"obeying" poems
A small clearing surrounded by trees,
Everything is bright and vibrant.
A crisp breeze blowing,
Swaying the grass.
The ground is covered by rocks
Of various shapes, colors, and sizes.
Bladed grass and ivy-like plants
Growing in the cracks of the stones.
A small white butterfly fluttering about,
So full of beauty and life:
Like the sweet-smelling flowers,
So simple with a fragrance of purity.
A soft breeze blows rustling the leaves,
Seeming to shush the world.
All is still, obeying the command,
And all around is at peace.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 11:12 PM UTC
I just want to ask one question
Is the human race obeying the mathematical rule called BODMAS?
Just a refresher...
Brackets, Orders, Division, Multiplication, Addition and Subtraction
We have created different brackets
where we enclose people like casket
He's black, she's white, they are rich,
those are poor, she's educated, he's religious, he's fat, she's slim... Brackets
People are treated differently
Based on the class that we've put them in
Some are raised to power like exponents
Others are trapped in like square roots...Orders
The segregation has only intensified our division
I don't fit in here, I belong over there
My group is stronger, those ones are losers... Division
Disunity and absence of love has caused
A multiplication of our problems
Threats, deportation, persecution
We don't like them, we'll bomb them
War, insurgency, terrorism, hate speech... Just problems Multiplication
Every second, our population is experiencing several additions
Our population keeps growing while
Our natural resources are being exploited
And depleting at a rate faster than our population growth
Our resources are experiencing severe subtractions
I just want to ask one more time...
Aren't we obeying BODMAS?
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
I went to church today
I don't know what I was trying to find
Hopes? Dreams? A figure to follow and some worthy morals?
I wanted advice, I wanted to feel alive
I left there with these words resonating in my head
"Homosexuality and suicide are abominable"
a short phrase that sums the fancy and elaborated speech of the preacher
Only the sinful suffer, and I guess that's why I am troubled.
I've thought of suicide jokingly and seductively
more times that I could possibly count
I have kissed girls and I am openly attracted to them
I am not afraid of saying it and with respect, showing it.
According to the bible;
Lesbians and gays was a punishment for not obeying God
Suicide is a way of controlling your faith
And the only one that has power over you is the Lord.
God gives you what he thinks you deserve
He knows you since before you where born
and because of that he is more responsible of yourself
than yourself itself.
Your brains are too small
how dare you to contradict the all powerful one with such disturbing thoughts?
He created all and everything, all and nothing
He knows what he is doing, and in no way you can try to question him
I felt more small and insignificant than ever,
How did a invisible figure matter more than my logical arguments?
Can't I decide what I want? Isn't it my body and my emotions the one in play?
There's other 8 billion people and you try to guilt trip me because I want to end it all?
Sinners will suffer only the prayer can save you, you can't save yourself, God will save you.
Isn't it better to try to put myself together? Wouldn't I be learning more with that experience?
Instead of repeating words of prayers, shouldn't It try to save myself or solve the problems?
How dare you to contradict the all powerful one with such disturbing thoughts!
If God chooses to give you what he believes is right
Then why am I the one in so much pain?
Why good things doesn't happen to good people and to the bad ones bad things?
Is it because the bad ones will always pray?
I went to church today
I tried to find support,
I wanted to confess
"Hey, I want to **** myself"
I thought that well...
If so many people could feel happy by worshiping
I didn't loose anything by trying
I instead ended up gaining: guilt, trouble, and a feeling that I will burn in hell
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 2:31 AM UTC
Civil disobedience is not a moral obligation. Moral obligation is an act of belief and self values. So if you feel the need to break a little law to fight for what you believe in , then yes, go for it, but obeying the laws may also be part of your morals. After all the police brutality that we have heard about on the news, some people decided to stand up and protest. Even I wanted to protest downtown because I found it absolutely ridiculous that people were being killed without extreme cause by police and they only got a slap on the wrist. There are always two sides to a story. So am I obligated to rally because of inequality displayed on the media? No, not really but due to my values I would love to. "But through the other method of combating injustice, we alone suffer the consequences of our mistakes" which was said by Ghandi. It can be applied to the protests, to me it means we can scream our opinions and we can make an impact, but some will be damaged and some will be arrested in the process. Sadly, the thing we were fighting for in the first place will be served and protected. So what is justice? What is civil obedience when our enforcement can't even comply? I guess we aren't obligated to anything.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
I have been forced,
Out of domicile,
And now **** bored,
With sojourners' world worthwhile.
I used to love phones,
It's versatility in functioning,
Obeying instructions at all zones,
I loved making calls and chatting .
That was long ago ,
When it made me feel at home,
Simply chatting could let go ,
Steam and heartbreak loom.
Not now at this century ,
Where them need airtime to pick a call,
Where successive missed calls arouse no worry,
When they no bother reply at all.
I won't lower my self -esteem,
Not because of them dissaproval,
That I aint classy and fit for hymn,
Its okey if u take me for a mall.
Needless fight a loosing battle anymore ,
You won't torture me again as u laugh,
Beaming is me at nirvana jaw,
I declare enough is enough.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact, makes much impression on him, and another none. This sculpture in the memory is not without preestablished harmony. The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray. We but half express ourselves, and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents. It may be safely trusted as proportionate and of good issues, so it be faithfully imparted, but God will not have his work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no invention, no hope.
Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so, and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying their perception that the absolutely trustworthy was seated at their heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being. And we are now men, and must accept in the highest mind the same transcendent destiny; and not minors and invalids in a protected corner, not cowards fleeing before a revolution, but guides, redeemers, and benefactors, obeying the Almighty effort, and advancing on Chaos and the Dark.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
reverence in poetry. everything to every person.
reader claims they can a necessary skill for
uncover the reverence. successful hypothecating and
in the scripts that (buying)poetry-creation outta nothing,
life straight hands me, tell them what thy want to hear,
for collection & correction, and they’ll call you laureate,
secretarial transcribing, instead of good listener
binding, typo correction or just a keen observer-fakir
mundane are the tasks, just take what they give ya,
that’s all them muses ask, dress it like Joseph in a
don’t interfere, taken what’s given, coat of many colors,
bow, curtsy, show respect, don’t let on your plagiarism
treat its aspects/instincts correctly is all them, redressed legally
you’re just the pass through agent, true you, gotta be smart about it,
patient for no payment expected, variant spellings, swinging verbs,
be our adherent, not our truant, be discreet, they’ll call your script
we appoint don’t disappoint, a real keeper and give love or sun,
accept our patent, render legit mucho poem emojis accoladeya
as for this reverence thinge devil in a blue dress, walk the streets
if I do my job ok, on any day, grabbing snatches of overhearings,
any poem could save a life, pressed into a single tunic, you think,
if I get the commas placed, he a genius, knows my thinking,
just right, the periods period, exactly, what a great poet and
while obeying the speed limit con/hu-man par excellent
them muses so **** pleased even fool muses, too full themselves,
by this true confession released, muses who think we stink and
and self deprecation, couldn’t do it without them
they call me reverend, great pretenders by stealing
imagine them silly folk, everything in everybody and
calling a big fat liar. all thieves and cape riders,
reverend, duh, the end original liars, pants on fire
before midnight and after 3:20am April 7~8, two oh nineteen
any message you send becomes my intellectual property, fool....
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
Who knew that slavery
was just the corner
of an odd shape
and that a few hundred years
of forced labor beatings
would prepare a people
for generations of fatherlessness
clashes with authority
the lashes on their backs
set many free from the morality
of obeying the laws of
"just" society
and with the banks filled
with whip lash deposits
they were well prepared
to go a few hundred years
without the guidance of fathers
them who stayed locked up
cages and chains for shacks and chains
http://kinyopoetry.com/
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 11:42 AM UTC
Composed
wandering the Commons, quietly listening
to the sounds of Childish Gambino
Confused
Looking for the sixteenth time for
An escape from the Pru
Sipping a glass of Sam Adams Boston Brick Red
at a corner of WHISKEY'S on Boylston
Stopped in at Ben & Jerry's on Park:
Bought a cone of ™
Paid for it with
my Bank of America® VISA® P L A T I N U M P L U S ®
Checked in on foursquare and
read the protest tweets on
my verizonwireless® hTC® ThunderBolt™
with Google:
@OccupyWallSt
#NYPD collapses on #Sanctuary and begins arresting clergy and occupiers
inside. #D17 #Re-Occupy #OWS
\_Retweeted by Occupy Boston
@HoraceBoothroyd
@OccupyWallSt Links to sanctuary/clergy violations?
Erst I wandered the sights
and thought of thoughts
Tweeted a picture of the “pro-corporate” march
Pictured Headlines:
Area Cop Arrests Area Man for Obeying Traffic Signal
"Didn't anybody tell him that's not how its done round here?"
Cell of Young Idealists with ties to
Low-Level Terrorist Organization Busted & Detained:
Found Plotting the Grassroots, Digitized, Non-Violent Overthrow of the Status Quo
Op-ed:
City upon a Hill: “Whose city?! Whose hill?!”
#SOPA #NDAA
#OCCUPYBOSTON
~D.B. Guy, 12/17/11
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:35 AM UTC
for logic to work, certain coordination words must be excluded from ever attain a thesaurus privilege, certain words must attain the same consistency as numbers already present, for worded logic to work, certain words cannot entertain synonyms or antonyms, and must be freed from the shackles of sophistry.
can one animate object truly objectify another
animate object?
i ask, because this supposed feminist
narrative of man objectifying a woman
seems rather bogus -
as i have to reiterate -
can an animate object truly objectify
another animate object?
i "think" (i.e. "i" deny) this to be
highly unlikely, near impossible...
i am innately inclined to the puritanical
observation,
that i can only objectify an inanimate object,
point being: a man can no more
objectify a woman than an animate
object can make an animate an inanimate
object without having to subject himself
to hammering a nail into a plank of wood:
using a hammer.
how can an animate object (a man)
objectify another animate object (a woman) -
without, first of all objectifying a part of him
as quasi-inanimate, namely his phallus?
women do not seem to be complaining
about objectification of a woman,
rather, a man objectifying his member -
and isn't that the point, to posses an object
that you're not subject to obeying?
once more how can a woman
be objectified, when in fact man is
attempting to de-subjective himself from
his genitalia?
an animate object can't
objectify an animate object -
since the contradiction is:
both are in animation...
the only time objectification
happens is when an animate object
subject an inanimate object into a purpose...
a hammer is hardly a woman,
while is hammer one-dimensional,
a woman is either mother, sister, vice,
a one night stand, a girlfriend, or a wife...
women are never objectified -
they are subject to the self-objectifiction
of man, by man alone...
and if you think that's post-modernist jargon,
let me spell it out for you:
T, O, G, E, T, A, H, A, R, D, O, N.
objectification happens when an animate
object subjects / encompasses an inanimate
object into a subject of the animate object's
intent...
unless of course you care to disclose
a fetish for necrophilia...
since only in necrophilia are women actually
objectified.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 8:34 PM UTC
He had a habit of forgetting
That the knife should be
At his left,
Unlike others.
Every morning, she would
mechanically
switch the fork with the knife.
When they finished lunch
she started clearing up
and noticed the knife to his right
again.
That night,
after their routine drew to a close,
They talked.
Slowly, at first.
A touchy subject walks in.
It's time.
Even as the air is knocked from her lungs,
She gets up and scrabbles on the floor.
Nails scratching the carpet.
Eyes scanning the horizon, now black.
Her brain decides to get up,
Her body disobeys.
Her body disobeys.
Isn't that what put her here in the first place?
So what if she is pretty?
So what if her eyes are sparkling emeralds?
Her belly renders her defenceless
from his onslaught.
Isn't it her fault
that it is empty?
Isn't she wrong to want
independence from him?
Mentally, physically, emotionally?
He owned her, didn't he?
He owned her, didn't he.
He explained to her the benefits
of obeying.
Her pretty face wouldn't have been
all those ungainly shades of black.
Her eyes wouldn't have been encircled by blue.
All she had to do was obey
and not tell anyone
but obey.
Her brain rebelled.
Her brain rebelled.
Her body, for once, obeyed.
She stumbled through the hallway
She knocked down her favourite frame-
Their daughter on a pony.
Kitchen, her sanctuary.
She broke her favourite China.
Hurled her utensils.
"I arranged them last week, you *****
And then she saw them.
The knives.
The knives.
They were inviting
Her hands were pale, waiting.
His heart corrupt, hating.
"Knives to your left, darling."
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
in the cloister, we had coffee
talking something about the soul
today in the cold but sunlit court
with a good girlfriend of mine
is when it struck me:
a pretty Christian girl kind of day
before me, a butterfly kind of day
winging the dark fantasies away
start obeying and getting good habits
would have stayed had i any money
to get the rest of my college degree
kind of day
filling your heart with my replacements
to match my false interpretations
of your expectations of me
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC
I-AM-NOT-A-DOG.
Today,
I cut loose from your leash of degrading comments.
My ears have learned to ignore your whistles
and the only thing I am going to fetch
is my dignity.
We all have cracks.
People’s words creep into our most foreign parts
And bother us like gnats in our food.
However,
At a young age my mom welded me by hand.
Sealed off every corner so
Your undignified vernacular wouldn’t disturb my peace.
Your mother must’ve had deleterious effects on you.
She told you that love can only be found through intertwining genitals.
I have iron fists and your forcefulness will not supersede my strength to protect what I own.
Let me tell you sir,
Obeying men is an archaic practice
And I wasn’t born yesterday.
I endure life with fortitude even with the threat of your loaded fist 2 inches from my face.
Your catcalls sting like the hearts of mother’s who have lost their daughter’s to the streets.
I hold my mace like a loaded gun walking in the petrifying night.
Apparently big butts lie, they give you the impression that you can squeeze, but back off the anatomy.
Remember that all women embody beauty and grace, not for you, but for themselves.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
Beneath the shadow
of the Great Shepherd's staff,
in the green lushness of Life's plateau,
my spirit continues to laugh.
Despite the dumbness of this sheep
to His voice I've heeded.
For God's Love is greater than deep
and to His Principles, I've conceded.
My life is filled with abundance
beyond mortal imagination.
Enjoying protection from circumstance
came from obeying rules of His Holy Nation.
From displaying a submissive behavior
towards a God most divine,
I'm covered with blessings from my Savior
and reside in green meadows until Eternity's time.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 11:39 AM UTC
love between poets: “who will be between the sheets next week
when I’m gone,” she lets sigh-escape,
as she watches the backyard paradise parading landscape
of animals before the bay, perfect day sure to come,
her new pets obeying the early morn sunrising awakening call
to rise, everyone playing~parading, before her royal summons,
no coincidence, finger-of-god, two by two
this while I’m kissing her neck,
my arm around her *******
and the he-intent on slip sliding down
to the small of her back,
obeying his innate,
worship worshiping and giving up,
all he’s got intense intently contentedly
unfazed, unphased,
non-nonplussed,
he’s been interrogated before,
heart is pure he answers:
next weekend when you are back in situ,
thousands of miles away, airplane housed for hours,
writing poems of love from the lost and found,
recalling this exact moment,
how I worshipped your presence,
and these words:
You will be with me in every breath,
our sheets will radioactively emit
ions and molecules of our scent combined,
and present as present your perfume can be,
elicited, elixir, you and me combinant
she turns from the bay-view,
the animals who now mutually
worship her adoration,
watching, focused on us as observers,
she lifts me up and smiles,
replying*
“oh my lover you’re the cad of cads,
king of the baddest poet-lads,
the gist of what is wrong with the best of men,
her, pressing me hard to her chestnut hair chest,
she, falling down into my eyes
take me back to bed, liar,
let me add to my aroma,
to ensue, to ensure you will miss
the best love
you had partly, insufficiently, and unhinged
completely
I’m your lassie, you my lad,
my king of cads, my lover poet,
thief of my poems and my secret speech spells,
escalating senses of one’s imaginings”*
and,
along came the rest
of what was freely given,
for love between poets
man and
a woman,
is a someone, somewhere,
sometime summertime
thing
*I will still smell you in my
heart, and send to you ballistic missives,
words to explode your tear ducts
when you rest in sheets that met me,
when you’ll know me by my odors,
cry out loud so that you’ll scare our animals,
no matter how many tides wash away our residue,
you will never unknow and be forever unprepared
for my return,*
even though we will be each, a thousand unwritten poems away...
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 11:07 AM UTC
I write too often while thinking of you
It's late, everyone's asleep and my confidence is beginning to bate,
it feels like I've been awake for weeks straight, I can't extricate this state of distrait, everything is becoming harder to assimilate and I can barely differentiate reality from the reversed universe that my mind manipulates and creates,
My heart palpitates, my thoughts tumultuate and my lungs refuse to inflate under this weight as I begin to dissociate
What's great about my universe is that you can honestly relate,
Others understand in this mystic fantasy land,
There life isn't so bland, our existence was planned and best of all you and I roam hand in hand obeying your preferred god's demand,
There I'm not terrified that I will die with the afterlife unverified, the answers to my questions are clarified and my smile isn't forced or pried but instead a happiness that's justified,
There I have a perilous quest to distract me from the distress of the universe's careless emptiness, my feelings abide my behest and my mind doesn't remind me of my pointlessness,
Regardless I'd be happy nonetheless if I could leave all the rest just to retain your caress.
10-30-18
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 6:08 PM UTC
I am both the puppet and the puppet master.
I dance to the will of others while subtly controlling them.
I sometimes make myself dance,
The two halves of me controlling and obedient simultaneously.
The shadow that lurks in my shadow—
I am that, too, seeping and oozing over the ground.
The forces in my heart are battling for control—
The shadow and the light are battling.
My heart remains the ****** battlefield,
Littered with dead dreams and riddled with holes.
And all the while the puppet jerks,
Obeying the tug of strings,
And all the while the puppet masker jerks,
Controlling the mass of strings.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
places I rarely visit
consist of programmers obeying restrictions
operating under false assumptions
distracted by faulty wiring
swarms gather under fluorescent lights
to contemplate organic life technologically
never satisfied with the diagnosis
for it always leaves them feeling empty
can I be blamed,
for not only wanting this digital life to be restrained,
but for also wanting it to change?
a persistent desire to aspire some revolution
to move away from
light pollution & pixel resolution
absent of
abbreviated emotion & cyber fixation
only
unplugged love & three dimensional conversation
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
A Blood Moon Night
Written by Adam M. Snow
Tonight I watched in awe,
the moon once pure and white.
Obeying the nighttime law;
lighting the sky so bright.
The stars, the moon in sync,
dancing their worries away.
The end can happen in a blink;
a sudden halt would not sway.
Darker the night grew -
and darker the moon dost shine.
I stood there in awe, in view,
- a bloodish sublime.
The proud moon once danced so free,
now cowering behind a blood red veil.
I stood there in awe to see,
the world halt with a quail.
The moon eclipsed in a taint of dark red;
I stood there in awe in yonder.
"Is not the moon dead?
What of this?" I ponder.
Hours pass feeling like eternity,
watching the blood moon night pass.
Returning the world back to modernity,
knowing this isn't the last.
The moon is pure and white once more.
Don't succumb to joy just yet.
Again it'll happen, I swore -
three more nights, a blood moon to fret.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
Suffering from undiagnosed mental illness,
Also talks about other undiagnosed disorders,
Never saying that I officially have those, to be ficitious,
Cause I am breaking and pushing all borders.
Suffering from undiagnosed mental illness,
Also talks about other undiagnosed disorders,
In school labelled as the kid who was mischievous,
obeying orders, so ****** disorded.
Suffering from undiagnosed mental illness,
Also talks about other undiagnosed disorders,
hating social interaction, dark thoughts, labelled as malicious,
Still loving hobbies and education, still ambitious.
Suffering from Undiagnosed mental illness,
Also talks about other undiagnosed disorders,
Behaviours yet still suspicious,
is it undiagnosed mental illness and disorders, that are tralatitious.
Suffering from undiagnosed mental illness,
Also talks about other undiagnosed disorders,
From Depression, Suicide tendencies, Autism spectrum and ADHD,
Taking medication that suppose to help, clearly does and doesn't.
Suffering from undiagnosed mental illness,
Also talks about other undiagnosed disorders,
From Depression, Suicide Tendencies, Autism spectrum and ADHD,
I don't say am like every other who suffers from mental illness or other disorders.
Suffering from undiagnosed mental illness,
Also talks about other undiagnosed disorders,
Obesity isn't always a disorder,
A Small part of obesity is generics or health conditions,
A large part of obesity is the choice based upon society.
Suffering from undiagnosed mental illness,
Also talks about other undiagnosed disorders,
Laziness is a mental, gaming is now a mental illness,
Kids that want no job, nothing to achieve, no physician needed,
Kids thinking that they are doctors, internet search and diagnosis,
believing in self taught self hypnosis.
Suffering from undiagnosed mental illness,
Also talks about other undiagnosed disorders,
Childhood, I was very precocious,
Leaving friends, family and parents, Ferocious.
Suffering from undiagnosed mental illness,
Also talks about other undiagnosed disorders,
behaviours of mine never when unnotice,
Angry was always explosive,
Never been seen for the symptom shown, never reaching an prognosis.
Nov 6, 2020
Nov 6, 2020 at 7:22 AM UTC
Down the dusty road,
in tattered rags,
He came,
weary,
wilted,
and
withered.
Body bent with age,
bones sticking out of the flabby skin,
with a tremor
running down his limbs,
and with expectant eyes,
He waited at my doorstep.
No words came out from pursed lips
But,
in mute language
begged for alms.
I held his shrivelled hand,
helped him ascend the steps.
Like a child obeying it’s Elder
He sat on a chair in the patio.
The sumptuous fare, served before,
he surveyed with eyes
bulging out in utter disbelief,
and greedily devoured
every bit of morsel.
A rare gleam lighted up his face.
With hands folded in benison
He stood up and silently took leave.
I watched him stumble
along the country track
and fade away in the distance.
Ripples of joy stirred my mind
in ever widening circles
as, a pebble idly tossed
cause ripples in still waters
................
Over a random act
of kindness
idly tossed.......
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 4:40 AM UTC
The day of your life
and the night of your day,
which one is more important
and relevant to you.
Both have their place in the
scheme of things.
The two worlds are busy
working and building,
constructing in conjunction
with the divine to create
a masterpiece of wonder.
It's really not in your place
to control any of them
but to work with both.
They move subtly to construct,
sometimes with aggression to
change and balance all things,
with or without you.
Actually you have no choice or
control in their decisions.
Man becomes helpless and
hopeless when they begin to
exact their power of supremacy.
You can only command nature
by obeying her principles.
Both are needful and are
blended together working
in synergy to bring to us
a desired end.
Man is placed on earth to enjoy,
but not to interrupt and interfere
with the divine.
A master plan is already within
the blueprint of the architectural
design for a magnificent
and excellent living.
Yield to it and have peace.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 6:53 AM UTC
the white scenery beneath these hands
only disrupted by
scattered black islands
the breathing air in this cold room
clear yet filled
with o so sweet tones
the movement of these skilled fingers
an ****** dance
caught on open display
the elegance of this daring feat
shining bare
under demanding lights
the piano
not obeying
but
freeing me
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC
He would ride up to the field
God had lain so purposefully for him
Along the final bight of an earthen track.
Narrow, which climbed, as with him
It swerved. He believed in God then.
Fenced off, blades became thick as
A dare, a moment—before confession
Or asking out his girl, the one whose
Crescent eyes in smile moonlit clefts
In his time. He would see her moving
Her body like His girl, exhaling His
Name, as if He was her only breath.
Through oceanic grasses she would
Flow in his ear, all the warm hadal
Mist of her. Aging wood throbbing
From gusts of wind on the fence. Deep
Enclosure of slender stalks and stems
Swaying by the rhythm of an ancient
Reverie. Crickets and junebugs, early
Fireflies lilting, sung to him tunes of
Indecipherable freedom. But not once
Did he cross, not once did he ever
Disturb a nature obeying the music.
Only the torrid yearning he allowed
To slip through the separation, knowing
There it was reunited, home among
The barely heard hum of the grasses
Oneiric and bare. Years later, when
The fence had disappeared, he once
Walked through and was overcome
By an emptiness thrashing against
Emptiness. In a single gust, scented of
His desinence, those years passed again
And he thought. *Even if I’d crossed,
Had joined—not disturbed. Even if*.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:23 PM UTC