"hawkers" poems
He filled his week bag
with quick picks from the commissary
cover blades and skull cap
canned goods and half stated pearl
liquor bills and bleeders
for the flight of weary
Into the ****** bunks
of the western front
past sivana and nurture sage
past the pomp and ceremony
out of robes and into jumpers
and casings
and masks of gas
Light infantry and yelling men
muscled and scorned
fly boys high in 3 wing flight
mounted gunners filling the night
in hawkers and packards
and scabbard chape
Tarrant tabers and camels
dodge the vicker gun
skeleton hands grease the mill trap
carnage makers mark the rhineland
(buried in bunkers and pile bags and earth pack)
Trench helmets and metal back
under machine fire
minefields burn in muzzle and coil
deep in the shadows
and shrapnel and spear
the razor wire
and dead cold despair
Slouch hats and burning rats
kerosene lamps and droopers
the soldier stares down
the broken lines and limbs
a ****** holds steady
(shelved at a distance)
on ripped and rolled pipe and beam
It was an all in end game
a grapple for the ages;
*** in the fokker pursuit
over rolling hills and fallen comrades
into the bishop bullet
(and sporadic cheer)
which sealed the deal
in an empty field
off the brae corbie road
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
Behind all of the glamour
Hidden by the glitz
Under all the spray on tans
And distracted by the ****
Lies a Vegas like no other
Not the one you wish to see
The other side of Vegas
Has a cost, it isn't free
A parade of homeless people
Far off strip are daily seen
Heading for a bed and meal
Away from where the grass is green
The locals all accept it
It's a darker part of town
Where there's fewer painted smiles
On this Las Vegas clown
Every other building
Is boarded up or framed
In steel bar covered windows
With no winners at the game
The goal of all the walkers
Is to get to the next day
They can't afford to leave here
They can't afford to stay
Each walkway full of hawkers
Selling water for a buck
Passed out drunks all sleeping
Hoping you will toss a buck
Some saints and many sinners
Came to find the life they lead
Is not the one they looked for
When they came here to fill their greed
Don't look behind the curtain
You will not like what you will find
The darker side of Vegas
Is not one that's in your mind
A parade of desperate people
Walk the streets each night alone
Past the empty buildings
Pass the bail bonds, guns and loans
To truly see Las Vegas
You have to venture off the strip
Into a world of darkness
And in truth, it's a short trip
Behind the glitz and glamour
Away from where the tourists go
Is the dark side of Las Vegas
That only few will ever know
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
I look up from my book
to find beams of warm sunlight
touching my face,
the chugging of the train
accompanied by its whistling,
become my aural companions
for the journey,
as I look at scenes that
unfold before my eyes :
I pass by hawkers
trying to sell their wares,
their calls mingled with
joyous voices,
of children
excited about their
first train journey,
of families
on their way,
perhaps, to attend a wedding,
or to celebrate the birth
of a much awaited child.
I see :
village belles toiling away
on fields;
shabby looking buildings
speaking of years of neglect;
temples ringing with the sounds of
bhajans being sung with religious fervour,
bells being tolled, pleading
the gods to look down
from their divine abodes;
roadside stalls filling the air
with aromas of food,
promising hearty meals.
They are all ephemeral sights, and yet,
they have become a part of me -
the smells, the sights -
they shall bring back memories
that will become my companions
in solitude.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
The bus rumbles on,
it is an over crowded one -
not an unusual sight -
she stands in the space
reserved for women,
there's hardly any room
to breathe.
The broadcaster on radio
shows off her gift of the gab,
a popular film song follows;
a gush of wind
through the window
brings along smoke, dust
and other such components
of 'city-air'.
She looks out to see
impressive malls,
entrances to which, witness
beggars pursuing well dressed gentry,
in the hope of a penny or two;
billboards advertise
latest discount offers
appealing to her consumerist instincts;
constant honking of vehicles,
music blaring from an auto nearby -
these are common sounds
she is accustomed to.
