"maneuvered" poems
Who would have thought of a magical toy bus?
Some would say that would be a plus
Others might say it is not a must
It wasn’t a Greyhound nor Trailways bus
It was a plan ordinary highway bus with no name
So little Thomas would often dream that he saw a magical toy bus in the stars
Well the distance sounds very far
Little Thomas would always run and tell his parents
But there seemed to be no interest and certainly no love
So the magical toy bus came up with his own campaign called “The Love Bus on the Run”
That is a chore, but might be fun
The magical toy bus was determined to bring a family together combined with love
So the magical toy bus maneuvered all around the house with cards having love sayings such as “Together being forever” and “Love needing an extending chance”
It was those very words the magical toy bus wanted to express in getting through to Little Thomas family
The magical toy bus wasn’t built to just sit back, but get involved
You could the creation to resolve
Somehow Little Thomas family found love again and it was all because of a magical toy bus
However, sometime mythical happened, the plain magical toy bus now had a model name being the “Renaissance” followed by a company called “Motivated Love Bus Company”
This was a gift from the Heavenly stars themselves
The magical toy bus became love to Little Thomas’s heart
But he knew that from the very start
This had to be shown his parents making a mark
In fact, Little Thomas held it ever so close to his heart, and slept with the toy bus every night
So the moral to the story is according to the magical toy bus is more than something to play with having wheels
Yet love being a life time
The magical toy bus brought love to share and closeness to one’s heart.
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
A pale homemade dress hung to dry in the blazing sun;
It's original color not quite clear but presumably purple.
That stain that never faded, a spot of innocence...
I closed my eyes and remembered the night she wore it,
Childlike with that smile of hers.
He threw promises of love and eternal bliss;
She believed his words and followed him to the train-yard.
An invisible moon hovered over them as they entered
An old rusted cart, abandoned for years and years.
He didn't bother taking her dress off,
She couldn't wait to feel loved.
Right there beneath a dark sky, a man stole a girl's innocence.
But how can love find it's way through the Cairo Slums?
Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks;
They bleed.
A grayish sleeveless undershirt hung to dry in the blazing sun,
It's original color not quite clear but presumably white.
That rip that was never mended, a tear of hope...
I closed my eyes and remembered that morning he wore it,
As he maneuvered through downtown traffic
Trying to make easy money, as ordered by his jobless father.
A child of seven or eight running around with beads of
Sweat rolling down his tiny face.
Mr. Policeman grabbed him by his shirt, slapped him around,
Beat him to the ground for approaching Mrs. Businesswoman in
Her air-conditioned car.
But how can this child find hope for the future in the Cairo Slums?
Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks;
They bleed.
Let me take you down to the Cairo Slums,
Where people are animals in their nests
Of carton-paper, waiting for the big bad wolf,
To huff and to puff and to blow their lives away.
But soon you'll realize that evil's not born but raised,
That hate is brewed, and money is everything.
Let us disregard this urban jungle under a glass jar,
Let us use them for advertising or marketing our products,
Products they could never afford.
O' what irony, what strife.
The girl and the child never had a chance,
but they deserve one.
They bleed.
They bleed.
So without further a adieu,
Welcome to the Cairo Slums.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 12:21 PM UTC
Humanity is a knot
And humans are the strings
We are connected by our actions
Until we choose to disconnect
By plucking our own individual strings
And start unraveling ourselves from the knot
Once enough strings are removed
The knot is untied
As we've lost connection
Strings are now subject to the wind
And begin to wither without the knot
And without the strings
The knot is nothing
What brings the knot back
Is war
Fueled by famine
We tangle each other in terror
Where the strings must be maneuvered with precision
So we may form a knot
The shroud of strings blinds itself
As war wraps us in calamity
But after all the wars we've fought
Is this the connection we've got?
Humanity is a knot
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 7:03 AM UTC
*******
hoes,
crazy,
*****
Catch me on a friday night,
and I might
say them all.
But what I say
and what I feel
is a different
thing.
Because *******
hoes,
womps,
don't have vocabularies
like boulders.
They can't destroy.
And with a new mindset,
I can say
a few things.
A ***** is a girl
without hope.
A ***
is a girl
that likes ****
and doesn't
like
love.
A crazy one
is a girl that gets by.
A ****
is a girl
that doesn't know the difference
between the three
and operates
on a thin line;
because *******
have treated her like ****
and no new ******
can make her think
any different.
But a girl,
alas
a
girl.
A girl
is full of love
and platitudes.
A girl
has her hands
on your heart
all the time.
She has a vocabulary
and says **** a Webster's
because she's got a new dictionary
that didn't even exist
before she let it out her mouth.
A girl
makes you re-define
the word
love,
with all its
futile resentment
and
disenchantment,
because she'll keep you coming
back
for more,
even as she says
"no,
you're talking crazy,
you gotta
go."
So trust me when I say this,
I could **** with a girl's head before,
but this girl
she's maneuvered me into thinking
about how ****** up
I
really
am.
And that's as smart
as
I've
ever
been.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 11:29 AM UTC
It’s a holiday weekend, all of the ‘fellows’ have Monday off.
At lunch Wednesday, Lisa said, “We need a throw-down.”
So, we made some invites and started spreading word around.
“You know, we all work hard enough, we need to get down!”
We asked for RSVPs, and got 43, for the effort, a decent payoff.
My sister’s apartment has a balcony and plenty of space.
We spent Saturday shopping and rearranging the place.
Early Sunday, we hid all the breakables and decorated,
As people settled in, things took off - as we’d anticipated.
I was surprised when I saw Quinn come in
I quietly turned to Lisa, mouthing, “Who invited him?”
The blush on her face, gave her instantly away,
“We couldn’t NOT invite him, we see him every day.”
More people were arriving, laughing and smiling, the party was thriving.
Everyone seemed to bring something, a bottle of Canadian goose,
a bucket of KFC, another of Popeyes, some glowing aurora jungle juice,
taco dip and chips, a Boston Creme pie and a cake with purple icing.
When you feel right, you let the music ignite you,
the beat seems to drive you, the vibe helps excite you,
the bass starts to thump and, well, you’re only young once,
you forget all your cares, for a delirium that’s shared.
In this ocean of joy, I saw a sad and reserved boy.
It was Quinn, in the corner, slouching on the couch.
a model of insecurity, watching the party self consciously,
I looked at Lisa, rolled my eyes, and said, “Why ME?”
I maneuvered over and took Quinn gently by the shoulders,
“Come ON, Quinn, you’re among friends, so embrace the funk,
these GIRLS wanna dance, give ‘em a chance, you’re not a monk!”
I pulled him to his feet, and dragged him over to Monique.
“Quinn, Monique - Monique, Quinn - let the dancing begin!”
By the end of the night Quinn was doing all right.
He has a quirky, awkward style, reconciled by a nice smile,
he’d danced with every girl, leaving them a little beguiled.
“Do it Quin, DO IT!” A girl, at one point, had laughed.
“Oh,” he’d said, gyrating in his herky-jerkily away, “It’s being DONE!”
Who could have known our stuffy, Harvard Quinn could be fun?!
Jun 19, 2023
Jun 19, 2023 at 9:02 PM UTC
John and Eric
had gone to New Orleans
to get drunk,
so when they saw the girl
hanging over the railing
of the balcony
pulling her shirt
up and down
up and down,
they hurled beads at her
aiming for the top of her head
so that they'd
circle the drain of her neck
in a circling, shimmering starlet
down
her shoulders.
"Come down here," John yelled.
The girl pulled down her halter-top
one more time,
exposing two
globes of bouncing flesh.
Thinking he had said,
"Pull them down."
It was so loud and everyone was whistling
and there wasn't just a single color of light;
the aura from the club
was a nebula of parti-colored flashing.
later that night
she did come down.
She bumped in between John and Eric
as they navigated her through the crowd
trying their hardest to keep her
from falling over and puking,
while trying to do the same
for themselves.
She hung to them like they were long singular beams of steel.
When she rolled her head around at them
she remembered that they looked
hard and unknown.
And while holding her
in the crooks of their arms,
they maneuvered the flesh in their jeans
with their free hands,
trying to subdue the worlds
rising out of their pants
like volcanoes.
They got her back to the hotel.
A small room
with a tiny old bed, with flower-print
comforters and
an antique dresser with swirling
sculptured wood at its corners.
John slipped off his black leather jacket
and shook his mop of
curly black hair.
Eric plopped onto the bed,
pulling her with him.
She felt him pull,
she felt the gravity of him;
the warp as she bumped against
the bed.
"You guys should come back next year."
"Maybe," Eric said.
She didn't know if she was here or not.
If she'd been here the whole night
or if she was dreaming.
But she felt something physical
on her body.
Eric sat in the corner--
beside the humming a/c
as it vacuumed out the room--
watching with lifeless eyes.
It moved across her stomach.
Slow and continuous.
It moved down to her
pelvis,
slow and continuous.
It reached inside of her
slow and continuous,
and she felt the vacuum of space.
John and Eric
tag-teamed her.
Eric
taking her mouth
and working it around his *****
saying
"Come on baby,
****
John pushing against her
his glowing body
making a slapping noise
as he struggled
with his hands under her stomach
making hard dimples of flesh
on her mid-section
as he tried to hold up
her limp body.
"She's out cold,"
he said.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 10:50 AM UTC
Oh, the fine attire.
Women in low cut, grand gowns.
Men in their finest plumage.
Strutting Peacocks, aiming to draw attention.
I wore tails of silk, with fine brocade work as the trim, down the sleek lapels. I dressed entirely in black. From head to toe.
I looked splendid!
I stood out from the Peacocks, as a Raven would
stand out among Doves.
Cunning as a Raven too. She had not one suspicion.
I was at my best.
Charming, witty, a mystery. Women fall for that.
I slowly, cunningly stalk my prey. A vision in gold.
I danced with her. Her gold, a perfect foil to my black.
I charmed her sweetly. I maneuvered her easily.
I had previous, had the chance to find the spot,
where she would become mine. Such a pretty throat. One that I will drown within.
Once outside, hidden, strategically from all eyes, I began my "dance".
I gaze down into her eyes. Her precious heart begins to race. I can feel her blood. It calls to me with it's song.
A song of need.
Her breaths slowed and deepened. Her eyes remained locked with mine.
I let her see then, the glory of what I am. She wanted to scream. But, I had control now.
My incisors grew. Their points very sharp indeed. My muscles bulked. I ruined my fine new coat. Split the shoulder seams right out.
I toyed with her. I kiss her lips so gently. She trembled for me. I tried to hold back, wanting to prolong her fear.
Blood lust is, what is. I could smell her rich, thick blood. I wanted it all. I wanted to bathe in it. Feel it glide over my skin.
My fangs sank deep. Drawing up the precious blood. Elixir of life.
As I fed, I heard her heart slowing with each draw I took.
And just before death could claim her, I released her from her thrall, to scream. It was the last sound I heard as the men came running. I took my leave.
I am a monster.
I do it well and I love it so.
Soon the sun shall rise again.
I will sleep as the dead.
~Lord Kellington
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 6:33 PM UTC
It was Christmas with all the holiday cheer
It was a lovely Christmas tree that brought the feeling to preserver
But what made Christmas stand out it was my B&O; railroad I am talking about
It was a layout of Baltimore & Ohio railroad being a thrill
My locomotive puffing smoke at free will
It was those passenger cars all lit up
Backgrounds with scenery including a tunnel
As a kid, it was the highlight being my funnel
As my B&O; train set maneuvered around the track
It’s my reflection of memory that dates back
The passenger train that made a stop in my house
There’s no room for even a mouse
There are much more words I could say
However, I am sharing with you on this day
B&O; you journeyed on
You are in my heart where you belong
You took me to a place being around
A layout that had a small town
You brought me to my own home being filled with love Christmas bound
It was a family celebration and how sweet the sound.
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
There were four of them dressed in loud yellow t-shirts
and muffled white-washed jeans. Three carried rubber
ended stick-picks and sand crusted sky-blue buckets
for hypodermic needles and diapers and condoms.
The last of them, an older stocky gentleman with thick
red skin and no more than ten years left to live maneuvered
a grass-green, six-cylindered, diesel-powered tractor with
an old metallic rake attached to its bed across cold soft sand.
These four men are the edge-of-morning-heroes,
– they have to be the edge-of morning-heroes,
these four men, the beach combers.
My friends, have we appreciated the fruit of their labor?
the outcome of their edge-of-morning-efforts?
It was because of them that I was there, because of them
that the great lake was enjoyable, swimmable, because of them
that my heart had become a poem whose first stanza opened
with a young man staring off into the open, ocean-blue horizon,
water birds skipping, circling open-winged with webbed
feet behind him, his brown legs nestled firmly in the swash,
where to the left of him, a couple, neck-deep, was making love
between the familiar crest and trough of a wave, making love
between the familiar beginning and end of something
– going deeper, under still as a plane hummed overhead.
My friends, will the future appreciate the fruit of their labor?
the outcome of their edge-of-morning-efforts?
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 7:33 AM UTC
I have been aboard this vessel for
Fifty months
Nine days
Ten hours
And some value of minutes
Which is unknown to me.
I am
Lost
At
sea.
For a while it was bearable.
I have enough water,
Books,
And *** to sustain me.
But now all I wish is to see a pair of sails
On the horizon.
I have nothing left
But to wander the seas
And find whatever is there
For me.
Days pass.
I have sympathized with the stars;
For it seems to me that they are also
Sailors
Lost at sea;
Traveling towards their own fate
In directions
Unbeknownst to me.
At night I look up
When the sky is clear
And greet them,
I wish them strong winds.
I wonder if they have looked down on me.
I have confessed all my sins to them
For they are all I have.
The stars and I.
And we sail the same sea
But we will never meet
For we are infinitely far.
This is our curse.
At times I have fallen asleep on deck
Beneath them
In my hammock
As the sea
Rocks me
And sings songs,
Songs of ports and
Sails
On horizons.
It was on the morning following such a night
That I arose
And at long last
Saw
With my own eyes
A sail in the distance
And I maneuvered so fast as my small craft would allow
To be near to him
And as I came closer
I looked with my dusty spyglass
And my heart dropped from my chest
For he flew a black flag
Which bore upon it a skull.
I am writing this now as they approach
For I know I cannot evade them
Nor outgun them.
I am writing this because I now know my fate:
To die by their hands.
I am horrified,
But there is
One thing that will give me peace:
That I may
Finally
Sail
Among the stars.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
I do not know
Why I am so hesitant to trust you.
Maybe it is because
You so easily maneuvered your way
Into the lives of those around me.
I am suspicious of you-
And I make you a promise
That if you do anything untoward
Or break her heart-
I will immortalize you
In print
As an *******
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 8:02 PM UTC
A paper box filled with crumpled newspapers
Carrying death notes, attempted ****** stories
And the failed political agendas
(Failed I say for I personally see no difference).
Neatly stacked they would take
Only the bottom half of the box,
But since the papers were to be rid off,
And the papers carried blood,
Shoved were they like ***** secrets
In that plain paper box.
That action somehow now
Turned the box into a closet
Filled with dusty winter coats
From a life past,
The clothes might fit your body
But they won't fit your soul.
O' my friend added today
How she hasn't seen me in black
Since the last time I returned,
She said it as a fact,
But somehow that hurt and
It felt like fear- my mumbled ignorance.
The box lay in the middle of the room,
The room itself empty,
Sold were each artifact
Over the past few months,
To get back
What they had stolen in the first place.
I no longer fought when
My favourite tin can was taken,
It too had rattled the pockets,
It bled for our tummy.
The box lay out of place
Like all of us,
Trying relentlessly to fit in,
The balled up papers
Sticking out the *****
A triangle there and a lonely strip here.
I could read few words of different stories
And create a new lie,
But the lies seemed silly even for me,
I needed something else.
You might ask why not burn them,
Why not shred them,
But even fire creates smoke
And secrets never really die,
We always, always hide them,
Paint over them with lies.
So the box,
Now being there long enough,
Wasn't kicked over
Like the many times before,
It lay there, carefully maneuvered
By the liars and the sinners
Of the house.
But their breath stopped
Every time they walked into the room.
Like they didn't wish to inhale the dust
And the stories of the box,
Like their lungs would be infected
The same way their hearts were.
But the shameful box had secrets
Staining red over time, dripping blood
And spilling black soot of lies,
Flies buzzed around now and yet
Why did we not discard it,
I thought.
What was so special about our lies,
Our sins
That we keep the box around
And not hide it but be ashamed of it?
Why do we keep it in our homes still
If all it does is poison us?
Why do we keep our old loves
Alive in our memories?
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
The cargo of my rib cage is my inner sanctum
My hips are my homeland
I refuse to conform to conventional specification
My body is a garment that fits me perfectly
My throat is a canal, navigating, and nourishing
Bridges that nest across my thighs, A channel of imperfections that I clutch and attain
The fabric of my ******* is frayed
Although I have nourished and maneuvered sheepish mouths harboring at bay
Abounding the lifeblood of creation, embarking on this journey of womanhood
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
I’ve built a home in my heart named Us.
Inside those walls stand you and me
Squeezing each other’s hand three times steady
Our own secret I love you
The walls are vast and sturdy
They’ve taken us years to build
One room opens to a next and a next
An intricate maze that we’ve built together
With twists and turns that can only be
Maneuvered together as two with
Your mind and mine as an interlocking key
There is a hot stove and a warm bed
A fireplace burning inside both our souls
There are kids like wildflowers
Growing all around us
Two chairs facing inward
Love written on every surface
In every room bits of us shine forth
Computers in the study with that
Beautiful chaos of video games blaring
Bookshelves in the living room teeming
With my psychology mind
There is music buzzing through the air
An electric piano and a ukulele
Your singing a soundtrack to our
Mornings and nights
Our own little studio
Colors in acrylic on paper
Murals on the wall
Red like our hearts
Our blood pumping swiftly in unison
Green like the garden of love
Our children will grow in
Yellow like your smile
A brilliant sun that warms me
That has me looking up up up.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
I’m an African
Am a ture African
Am from the Land of the Red, Gold, Green
The land with its soil as fertile as the womb of the ****** Mary
I look at the World map and just the sight of the curves of Mama Africa arouses me......
see Is that piece not Hyde? Cos this shape de3 a no go lie,
It's set ablaze like the holy ghost fire
Hotter than the ghost pepper my mouth watery “aahh a Don tier"
Cos it' even tickles a shatta in the trousers and I feel it's movement against Newtons law of motion
Even Just the shape of the map of Africa already causing commotion
Hook
Africa 2×
We be one Africa aa
(Eeii ya one Africa)
Africa 2×
Ghana mother land
(Eeii ya my mother land )
Me mey3 Oman ba pa
Mey3 Oman Ghana dehye3 ankasa
The white man came to my land and with the sole purpose of preaching the gospel even when we had no chapel
Later maneuvered his way to barter trade our gold and valuable resources with hard liquor
And in a short while I mean a flicker, they captured my people and enslaved us into hard labour
And on 6 March 1957 a revolution lead by Dr. Kwame Nkrumah fought and led us to our independence
Chorus
I'm a free man free man
I said I'm a free man
(Eeii ya)
I'm a free man
I'm a free man
I'm a free man
(Eeii ya)
Freedom made me a free man even though I ain't the tritagonist of The Boondocks
I hear the reverb of Nkrumah's voice recurring out loud in my ears just like a jukebox
"(Sample)Ghana our beloved country is free forever.... (In Nkrumah's Voice)"
Meney3 anomaa, na 3mom membowa
Efiris3 afidea biara 3nheneme ( mom pene me3) (herrrrrrrrrr)
Na mey3 odefo) ahh me kuraa mens3m tumi
Oh yes I'm a free human being with an Independent will
A will that I will **** for, for real, because being a slave is just sick, I need a pill.
Repeat hook and chorus
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 6:30 AM UTC
Contrary to what is known
About Tunguska’s hellish blast,
Contrary to all the dread
Engendered in those deeds of past,
Despite the anger close at hand
When loathsome fiends encroach thy space,
Regardless of the fury felt
When malcontents spit in your face.
Go gather up your fortitude
Hold all that’s dear, close to your chest,
Contain the beast you’ve locked within
Adjust till you’ve maneuvered best.
Then….
Unleash the very gates of hell
To vanquish those who would intrude,
Break the carapace of blood.
Then stay thy hand, preserve the crude
For them to agonise, reflectively,
Decisions made too cheap
And actions, injudiciously,
Commited indiscreet.
Marshalg
@theCoalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
7 April 2010
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 12:09 AM UTC
Through the grass you maneuvered your way.
Preying on the weak, pleasing yourself,
day by day.
One must stay strong.
When faced with such allure.
One must remain true, true to the core.
By doing so,
you might regain control.
Overcoming obstacles and much more.
The knowledge gained unknown.
For when man conquers this,
where will the power go?
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
So, it was a dark and stormy night and
Father Larry O’Flannigan
Was feeling excited as he
Maneuvered the rainy streets with
Five extra-large cheese pizzas
Elated and happy because
Teenage catechism class
Had gone so swimmingly well
He wanted to reward them
Hence the crusty comestibles
Crossing 10th and Vine
Rain pelting cars and pedestrians
He slipped and tripped
Pandemonium of pizza boxes
Pell-mell into puddles
The chagrined good father
In an unsettled state
Hurt, wet, disheveled,
Exclaims:
“Jesus Christ! God Almighty!"
A pious passerby exclaims
(An older lady dressed for rain)
“Father! Please! Language!”
The sheepish priest sputters:
“Em, cheese and crust got all muddy…?”
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 11:48 PM UTC
Cool winds blew
ripples
across our lake today.
It'd been a long time
since I ventured up this way,
it's so different
when you're alone.
It was rather eerie,
there wasn't a single sound,
I really wished you
had been around,
your sweet voice
held warmth.
Last time you were here,
I remembered you
wearing camo,
that pink baseball cap
pulled tightly over your ears,
you maneuvered the boat
like a pro,
didn't scare
a single duck.
I didn't know you'd
never be here again,
just my rotten luck.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC
Despite your sorrow, your grief,
your smile stayed sweet
giving warmth as you
maneuvered through the world,
a solitary, inner orphan
since that awful time a few years ago
The heavy pain you carried
that wouldn't let you be
The unanswered conundrums that
resisted parsing for one so young
Yet all along, there was the inherited voice
lying quietly within you
like a sleeping bird's
awaiting the dawn
desiring to sing again
in splendorous tones
a new day's joyful awakening
February 3, 2015
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
i once flew on the breeze
i once maneuvered 'round the trees
there was a stream, where found my food
scaly meals and fishy feels
grew to be the norm for me
the valleys peaceful,
mountains quiet
my den, i often laid nearby it
but now i sit in my lonely cage
roaring through these bars of rage
my vendetta against the outside world
compares not to my mate lay curled
beside me she breathes a jet of flame
when we escape, nothing will ever be the same
our roar will bring fear to our captives
their traps will never touch us
their weapons will never hurt us
and once our wrath's been sewn
after our name is known,
we will return to our home
and we will live in peace again.
my dear, we will not live in fear
so long as i am near.
i am a dragon, and i will fight for our freedom
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 5:50 PM UTC
Hi i’m Sebastian
i’m an addict
Addicted to frantic
Spastic language
After ages
Of Procrastinating
i lacked the panache.
But as of lately
That is changing
My imagination
Have replaced the
Manic ************
The crass habit of
Having laughs
From dating
A relaxing
Callous lady
Validated
By an affidavit
Now i’m Exasperated
i amass amazing
Paragraphs’ saturation
A translucent human
Finds a hue soothing
Like my time as a youth spent
School bench-doodling
i pulled the blue pen
Through the movements
Maneuvered cerulean loops
Drew crude dudes and
Exuberant protruding *****
For a youths amusement
Freud’s lament meant that
A pen is a *****
i comment these tittles of i’s
Are eyes at a zenith
With these i see things
Don’t ask what an asterisk is
But believe me i’ve seen it
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 6:18 AM UTC
There are certain days, when I feel,
Maybe my soul was milked out of a willow tree.
Opalascent sap, maneuvered into a soul kind of thing.
And placed, right where 'twas supposed to be.
But then, it strikes; souls don't have shapes,
form or matter. They cant be seen, or touched.
But if mine could ; it would feel like wet clay,
That clings to the fingers, that knead through it.
With a soft persistence; refusing to let go."
(23/04/2013)
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
Dear Death,
It seems as if everyone holds a grudge against you.
You have taken someone from everyone.
You have even taken everyone from someone.
Some threads you cut short.
Others evade your fatal scissors for longer.
But everyone's thread demands to be severed.
But I wonder if you are only doing your masters bidding?
Are you just a puppet on strings?
A thread yourself, to be maneuvered freely into a tapestry by a higher master?
Being blamed,
mocked,
ridiculed,
just for following orders?
It's like punishing the soldier for the general's war crimes.
Or are you the puppetmaster?
The keeper of all of the strings?
Do you control the balance of the universe?
Do you send the demons to do your bidding, or do you do the demons work?
There is so much that is unknown about you.
We talk about you like we have solved your puzzle,
but you are a labyrinth,
everchanging,
everlasting.
I hope one day we can appreciate your mystery.
Sincerest regards,
Humanity
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC