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"malingers" poems
My African culture Uprooted from my ancestors And pused on from generation to generation My African culture- might seem wied sounds funny or looks like a **** but these carry alot of benedictions My African culture tells the story of were we came from and most probably were we are heading My African culture describes and names itself there is really no need for a heading My African culture the one source of pride and Joy My African culture hard to replace yet easy to enjoy My African culture oh my beautiful culture my soul screams in joy from the energy of my people and from the rythm of the African drum my heart beats movements degin within my feet my inner voice telling me to move in a fleet I dispiss and dislike a person who malingers or derides his culture,such a beautiful thing,such a precious , Special thing My African culture tells the true tells of fallen legends, of great worriors And of most celebrated heros  though it never varies the tall in the telling Now that's my Wonderful African culture
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Sep 26, 2020
Sep 26, 2020 at 6:13 AM UTC
My African culture
She folds her arms inside her robe And decides to go to bed For the tenth time. She closes her eyes and sighs And turns around, But the tricky cooling night slides Through her graying hair - Whistles through. It sings a song to keep her near, Keep her crying. She sits back down on the porch swing, Feet in the air, tiny again. She's afraid, but She knows it isn't going anywhere. She wonders why. A melody from tomorrow breaks the clouds, And she looks to the horizon. The sun is rising; A bird awakes and flies to the power lines. The night is dying. She muses to herself that, in the light, The willows' weeping looks like Content sighing. The grass she cut down yesterday Is still climbing.
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Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
Or It Malingers
Pasay's no conversationalist, unapologetic. "Way sapayan, pastilan" Ravenous snarl of the carrier The refined grit of rusting fulcrum The terse hammer malingers, The pompous talk of carburetor and the flagrant burst of jetwash, i am never grateful for these subsequent cacophonies: a steel orchestra. i could no longer take the metaphysical spar of this hunted dialogue. darkness weds the synagogue of shadow and soon, we will all drown in the rain.
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Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 5:34 AM UTC
Pasay 1733H
My African culture Uprooted from my ancestors And pused on from generation to generation My African culture- might seem Like a taboo , sounds funny or looks like a **** but this carrys alot of benedictions My African culture tells the story of were we came from and most probably were we are heading It describes and names itself so there is really no need for it given a heading My African- culture the one source of pride and Joy hard to replace yet easy to enjoy My African culture oh my beautiful culture my soul screams in joy from the energy of my people and from the rythm of the African drum my heart beats movements degin within my feet my spirit telling me to move in a fleet I dispiss and dislike a person who malingers or derides his culture,such a beautiful thing,such a precious , Special thing My African culture tells the true tells of fallen legends, of great worriors And of most celebrated heros yet it never varies the tall in the telling Now that's my Wonderful African culture
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Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 11:40 AM UTC
My African culture 🥁🥁
I see their silhouettes Melt far into the horizon. Their untimely dance Knows no bounds, No digresses Continuing forward With no pauses. The nymphs have departed And their feet do not hurt Nor do they ever stop. They walk right through me Like the season’s of a year, Like yesterday’s trees That are naked today With a shivering hope For tomorrow’s new embrace. Shadows loom amidst silences Drenched with fever and sweat. Stupefying moments of unbeing Confirm impotency’s pending threat. The nymphs have departed, But their laughter malingers As it creeps through tiny holes And then the ears of some wretched Like me, feigning to sleep, While a bustling pageantry on the street Slithers across from under my feet. It’s almost nine, now I must set my eyes to weep.
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Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 8:50 PM UTC
The nymphs have departed