"herbalist" poems
+27789936586 SOUTH AFRICA TRADITIONAL HEALER email: [email protected] WESTERN CAPE HERBALIST DOCTOR HERBALIST HEALER LOST LOVE SPELL CASTER, TRADITIONAL HEALER-TRADITIONAL DOCTOR-LOST LOVE SPELL CASTER, SOUTH AFRICA SANGOMA TRADITIONAL HEALER-LOST LOVE SPELL +27789936586 WESTERN CAPE PSYCHIC &TRADITIONAL; HEALER LOST LOVE SPELL CASTER , INTERNATIONAL HEALER-LOST LOVE SPELL CASTER, +27789936586 ASTROLOGER& HERBALIST HEALER TRADITIONAL HEALER, TRADITIONAL DOCTOR VOODOO SPELLS ASTROLOGY HERBALIST HEALER, [email protected] +27789936586 WESTERN CAPE TRADITIONAL HEALER-PSYCHIC HERBALIST HEALER SPIRITUAL HEALER {INTERNATIONAL} SPIRITUAL LOST LOVE SPELL CASTER IN JOHANNESBURG, ALEXANDER, LENASIA, MIDRAND, ROODEPOORT, SANDTON, SOWETO, MSHONGO, ALBERTON, GERMISTORN, BENONI, BOKSBURG, BRAKPAN, CLAYVIEW, DAVEYTON, DEVON, DUKUZA, ADENVALLEY, MPUMELELO, ISANDO, KATLEH, EAST LONDON, PORT ELIZABETH, WITBANK, MPUMALANGA, RUSTENBURG, MAFIKENG/DURBAN, AMERICa, Botswana, ghana, namibia, mozambique, uk london
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Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
Eating mushrooms, to her is yet another art
she loves to perfect, in my ear she whispers
with such visible pleasure,"I want to be a connoisseur in this"
Her studio smelled herbs and wild flowers of inner forest,
brought me back to the cardamom and cinnamon garden
I played in my days of boyhood; spices build a bridge for us.
More of a herbalist than a paint smelling artist, she seems,
mounted on the wall on irregular fashion were the mushrooms
she painted with a passion rare, and a precision mirroring life;
the paintings brought her past in to the studio, only trained eyes
would discern the cryptic symbolism, a consummate artist she certainly is!
The woman who smoked cigars in succession and untiringly danced,
she said was her favorite, along the lake front we took a long walk
comparing notes; there were parallels that met, we found soon enough.
"You too knew her so well, I am aware", she said. A room filled with smoke
where we dance, make love, grow tired, fall down and sleep, wasn't it our life?
No one can miss the signature smell of her dense cigar smoke on my dress!"
I loved the smell of cloves she exhaled while eating mushrooms.
though detachment she pretended, eating mushrooms never was that!
I kept looking down at her eyes, a sailor about to sight the land,
any panting moment that rushes with a monsoon song for me and her.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
My bathroom,
the bedroom,
my living room and
the kitchen are all
spying on me daily,
seen my nakedness,
more than enough
to describe every
bit of me,
records my every
moment and daily visits,
day and night.
I'm not ashamed to display
my nakedness even
**** without decorum.
My bathroom mirror is the
first to see the show of
my new dance steps,
and i allowed it to see and
record the secret of my life.
So shamelessly I displayed
my secret acts in my bedroom,
doing all sorts of stuff,
things my mouth cannot
freely talk about.
In there in the closet
of my beloved bedroom
I committed all sorts of
crimes that even you will
be ashamed to watch if
you know what I mean.
In the privacy of my bedroom
no holes barred.
What do I say about my kitchen.
I became an alchemist
and a herbalist taught,
groomed and approve
by my mother.
On the cauldron as
a herbalist I mixed up
all kinds of herbs and spices
and come up with my alchemical concoction to help entertain
my family and friends and also
to feed and condition my body.
My living room now turned
into a theatre where I became
an actor to everyone who cared
to watch me display my prowess.
All these I do in quietness of
my small enclave where
my bathroom and Kitchen,
the bedroom and living room
witnessed and spy on my follies.