The bus halts with a jolt,
she steps down,
tries to make her way,
through the crowd
avoiding hawkers lunging at her
from every side,
eager to make sales;
the smell of
pakodas fills the air,
autos carrying seven or eight passengers
limp away, surreptitiously,
at the sight of khaki clad men.
Out of the blue,
an elbow knocks into her chest,
she turns to look at the lout -
lecherous eyes mock at her impotent fury -
she mouths standard abuses,
walks away as if unruffled.
For this was not the first instance,
"Won't be the last either.",
she thinks at the back of her mind,
her heart chooses not to agree though.
She moves on,
pushing, shoving, cursing
her way through
'Battleground India'.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
It’s evening
The hawkers at the station are loud
One is selling lottery tickets
The girl in her old dress, and new earrings caresses her earrings to feel their weight in her hands
She looks at the lottery tickets and wonders why people believe in them
A local comes along with a wave of people
She stands upright and surfs the wave to stay
She knows this isn’t the local she is waiting for
She tells the boy she is with that she had a great time
And he thanks her for a wonderful evening.
He looks at her face one more time, not quite ready to say goodbye yet
He looks at the clock at the station. It’s precisely 8:06 PM
The local will come at 8:08 PM.
He is hoping it’ll be late today.
He needs those extra seconds to prepare himself.
Certain goodbyes in life are harder than you thought they would be.
He looks straight into the eyes of the girl
And sees his reflection in her eyes
Scared of what he sees, he looks away
The girl adornes her new earrings again
She looks at the clock
The old rusty clock still shows 8:06 PM
Time had slowed down for her.
She feels the platform shaking
She fears it is the local approaching earlier?
She hugs him without a seconds delay
Surprised, the boy blushes. And continues the embrace
He whispers to her and tells her, that her earrings are pretty
She smiles
Perhaps this is the best way to say good bye.
The clock is now at 8:08PM and the local is not there yet
They both smile at each other, then look at the clock.
The boy can see the local approaching. He hugs her tighter once again.
And makes sure she doesn’t see the approaching train
She slowly slides out of his arms like sand from a man’s fist. He tries holding her firmer, but in vain
They both smile at each other and say an awkward bye.
She boards the local and tries to find a seat.
He waits patiently at the platform waiting for her to look out once more
The local is about to move and his heart is beating faster than the engine
He can feel her sight on him and looks her way.
She has a crooked smile with which she waves at him.
He waits at the station till the local moves.
He walks a bit with the local and then stops next to the hawker.
He waves at her one more time and watches as the train goes.
He looks at the hawker and wonders why people believe in lotteries.His phone buzzes in his pocket.
He has a big grin, he won the lottery after all
He walks out of the station with a jump in his step as he pats the Bandra station board.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
We ambled the streets of Harare
Meandering aimlessly
Fleeting past wide-eyes scanning us enviously
Hand in hand we walked into the restaurant
Leisurely on Second Street
Our hunger awakened
Our appetites heightened
At almost closing time
With no one in overtime mode
A signal that here we could only dine on another day
Joina City was our next stop
Up the lift right to the top
'Closed' it read at the coffee shop
Into the nearest chair I went flop!
Though hungry, we gabbed non-stop
By and by we regarded the clock
It chimed 8 o'clock
And sadly, it was time to go home
Busy and noisy
Were the streets of Harare
Jabbering crowds, kombis hooting
Hawkers, vendors or is it hustlers now -
Calling for buyers or just huddled to pass time
No chill in Harare
Picturesque like a dream
Surreal…
Hand in hand we dawdled
In despair for a hot meal
In the shimmering distance
Like a mirage in the desert
The neon lights read
'Creamy Inn'
Something to calm our rambling bellies
At last…
Nippy evening air hit our souls
'Ice-cream tastes better at night'
I said
'I can't believe I'm having ice-cream'
He said
We frolicked
Hand in hand we danced past faces painted with adoration
'What a handsome lover!'
They probably thought:
My delectable younger brother
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
I miss the Norwesters
I miss the heavy rains
I miss hurrying to catch a bus
Completely drenched
Oh Kolkata!
Without you I am
Like a fish out of water
I miss the olden buildings
I miss the bustling streets
I miss riding the tramway
With a song playing on repeat
Oh Kolkata!
Without you I am
But a fish out of water
I miss the winter sunsets
I miss evenings by the lake
I miss Maharaja's kachoris
And jalebis on a steel plate
Oh Kolkata!
Without you I am
Just a fish out of water
I miss the yellow taxis
I miss the hawkers' stalls
I miss the political graffiti
Adorning the walls
Oh Kolkata!
Without you I am
Still a fish out of water
Now I'm so far
But yet so near
My heart can't shelter
These hopes and fears
Rejection, reduction
I feel choked once again
Within your walls of nostalgia
Maybe I'll be safe
Oh Kolkata!
Show me a way
To return to the water
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 7:19 AM UTC
A huge crowd thronged the temple premises
Its vicinity, already bursting in color
With people in hundreds streaming in
The young and the old clad in festal attire
With fire in their hearts n' festive sheen in their eyes
Not driven by piety, mostly to enjoy the fanfare
Festoons decorated trees that lined the compound
Colorful lamps blinked everywhere
Sacred bells, chiming intermittent
At the auspicious hour, as devotional songs rent the air
The chief deity was brought out of the shrine
And was placed on the caparisoned elephant
Accompanied by pulsating percussion ensemble
The devotees cheered witnessing the majestic entourage
Within them the fervid spring of joy swelled
Colorful umbrellas were unfurled
Drawing synchronized patterns in the air
Under the glare and noise, the heat and sweat
Amid the tumultuous beat of trumpets
And the rhythmic sounding of cymbals
The crowd swayed in psychedelic lassitude
An army of hawkers had already set up shops
Each made it a time to earn some bucks
Selling knickknacks and goodies to tempt children
From ice creams to popcorn and colorful balloons
Children ran around licking cotton candies
Some enjoyed blowing up soap bubbles
And iridescent orbs landing softly on their hair and dress
With dusk fall, the ceremonious fire work began
The crowd stood aghast at the pyrotechnic display
Scintillating colors and confetti of sparks painted the sky
Shooting spears rose high and fluorescent rainbow colors
Came dancing down, fire wheels swiveled on the ground
Deadening roar of crackers and thunderous blast of *****
Tore the sky announcing the sleepy world;
‘It was once again festival time for the people to rejoice
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
I arrive in Lima
The sweat-sogged poverty
lumped onto concrete
pushes at my heels
The tight black air
swallows the nakedness
of prostitutes and thieves
Pockets empty like a traveler’s stomach
growling beneath the world of Los Incas
In Cusco
My head throbs in the thin air
with the sound of boys
trying to shine my boots, my sandals
my bare feet
no problemo
women sell fresh papaya and guava
sweaters and trinkets
Hawkers surround me
like a tightly stitched T-shirt
Cusco
The Navel of the Earth
A bulging belly
throbbing
digesting
living
Sunset
I spread my toes
over the evaporated flood waters
of the Rio Urubamba
where it once flowed
from the fingers of Manco Inca
over the fleeing conquistadors
at the top of Ollantaytambo
Momentary brilliance
before you retreated to the jungle
Spain, always gnawing at your heels
It’s a mouth-full-of-coca-leave’s journey
to Macchu Picchu
I enter the dream
spitting wet leaves
on the silence of a dead kingdom
Gasping for air that once filled lungs
of Inca messengers
carrying news of defeat and conquest
over the great Andes
Los Incas Caminos
The cloud-dripped mountains
spread green across my eyes
I see ghosts
a steady move of feet through the depleted air
Porter, takes my backpack
carries it against his brown crusty skin
ancient, sun-baked descendant
of the Earth’s naval
A toothless, painless smile
It must have been different
before we came
with money the color of unpicked rice
Now I hear your belly-groan
Between the perfectly fitted stones
of Sacsayhuaman
My voice bounces circular
off invisible walls
because your magic has survived you
Macchu Picchu
Unknown and majestic
Hidden from blood
from the stink of vultures
No more
Black raven feather
drops on my skull
floats on the shiny gray stone
under my feet
which are wrapped in dried, brown skin
naked, without a heartbeat
It’s past sunrise
the tourist bus has arrived
and the flat shadow of the crowd
blocks the light of the ascending sun
that tries to penetrate
the perfect holes
of a perfect wall
in an imperfect dream
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
A foul wind blows off the wastes
Across a border set in stone
A land caught in winter's embrace
A fortress stands,
Stark and steadfast against the dark
Walls that have broken sword and tooth
Helmeted sentries
Alert and ready upon the ramparts
Never knowing peace
Wed only to death
Within the walls, life goes on
The chatter of townsfolk,
Hawkers shouting their wares,
The stomp of armoured feet
Marching to the city's heart
The keep
The citadel at the heart
Firm and steadfast
Held by men of valour,
Peace favour their swords.
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 9:33 PM UTC
Times Square was once a ****** place;
You wouldn’t go alone there.
When darkness fell, you held on or
You’d lose all that you owned there.
Today, though, it’s like Disney World,
With tourists, loud and surging.
There’s not an inch of space unfilled
Since everyone’s converging:
The families from Idaho,
The hawkers giving passes,
The Elmos and the messengers,
The bused-in high school classes…
The lunch-break workers, homeless dudes,
The theater geeks and shoppers,
The food carts, cabbies and the cops
And all the teenyboppers.
I love New York; don’t get me wrong
But oftentimes I wonder
If gentrifying Broadway
Might have been a whopping blunder.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 5:59 PM UTC
People wobbling in the heat haze like a real time hall of mirrors
Street performers sing & flamenco & mime
The snap of digital cameras & excited chatter outside the cathedral
Sangria cold & fruity as it slides down easily
The tram glides past the beggars & hawkers
Gypsies’ curses in coarse andalucian as rosemary favours are repelled
Excited Asians watching every move Large Americans loudly exclaiming their delight as the light fades into dusk
Now the Feria comes alive all lights & ferris wheels & music so much music
Men on horseback women ride sidesaddle all in traditional dress
A throwback to a time before bailouts & austerity
Sing & Dance & Eat & laugh & joke
As dusk becomes evening the ottoman turrets light up
The cooler night air seems to remove inhibitions as people from different worlds celebrate humanity with cheers & smiles
Muchos Gracias & Bueno & Buena Noches in various accents fill the night as the spell is broken
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
The streets were paved with hawkers
Flamboyant sunshades
two dollar sunglasses discounted from
twenty thousand pesos.
I couldn’t walk past the conversation of skytowers
Underwear hanging precariously
Off high ledges where it was hard to read
The designer labels
A man with a small monkey
Was reading fortunes
With an ape like face
He certainly saw the future!
A delicious woman with pushed up
***** beckoned me away from boredom
I walked into a valley of sinister looks
For looking away.
At night the sky shed its diamonds
On the sidewalks of ecstasy
And the digital signage
torched the front of buildings
With blue and red flames bursting
Invitations to your wallet
I carried a six pack Lion
Home to watch the night sky
Dance till dawn with necklaces
Of neon.
Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 7 days ago
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
Melancholy is the man who cannot sort the wheat from spam
and drowns in undiluted dross,
while others toss the waste away that keeps them from a fruitful day.
Fill my in tray with this harvest ,let me reap what I sow and not what others would throw at me,
and knock on wood
that what is sent is all good,
no deletions to e-mails,no begging letters or sad tales,no hawkers to sell me the things that they tell me I need,
let my line feed be clear
as I sit here and wait for the logic gate to crush me as the messages push past me,
I want to be free of those details of the plight of **** backed whales and the starving in China
or the food that's on offer in the shopping mall diner,the cruising of liners over sharp salted seas and how to say please in Kampala,Uganda.
Pander to the worst of them and let sleeping men lie,but the spam stacks on up and I don't wonder why,it just does and it will until I disengage from this wonder of the age and go back to
the abacus
where beads are all I need
no spam
no feed
no green screen to lead me on
just me.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
"Buy a Star!
Own a Star!"
The sales are brisk,
For cross-eyed lovers,
Cross-hearted, lost,
Beneath the spinning constellations
Burning immortal exhalations,
Desiring forever oxytoxic bliss,
Burning ******* and hearts
Yearn longevity of stars....
PT Barnum saw his opportunity:
Sold cotton candy,
Hawked elephants,
Gawked dwarves,
Hid the razors from
Fierce bearded ladies,
Even sold the elephants' dung,
Provender to exotic gardens....
Barnum's packing up
The Pachyderms,
So Hawkers have us
Gazing on the stars....
"Step right up! See the stars!"
Purchase your fire in the sky!
Your lover's name,
Fixed in the firmament
A million years!
At least the cotton candy
And the elephant dung
Served some earthy, earthly good,
Paid dentists' children's college,
Fertilized the family food.
So now go claim a distant star,
A million, billion miles away,
Its light must make its journey
A thousand years or more
To greet your eyes, and yet,
Your lover's sighs predict
A hundred dollars' better spent
Than on a good Chablis,
Cementing mortal love in
Distant stars so permanent,
Visited through telescopic glass
Atop our rented tenements.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC
ted bundy traps the people of hawker, last night by cutting their power in a half hour blackout
and the hawker residents are either walking around with torches or simply struggling, and ted
bundy is enjoying this a lot, you see he really wanted to silence the mood of brian allan’s vivid imagination
but brian believes in the cosmos and he is sending cronus up there to work on returning hawkers power
and silence the cosmic criminal ted bundy forever and ever, but ted bundy wanted to silence brian, as his mind
as his mind is trying to avoid the teasing of the past, like, today, ted bunny was trying to get a kid to smile at brian,
saying, your like us now man, because you have an imagination and brian said, bundy, i want you to free us hawker
residents, by returning their power or i will get a keg of methane and pour it right through your head, and then cronus
said, i have kidnapped cronus away from his boy, ya know, your theory of mens kids watch the sport and youtubes
better than foxtel, ya see you will suffer brian allan and suffer forever and ever and ever with the other hawker residents
and you will miss your precious baseball match on television, and brian forced cronus to please give hawker back their power,
please give back our power, cronus worked harder and harder to get hawkers power back, but ted bunny’s power won’t budge
and ted bundy is laughing from up in mars saying foolish hawker earthlings, i have put a dark side into each one of their houses
they are tripping over each other, cool as, meanwhile cronus is trying and trying to get hawkers power back, saying please come back,
please come back, while ted bundy said, no i don’t want it to come back, hawker will be in the dark forever, the foolish earthlings they are
they are trapped in my wing, then cronus noticed some damp ***** rocks which was from the river and unknown to cronus, ted bundy
set these wild waters free to knock the electricity pole over and cause rain thunder and lightning, and cronus put 2 and 2 together
and cronus has discovered what ted bunny has been doing to cause cyclones and lightning causing blackouts in hawker, and cronus
worked and worked to restore the power back, by putting his foot in the muddy mars hollow and sliding down it, and when he arrived
at the base, cronus put a rock in the thunder break, and ding **** the power is back on, but ted bunny ran away, saying ha ha ha ha
i am causing problems for cronus and earthlings, and this will happen and happen again, so try and listen to climate change and
keep a torch handy, because ted bundy isn’t the only evil we have up here, causing havoc like this
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
A raptor makes a good living in this community ...
Hiding in the Sun's glare , carefree , riding the Spring air ..
Diving into unknown brush and circumstances for their next meal , or laden with one of my chickens flying across the cornfield !
Waiting at the tip of the tallest Pine for a hen with a lot on her mind !
Eyeing my prize gobblers like easy pickins', turkey jerky waiting to be plucked like ducks in a barrel ..
The Red tails die young over my homestead , not from old age or gunfire nor trap or 'guaranteed brew' from a hawkers brown bottle !
The Red'uns on this farm die from obesity wearing out my layers like there's no tomorrow !
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
I’m from sunshine and bird call mornings
cat stretching on flannel sheets
tasting the sun with my skin
welcoming the dewy grass
and the wet bricks
and the fresh air
I’m from cloudy skies and redwood trees
alarm clock wake up calls
frozen morning breath
sunshine on squiggles
and beach views
and forest adventures
I’m from wanderlust and airplanes
opening my eyes to a new place everyday
from the unknown to the awesome
taking in all that I can
I’m from rain forests
waking up to sticky-sweet-hot air and mosquito netting
enjoying the symphony of birds and bugs
and the lights of the fireflies at night
welcoming the abundance of colors
and the wondrous creatures
and the tall tall trees
I’m from fast cities
waking up to car horns and street hawkers
starting the day with street sounds and street smells
coexisting with the rest of the beating heart that is a big city
navigating the veins of streets
with their loads of cars
living in tiny rooms
and big buildings
I’m from deserts
motionless morning air and sunburns and tans
with their glorious sand dunes
and their hot sunny days
their honeycomb color
and their unbelievable sunsets
I am from here
I am from this world
from this glorious green and blue orb
I wake up everyday
to any number of things
not knowing what I will find
and always ready for that adventure
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 10:09 AM UTC
May you let me READ ALOUD to your soul.
Trust me
So we can find love
And share the mirror
I see through
For it is never a hawkers game
But,
A key to the many that
Let's us be one for eternity
For a white lie
Isn't strong enough
To win a game of poker against it
Where's your mind
When beauty is your agenda
Or was the cover of the book too
great to read on the suspense
That now laughs aloud in your conscious
At you.
READ ALOUD may I continue
Or is this such
Of the many tales
You read as a child
That let life blind you
With all its folds.
If so let me correct you
As I now
READ ALOUD mine to you.
With the simplest of words
That I would like to read a book
Of many genres
I will love and
Forever think of for eternity (life at death)
And write one back that you will too
Kicking fiction off the shelves
With a bestseller
Which we will read to the joy of our hearts
and one day we shall tell the story
Beyond us and this bubble of a wall.
As it will be in the best of cursive
Furthermore a script
That makes fantasy
Think twice before writing itself.
And end with THE END.
Truly.
©Hansmind, 2015.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
The poor men will rise with the searchlight of God streaming out from their eyes and the sinner shall have this day.
On the *** of the city where the fat cats and pretty boys walk,,where the talk is of bonds and debentures,diamonds in dentures and pearl driven breath,
there,
where the air lingers sad and the crazy man had all the luck he would get,and
standing tight on the floor calling more,give me more as if enough was not a feast,was
Jimmy Malone at home in the square mile and though crooked his smile he was as straight as a die,
he'd say, 'good morning my dear' with a grin or a leer and you knew you'd be faked out or taken down in the trading,but he was honest enough among the shylocks and tough boys who used to be hawkers down in the markets until Thatcher (the plot hatcher) showed them the yellow brick clique down in Threadneedle street,but
now they're just wide boys with big gobs,the new gentlemen fat slobs,pinstriped fat **** wipes who ain't got no time for their roots,all bar Jimmy Malone,
who calls mum and dad twice weekly at home and sends a cheque through the post to the boys club in Sligo where the young lads still go to learn how to live.
This is give and take city where nothing's given freely not even pity,where you're charged for your time by the dollar or the dime and the rich will stitch you sideways which only proves that crime does pay.
It's the sinners who win in the end,
while we're chasing geese they're fleecing us blind,I don't mind that's just life,sometimes I wish I was living it and
not shoveling ****
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
In my search for the serene quietude of dawn
To warm with embers the cold rivers of my soul
I have forsaken your dark shores
Rising and gliding above the hills and mountains
In the swiftest speed I roared
But a giant realization had snatched me
From the mountainous caverns of solitude
Indeed as I have always known, it is
Inside the warmth of your animated splendor
With impassioned ears, I listened to
The sweet cacophonies of jeepneys roaring
In your busy streets, and the hawkers hawking
Along the sidewalks and sidestreets of life
Hustling under the red skies of your twilight
I am alive, and you are alive
Amidst the death that pervades the air
And the disquiet of the surrounding chaos
Like a dark ominous fog that rises into the stars
Destroying the holiness of dreams
Life, life, life! I screamed into the depths of your bay
Hoping to dredge from the red waters, the long gone
Where tattered dreams where made anew
Woven from the silken threads of sleep
Birthed by the once glorious rising of the sun
We are alive, we want you alive
And with our heft, we will raise our fists
We will break the locked doors of heaven
To drag out the kings to hell
And sentence them to the nothingness
We will dance, like the galaxies
Hammering and pounding the ground
Shattering the yokes of cerebral slumber
To ignite the furnaces of life
And start anew a fire that would burn
To bring the light through the everlasting dark!
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC
Ancient are the wrinkled lines embedded deeply on the face
As ancient as the sands of time adrift across the shadowed dunes,
As ancient as a deep abyss which spirals sand to windblown grace
A hidden place of time eternals' grace where texture looms.
Those looms of fibre, richly hued, in textures from forgotten time
Where hawkers clad in dusty robes in alleys shrilly called their trade
Of fabrics woven, coarse and tight, in sepia’s arresting rhyme,
To angled shards of golden light spearing evening’s satin shade.
As lantern light of haloed glow throws comfort small to dying day,
While nearby camels amble by, aloof to all but masters call,
Now chewing cuds of nonchalance, oblivious, which is their way,
Shadows grow to velvet night where diamond starlight distils all.
Ancient are the wrinkled lines embed deeply on this face
Of time eternal’s passage here imbued with passing ageless grace.
M.
17 April 2016
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
Here by night,
the sky shines in ghostly ways-
gray veils slither high,
cover up the city
seize every street corner.
Among the chants and shouts,
scattered hawkers and thievish plays,
Raval pleads for another day.
Its veins at some flat time
sputter one after another,
the Drab
tightly dragging their belongings,
or a brown cigarette
they eternally cherish.
-
Fence shudders from the court
awake sunken couples-
Head slightly tilted to the left-
through curtains of smoke,
she makes him laugh, lights another cigarette.
Her bronze skin glistens
in the dark sun
taunting from the window.
©2015 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
My feet move me
Like a sailor determining the
Fate of a ship
Kilometers I move, away from my hut's threshold
Where I battle in thoughtless thoghts
.
Solid thoughts,
Roaming on my mind like hawkers
On the streets of Lagos
I felt the tears of the cloud
Drenching me with knowledge on
My only piece of "ankara"
.
Where would fate lead me?
For I fear it's forces may blow me into
The forest of unfulfilled dreams
Will I end up like my fathers?
Who had many wives with shorten lives
Ha! I need the compass of life
.
Let me excrete myself on the platform
Of golds not of the gods
Not reality in an invidious thoughts
Yes, I decide my fate!
Not the gods, reality or some stupid thoughts!
.
Balogun David Tolulope
Drunk poet*©️2017
IG=ace_da_drunk_poet
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
The beaming sunlight touches upon a face
Staring at the life passing by without hope or whim
The mundane life seems set for him
His wares lie neglected and dejected
The religious fervour around the temples
The murmurs of the hurried man reach his ears and meant nothing
The waft of aromatic food meant nothing to him
Yet they were once part of his memory
When the beads of perspiration meant
The sale of the day and how the journey ended in happiness
But the colours in his basket remain only the rainbow in his memories
Rueful and ephemeral, he basks in melancholic certainty
The streets are paved with strange humans
Using phone like toys attached to their eyes
Like a child who wanted the most delicious candy
And couldn’t let it go out of sight
The hustle and bustle tire him out
Maybe the world needed his removal
But his dream still takes him into the
Bylanes where hope and a smile shone
And delved into nothingness
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC