up
For once in my days
Then I could have earned
An enormous price
Within this haze
The price of life
For a million people
And for myself
Id feel like an equal
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 10:27 AM UTC
Here hails a huge, long and dragonish snake,
With myriads of dangerous heads on its thorax,
Roaming up and down in a nefarious duty
All over the African streets and hamlets,
Villages and terrains, the abodes of poor folks,
Swallowing daughters and sons of this land,
Swallowing a handful of them on each bite,
They are in a forlorn despair like never before,
Defenselessly succumbing to the dragon once in the grip,
Young and old, prebubescent and all others are cancers’ fodder,
Africa is truly diminishing to the abysmal jaws of cancer,
Forget of initial vices of *** Ebola and leprosy,
Forget of the contemporary terrorism and ethnic warlordism,
Cancer is ruthlessly swallowing poor folks of Africa
Into its inferno of early deaths, rendering many parentless,
A knot for the living to put aside pride and seek genuine help,
For the myriad heads of dragonish cancer violently **** the prey,
I have seen sons and daughters of poor Africa in cancerous agony,
Often with a blocked food pipe when in the grip of throat cancer,
Non-stop vaginal bleeding at mercilessness of cervical cancer,
In the torture of brute pulling weight in grip of scrotal cancer,
On the top of maximum pain in the grip of breast cancer
Humorously desperate before menacing eyes of death,
When misfortunately in the grip of heart cancer,
Deathly starvation condemns many poor folks to grave,
Always when in the unlucky tentacle of intestinal cancer,
In this desperate land of Africa where basic hospital
Stands a luxury, affordable by the rich in the political class,
As the poor without choice die and die and die,
O who will take me out of Africa, this nonchalant Africa?
Before the dragon of cancer condemns me down to its
Inferno of pains and miserably violent death!
I fear death due to punctured lungs without solace,
I fear death due to stunted blood cells without succor
I fear death due to poisoned blood without palliative
When the cancerous heads of ; lung cancer, blood cancer,
And Liver cancer will besiege this land of Africa to hold me a captive.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 5:42 AM UTC
This could be my last sunny sky,
No light through the window dancing on by.
This could be the last day I have to shine,
feel that freedom can all be mine.
This could be my last day outside,
No more cages and bars.
This this could be the last joy tear I cry.
This last day happiness is mine.
This could be the last sunny day,
Cloud cover moon,
Goodbye Mr.Sun,never see you soon.
This could be my last sunny day,
No more freedom,locked in chains.
And when tomorrow comes,
Forever may I still be happy.
Foggy grumpy clouds blocking the sun's veiw.
Everyone needs foggy clouds,stars with no lights.
That's why in this new tomorrow,
I'll charise every single night.
This could be my last sunny day,
Truly now I don't mind,
I'll be placed we with the clouds,
Happy to be alive.
If it rains I shall dance,
If it hails,I catch the hail,
If there's starless skies I'll make them,
Slumber in my mind.
Today could be my last sunny day,
but I truly do not mind.
Might as well close the window early,
say Mr.Sun Goodbye
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC