"newsletters" poems
Homeless child
Do you see the pain in his eyes ?
Hear the mourn in his cries ?
He is drained inside,
Hopeless and helpless
Can you feel his pain ?
His burden and hunger
And that tired body
Beaten by the unstoppable rain.
It was never his choice to be homeless
It was never his choice to be in the warzone
To lose his parents and his lovely home.
His choice was to be happy,
To build his home and his family,
To serve the country and community
Now who cares for him ?
Do you understand his tears,
His story behind the newsletters ?
He was never a homeless child.
-Prakash
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 9:47 PM UTC
I am a simple man, with simple words
one must be obliged of making said words
if one wishes to create a poet's account
with furtive clicks from his furtive mouse
I'm making this poem to explain my reasoning
to share my words like a crisp dry riesling
but more importantly, I wish to contact a lady
first name Sharron, last name perry
her poem has inspired me to write about
gender, equality and I believe without a doubt
that her inspiring words have met my essay
about men and women and who has more say
so allow me through your gates of request
do not tempt me with emails, newsletters or lest
I will be forced to abandon all love
for this wonderful site which fits me like a glove
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 3:41 AM UTC
I met Solomon today.
We met at Ecclesiastes.
And while having lunch with him,
I asked him to tell me how it feels to be dead.
And he said
"Death is a permanent sleep".
I know that already.
"It's all darkness," he further said,
"Darkness, darkness all the way.
Silence, silence forevermore "
That sounds freaky.
"Yes, and even more in this case,
You'll not receive credit alert again".
"???"
"Yes, and even this your big phone-sef,
Some dumb *** will claim it,
and be pressing it anyhow.
No more emails too,
No Facebook nor WhatsApp messages.
No phone calls nor text messages.
And then, those pictures you took while eating
Ice-cream and fooling around at Shoprite and Coldstone,
You won't be able to post them again.
You will not know what comments you got,
Nor what silly emojis were dropped on them.
No one will tell you how fat you look
Nor how much flesh you no longer have,
Your frown will be but nothing to see,
Your smile too will have no meaning.
No birthday parties, and no more hangouts,
No teasing, no laughing, no funning about
No Christmas rice and chicken stew.
No clothes, no makeup, no shàkara.
You won't even hear when your friends laugh
Nor laugh at the cries of your so called foes.
No football match to watch or argue about
No Betnaija, no updates.
Your girlfriend too will find new love.
You'll no longer get her meechà-meechà
No love, no hugs, no kisses too.
No groaning, no moaning, no mènè-mènè
No sunlight nor moonlight play,
No Nepa light nor candle light
Darkness, darkness all the way
Silence, silence forevermore
You won't receive newsletters too,
Nor read newspapers in your grave.
No need for hope from promises made
and no more pain from those letdowns
Like something that never existed,
You'll be gone forevermore.
Gone into the dark,
Dark, dark silence.
So live life more, as much as you can,
Eat well, sleep more, work out, dream.
Cause no trouble, curse no one.
Be your self and have more fun,
Take less work and live just right.
Let good deeds be your footprints"
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 2:05 AM UTC
add my name to that inner circle thing
where newsletters about the most heartfelt go
the e-mails and spam about
worthy people nearly saints
singing praises in God's name hand
out bread loaves
and fish
keep my name off charities
that claim for twenty five cents a day
you can adopt: a child in Africa; an elephant;
send books to the Nile River flooded
refugees; the latest Syrian gassed.
I get my kicks, sunshine,
above the waist, **** i stole
hell outta that line)
and I lied about that too,
some my best kicks, etc.....
well, giving seems to be a
rich someone ******* in America
in a mansion. Send me , count me in,
when charities help some
************
I've been down out, seen ten million others
the same desperate way, ain't seen or heard
one thank the United Way
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 4:58 PM UTC