Did I tell you about Palomar the parrot and Kelly the German Shepard.
They can tell you my story if you
asked them.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 3:29 PM UTC
Another prophet who got his top knocked off,
this system’s toxic thought we’d found hope but lost it,
Nipsey Hussle shot down outside his clothing store Marathon,
live and die in LA grow up only to get shot down on Slauson in Compton,
and the irony is that he was taken out,
in the same neighborhood he had invested in,
from Proud2Pay to AfroTech Nip was a Community Activist,
in a system of force fed poisons he was medicine,
and maybe that’s why he was martyred,
just like MLK Tupac and Marley,
this is all real life in living color,
life’s not a Game but this is The Documentary,
every word true,
I mean do you,
think it’s just a coincidence,
that Nip was murdered when,
it was announced he was about to come out with a film,
about Dr. Sebi,
the herbalist,
who was also possibly murdered when,
he went public with claims of curing AIDS and other illnesses,
nothing random about this act of violence,
it makes so much sense when you think about it,
nothing senseless in the message,
I mean seriously think about it,
MLK shot on 4/4 at 39,
NIP shot on 3/31 at age 33,
why do the most violent things happen,
to the brothers that preach the most peace,
it all makes sense everything adds up,
but most will probably dismiss this just as another conspiracy,
I mean I guess it doesn’t matter ‘cause nothing will bring Cuz back,
RIP NIP Rest in Peace Nipsey another brother gone to young at 33,
and it’s all so eery it’s creepy,
all the above evidence plus,
“Having enemies is a blessing.”,
was his last tweet,
as the words of his last sound sit in my ears as they ring,
**** I wish my n!gga Fats was here,
how’d you die at 30 somethin’ after bangin’ all them years,
Grammy nominated in the sauna shedding tears,
all this money power fame and I can’t make you reappear.”…
RIP NIP
∆ LaLux ∆
LA 2019
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 7:27 PM UTC
What do you know me as?
Some know me
as a doctor,
some know me
as a pastor,
some know me
as a poet,
an author,
Others know me
as a Naturopath,
Most know me
as a herbalist,
Some others know me
as an alchemist,
some know me
as a mystic,
some know me
as a beloved hierophant,
a high priest,
Some know me
as a metaphysician,
Some know me
as a crisis counselor,
some as a
human rights activist,
some as a martial artist,
some don't even
know me,
I'm different things
to different people.
My life is complex
and dynamic,
and very interesting
with incessant activities
that surrounds it,
debonair and a teetotaler.
But with all the
complicated complexities,
I am profoundly so simple,
amiable and easy to placate,
with a great sense of humor,
purposeful mingled with
a no nonsense attitude.
I know who I am.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
Lydia's mother
opened the door
of the flat
after I had knocked
and gave me
a stern stare
is Lydia coming out?
I asked
she looked hard
at me
where?
to the herbalist
get some sarsaparilla
I said
sarsaparilla?
she said
yes it's good for you
they say
makes blood
I said
she looked
at my scuffed shoes
and blue jeans
and the gun and holster
hanging
from the snake head
elastic belt
around my waist
I suppose she can
her mother said
LYDIA
she bellowed
windows rattled
a dog
across the Square
barked
the milkman's horse
lifted its head
from the nosebag
Lydia came to the door
and poked her head
out from under
her mother's arm
Benedict here
wants to take you
to get a sarsaparilla
Lydia looked at you
her eyes narrowing
then widening
ok
she said
can I go?
she asked
course if I say so
as long
as you are wrapped warmer
than you are now
her mother said
Lydia rushed back inside
and her mother
took a long drag
of a cigarette
her yellowing fingers
in a V shape
what's your father
do for a living?
she asked
the smoke carrying
her words to me
he's a metal worker
I said
he makes things
from metal
she stared at me
a few loose hairs
had escaped
the flowery scarf
about her head
I think
he frequents ******
she said
I see
I said
unsure
what she was saying
she inhaled
on the cigarette again
her eyes
gazing beyond me
keep Lydia out
a fair while
she said
pushing out smoke
I want to rest
my eyes a while
ok
I said
she went indoors
and I waited for Lydia
sniffing in the smoke
hanging about
the doorstep
the dog barked again
the horse ate
from the nosebag
the milkman whistled
a few notes
from some tune
I sniffed the smoke again
hoping Lydia
would be out
wrapped warm soon.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 7:17 AM UTC
You walked with Janice
to Baldwin’s the Herbalist
at the corner of Elephant
and Walworth Road
she wore her blue patterned dress
and red beret
and white socks
and red sandals
and in her small purse
she had money
her gran gave her
to buy sarsaparilla
in a half pint glass
and you
in your cowboy shirt
and jeans and plimsolls
with your holster
and six shooter
in the belt
around your waist
and clutching money
your mother’d given you
for doing a few chores
Gran would never let me
go on my own
Janice said
but when I said
you were going
Gran said all right
but no sweets
they rot your teeth
I like the liquorice sticks
you can buy there
you said
they make your teeth white
or so my mum said
Janice looked at your gun
in the holster
and said
you can protect me
from outlaws with your gun
sure
you replied
she smelt of lavender
and toothpaste from tins
and she moved nearer to you
and her arm touched yours
as you walked along
here we are
she said
and opened the door of Baldwin’s
and you both went in
and went to the counter
and asked the man
for two half pints
of sarsaparilla
and when he poured them
and you each paid him
you stood by the window
with your glasses
and sipped
and looked
at the passing traffic
and people
you feeling like Wyatt Earp
in the saloon
and Janice looking out
as if she feared
outlaws would be coming
pretty soon.
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
Helen climbed
the concrete stairs
to Benny's flat
where his mother answered
and Helen said
is Benny home?
no he's out Helen
his mother said
out where?
Helen said
he went out
with his six-shooter
and cowboy hat
so he's maybe
on a bomb site
try the one
up Meadow Row
he's often there
his mother said
Helen nodded
and said thank you
and walked down the stairs
and across the Square
and down the slope
across Rockingham Street
and up along Meadow Row
she'd not brought
her doll Battered Betty
as her brother
had torn off an arm in play
and it needed mending
when she came
to the greengrocer shop
on Arch Street
she walked along
to view the bomb site
and putting a hand
over her eyebrows
to block out the morning sun
she gazed at the huge bomb site
anxiously(she didn't like
bomb sites alone)
she saw him over
by the railway bridge
firing his six-shooter
at an imaginary enemy
she called out to him
and walked across
the rough ground
of the bomb site
towards him
he stopped firing
and put his six-shooter
away in an holster
with a twirl of fingers
been looking for you
she said
your mum said
you might be here
Benny pushed back
his cowboy hat
to the back of his head
his quiff of hair
standing up
had a gunfight planned here
so had to leave early
he said
gunfight
she said
with who?
she looked around
at invisible enemies
Frank and Jessie James
he said
and their gang of course
she looked in the direction
he pointed and nodded
need any help from me?
she said
looking at Benny
through her thick lens spectacles
no I shot them both
and the gang fled
he said
did you get shot?
she asked
only in the arm
he said
pointing at his left arm
she looked at his 7 year old arm
but didn't see
a wound or blood
but pretended
looks bad
she said
maybe I should put
an handkerchief around it
ok if you like
he said
she fiddled in her skirt pocket
and brought out
a small girl's handkerchief
and tied it around his arm
and tied a knot
is that better?
she said
yes it is
he said
didn't want to bleed to death
no
she said
and they walked off
across the bomb site
let's go to Baldwin's
the herbalist shop
and get some sarsaparilla
to make more blood
he said
and she looked at his arm
and saw imaginary blood all red.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
Daughter of Clifford and Edla
Mother of Josh, sister, too
Of 4 quite different brothers
And good friends, there are a few
I favor holistic healers
Over things that are fake
If I’d been born back in Salem
I’d have been burned at the stake
Animal lover, radio girl
Jazz, rock or blues, I’ll give it a whirl
Aging athlete, my red hair is grayer
I’m now a bike-riding ping-pong player
I’d rather be reading, alone time I need
Sentimental poetess, kindness is my creed
Organic gardener, kayaker, seeker
Herbalist, meditating autism teacher
And now I can no longer
Say I’m middle-aged
I thought by reaching sixty
I’d become a Sage
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
The hunter is beautifully horned, and I admire those roots of nature which are suggestive in their depth beyond mere herbalist remedy.
So, remove your robe amidst this prominent woodland rainfall, where the eerie silence echoes her morbid song throughout battlefield plateaus of fungal extravagance.
The Spirits of the North beckon me with their homecoming allurements, where flickering flames cast their captivating shadows across sacrificial altars where the netherworld respects the night.
Shape analysis may cast light upon those geographical lines where energetic geometry casts her undeniable history.
As owls perch upon the turrets of ancient church steeples, our English history is presently encompassed by a living ignorance, where branches are truly laden with meaning.
If you are acquainted with your neighbour, can you turn your head 180 degrees?
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
Helen's mother said,
to get the shopping first,
then to go see Benny,
so Helen climbed down
the stairs with a handful
of coins, and a shopping list,
and along the street
to the grocer shop,
and waited there
behind Mrs Folkes
who had the look
of grim death
on her features,
and the smell of something,
Helen couldn't decide,
on her old fur coat,
and waiting there
she looked
at the small area
of sweet jars on the shelves,
all sorts of sweets
from fruit gums
to sherbet lemons,
and those Flying Saucer things
she liked to ****
and she sighed because
she didn't have enough money
for even one,
not and get Mum's
shopping too,
and the shop assistant
served Mrs Folkes,
and that meant
Helen was next in-line,
and held the coins tightly,
thinking of meeting Benny
afterwards, and to go
some where, but Benny
didn't say where,
and she thought of him
his hazel eyes,
and brown hair,
and that quiff of hair
in front, and wondered:
where we'll go?
She mused,
last time they went
to Camberwell Green,
and saw shops,
and the hospital
Benny was born,
and before that
they'd been
to the herbalist shop,
and it rained,
and they stood there
watching the rain fall,
and Benny said
about some battle
where it'd rained,
but the place
or name
she couldn't recall.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
We were on the bomb site
off Meadow Row
Helen was re clothing
her doll Battered Betty
I was looking for small stones
for my catapult
over the way
by the coal wharf
coal men were loading up
the trucks
and horse drawn wagons
these clothes
have just about had it
she said
buttoning up
Betty's dress
at the back
Mum said she'd look for more
at the jumble sale
but Dad's not earning
as much at present
as he was off sick
she added
sitting Betty
in an upright position
Helen was wearing
a dull grey dress
and white ankle socks
her thick lens glasses
made her eyes appear
larger than a were
I’ll ask my mother
if she can knit some
she's good at knitting
I said
maybe if I show her
she will know the size
Helen said
I picked up a handful
of small stones
and put them
in my trouser pocket
hope you're not
going to fire them at birds?
she said
no tin cans or bottles
I said
sometimes I stand tins
on top of each other
then shoot them off
one by one if I can
a boy near where I live
shoots birds
with his catapult
she said
I shot at a rat
on our balcony
the other week
I said
missed it
but it took off afterwards
she picked up Betty
and said
where we going?
let's go to the herbalist
and get some sarsaparilla
I said
and a liquorice stick too?
she asked
sure we will
I said
showing her the 1/-
my mother gave me
for doing chores
so we walked off
the bomb site
and across the New Kent Road
and down by
the railway station
towards the herbalist shop
she with her doll
and me with my catapult
sticking out
of my back pocket
and a pocketful
of small stones
she with her brown hair
in plaits
and me with my hair
plastered with Brylcreem
me thinking of seeing
a new cowboy film
she with her own
dolls house dream.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into
ornamental animal via botanical artist
wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist
wrought voila uber prestidigitatiously
head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed
miraculously via Te Deum divine fist ***
ping, whence realistic fauna burst alive
with an explosion of colorful twist and
shout of foliage, where scalloped super
flu us detritus manna for naturalist de
cid Jew us detritus capacious carpet boar
animation punk chew waiting groundswell
Liszt ghost would arise from the grave to pro
deuce magnum opus without a beat missed
such shrubbery mimicking the likeness, sans
glistening fleshy sin yew, and gist about ready
to become bone a fide (green behind the ears)
thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate crafts
man promised to imbue life, liberty and pursuit
of happiness whittling away leavings, thus did
exist the nascent then omnipresent visible entity
emerging from cocoon an herbalist meta morph
hosed from imagination of skilled, practiced and
mentalist conniver viz extracting the initially
obscure blessed beast, where with august magic
wielding tools of this specialty vis a vis bringing
breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest
dexterous chiseling blistering hands baffle on
lookers as coterie of topiary harvest breaths mind
bogglingly astoundingly authentic rooted ready
to frolic in the grass menagerie a gamesome group
of linkedin live progeny, the MichelAngelo of
dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid
ahs hid test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger
green hued key luster.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
My past hunts me
Like an Hunter looking for his first catch
So I sailed to the road that leads to yesterday
To find the pieces that makes who I am
.
The present hunts me
Like the bite from a fretful scorpion
So I sought healing from
The therapeutic herbalist
Whose shrine stands at the end of the
world
.
The future scares me!
Like the smile of a village witch
It gazed back at me and called me
So I sought the gate leads to it
.
Be strong! Father would say,
These are the puzzles I foretold!
No honor lies in giving up!
None dweal in dying!
Fight son, fight!
Balogun David {drunk poet}
© 2017
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
Can I get a witness, is this fictitious conviction a doctored poise of weakness fitness?
Is the thread of this line as thick as timber? is there a bridge to the other side?
Is there a sign assigned to portend the culmination of the potential potent?
I breath and illuminate ancient accents but bodies are absent, these are ghosts that live on through time tracks
Can I get a witness? does this drive fit the description, doctored scripts of truth, can I get an Archangel's prescription?
I saw a lady today, she looked brainwashed and obsequious, so servile - as the norms say - serving the vile lies, entrapped and shackled by half-truths and recipees of dogma and Earth ties
We missed the show, it is shown in slow motion and rewind
We'd be blind as we're encouraged to be kind and forever unwind as the Fourth-Kind keeps humanity behind
It is a web orchestrated by the Serpent and Spider Tribes who lost some light and denied the Right (the Law) and keep us living in this Galactic War-Lore, singing a song so sore with a few doors open to see beyond
Can I get a Witness, who bit the apple of temptation? Where is the Cosmic dentist or Planetary Herbalist? to scatter Grade-A cannibus
The truth doth come with a twist, it will leave your psyche having fits, before you find it you go through ppshit that will have you wish to slit your wrists
Sagacious and enigmatic you return to the world not the same, you have a new name, gold is your blood and light are your eyes for you have looked through the burning All-Seeing Eye but no one believes you because all witnesses die.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into ornamental animal
via botanical artist wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist wrought voila uber
prestidigitatiously head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed miraculously via
Te Deum divine fist bumping, whence realistic fauna burst
alive with an explosion of colorful twist and shout of foliage,
where scalloped superfluous detritus manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious carpet boar animation punk
chew waiting groundswell Liszt ghost would arise from the
grave to produce magnum opus without a beat missed such
shrubbery mimicking likeness sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready to become bone a fide (green be
hind ears) thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty and pursuit of happiness whittling away
leavings, thus did exist the nascent then omnipresent visible
entity emerging from cocoon an herbalist metamorphosed
from the imagination of a skilled, practiced and mentalist
conniver viz extracting the initially obscure blessed beast,
where with august magic wielding tools of this specialty vis
a vis bringing breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest dexterous
chiseling blistering hands baffle onlookers as coterie of
topiary harvest breaths mind bogglingly astoundingly
authentic rooted ready to frolic in grass menagerie,
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny, the Michel
Angelo of dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid ahs hid
test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger green hued key luster.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 1:41 AM UTC
A cutting of thumbs,
thin sliced across the back,
made by Benny's
small penknife
and thumbs pressed
against each to each,
blood mixed then
he dabbed Ingrid's
bleeding thumb until
it ceased and placed
a small plaster over,
then did his own.
She looked at her
plastered thumb.
So we're blood-brother
and blood-sister now?
She said.
According to some
blood oath I read
somewhere we are,
he said.
She seemed pleased
and rubbed her thumb.
He put a plaster over
his thumb and looked at her.
What shall I say
if my dad asks about it?
She said.
Just say you cut it
while cutting an apple
or something ,
Benny said.
She looked uncertain.
He'll know I'm lying,
he always does,
he gawks at me
and says you're lying girl
and wallops me.
He wallops you anyway,
Benny said.
He walloped you
the other day for going
to church, how's that
make sense?
She looked at her thumb.
Her father did.
He smacked her head
the other day for looking
at him when he lost
his door key and said
she'd hidden it.
What now?
Benny said.
Don't know,
she said.
Could go out to
the herbalist shop
and get some
sarsaparilla that helps
make blood,
he said.
She looked at her thumb.
Will it be all right now?
She said.
Sure it'll be fine
after an hour,
your old man
won't even know,
Benny said.
Well? Shall be go
to the herbalist?
He said.
She looked at him,
guess so.
So they walked
from his bedroom
and he said to his mother,
who was doing washing
in a big tub,
we're just going
to the herbalist shop.
She wiped her brow
with the back of her hand.
What have you done
to your thumb?
Cut it by mistake,
he said.
Ingrid hid her thumb
behind her back.
O well be careful,
his mother said.
She looked at Benny
and then Ingrid.
You all right, Ingrid?
Yes, thank you,
Ingrid said,
smiling weakly.
So they walked out
the flat and down
the concrete stairway
and down into the Square.
Can someone marry
someone after
the blood thingy?
She asked as they walked
down the slope
towards Rockingham street.
He frowned.
I guess so,
he said,
gazing up Meadow Row
straight ahead.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
They stood inside
Baldwin's herbalist shop
looking around
at the various jars
and bottles
on the side
and shelves
going up high
Helen looked to see
if Benny's arm
had stopped
its imaginary bleeding
it had
so she removed
her girls' handkerchief
from his arm
it's stopped
she said
stopped bleeding
he looked
at his arm
where Jessie James
had shot him
in the gunfight
on Meadow Row
bomb site
so it has
he said
rubbing at
the pretend wound
how can I help you
youngsters?
the man said
at the counter
gazing at them
can we have
two glasses
of sarsaparilla
please
Helen said
to make some blood
as Benny here
was wounded
by Jessie James
in a gunfight off
Meadow Row
bomb site
or it could have been
Frank James
Benny said
I couldn't be sure
in the shoot out
the man nodded
and smiled
and went and got
two glasses
of sarsaparilla
and brought it to them
Benny paid the man
the coins from
his jeans' pocket
and they stood
by the window
and peered out
as they sipped the drinks
other people came in
and were served
some wanting other things
than sarsaparilla
what are you doing
afterwards?
Helen asked
might go to Jail Park
on the swings
he said
can I come too?
she said
of course
he said
if you want to
they sipped
their drinks
in silence
then she said
Betty's arm's broke
it came out
of the socket thingy
how'd that happen?
Benny said
she looked
at the other people
in the shop
my brother did it
swung Betty around
by her arm
and she hit a wall
and the arm
came out
she said
Benny looked at her
shall I try
to mend it?
he said
no Mum said
she'd do it
or get Dad
to do it
when he
comes home
from work
but she told
my brother off
for breaking
my doll's arm
Helen said seriously
Benny looked at her
standing there
in her thick lens spectacles
and her large eyes
gazing at him
and her white blouse
and red skirt
(slightly stained)
so they drank
their drinks
and left
but the other people
in the shop
talked together
and remained.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 2:34 AM UTC
(a lighter piece sup *** wit tree)
'm, oh yes mud hum,
who hoop fully iz zaftig
and/or mister
Jack Rabbit, whoever wig
gulls or crinkles their nose
creating a lil whirligig
at this bit of flummery unrig
yule lated impossible
to make cogent
and/or tangential with trig
perhaps best red
after taking a swig
of vintage carrot juice with a sprig
of favorite herb, more'n enough
to slake thirsting herd
at the yearly
Peter Rabbit shindig,
which senseless literary rig
ma roll even Bugs Bunny
trump petting donned Taj Mahal
swiftly tailored hare
reed styled periwig,
(would turnip his nose),
button size or overbig,
yet all Joe King aside,
and please do not think me a ****
excepting (Trix are for kids, eh...?)
this intentional faux paw, an
distress signal tis ideally geared
for a Unitarian
herbalist hook can
transform this pro
fessed human imposter,
(who in truth got cursed
as a **** sapien
by Bunny Foo Foo with elan)
particularly in the guise of Han
nub bull the cannibal,
(whose unisexual name Jan)
also doubles up
as my birth month
dwells in Lan
zing, Michigan, and earns
keeps employed as a nan
knee, yet experiences inner pan
dumb moan he yum,
(seized with grippe to dig
in Farmer Brown's garden), and ran
like the dickens
all the way to Tran
sill vane ya leaping
across Atlantic Ocean forced
to adopt the lifestyle of a Van
dull with razor sharp buck teeth.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
My people,
Deprive not your eyes of it's sight
That we see the flames, dancing on our huts
Like a stripper in a club night
For here we are, bleeding without a cut
.
Listen people!
That we may ear the roaring laugter
Of the big boys at our own handed damnation
For the shame is sweet and our tongue compromised
We are pathetic, yet, we call ourselves a nation
.
My people,
The seed we planted, has grown branches
The calamity we dreamt of has stopped by, to say "hello"
Corruption and his brothers seem to have come to stay
The big ones laugter grows more as we fight this flame with fire
.
Sons of a shoemaker,
Walking barefooted in the woods
May Heavens come to our rescue,
For our shadows has come to hunt us
And our herbalist has no clue how to make the concoction to heal our insanity.
.
Balogun David Tolulope
{drunk poet}
©️2017
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
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Jul 18, 2025
Jul 18, 2025 at 11:07 PM UTC
One day I went to the river
where it rolls through the land like a steam engine.
Summer breezes blew through
the open meadows tossing my hair.
I walked barefoot to the water shouldering a backpack,
hands in my pockets.
I took a full breath.
Then another.
I went there each day to connect with the earth.
It was my heaven
and the path was lined
with wildflowers.
There was Lupine, who was purple-petaled and geometrically pleasing, and whose fruit's a legume in the fall.
There was Ceanothus, a shiny-leafed-shrub
with sweet smelling pastel-blue inflorescences.
Then there was the most majestic of all, Yarrow.
Achilea milefolium, to the botanist.
A perennial herb in the sunflower family
that grew nearly everywhere.
Stalky clusters of tiny white flowers
rested atop a firm stem
growing delicate fern-like leaves.
It's floral aroma so fresh it made my mouth salivate.
At the time all I could've said about it was that it was white and smelled nice.
I was no herbalist, but I had an open heart.
My mind knew that there were healing properties of some plants and poison in others.
I was raised here among the rock and snow.
I knew that it was never the same water
but the same river that swirled by.
My skin was used to being bruised,
splintered, or scraped up,
being a recreational explorer.
I stopped carrying a first aid kit everywhere.
I would heal.
It was a usual day.
Gone to the river for a dip.
I swiftly dove off the rock into the turquoise
current.
My frustration and confusion washed away.
I got out with all the usual symptoms of a glacial swim:
heaving lungs, elevated heart rate, shivering, and crystal- clear vision.
But this day an unusual symptom of fresh blood dripped
from my pointer finger.
I looked around in each direction,
I was near a thicket of willow and poplar,
patches of brown grasses, and blossoming yarrow.
Instinct took over. I went for the flower.
I ripped off a leaf and chewed it up, it was bright and bitter.
I spit it out and applied to my cut with pressure.
It didn't sting like rubbing alcohol.
It just stopped the bleeding within seconds.
I let the poultice stay on as long as possible.
This one was a friendly plant.
Yarrow waved at me
"You're welcome, it's time we met."
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 2:15 PM UTC