"placate" poems
Country's condition that time being
egregious
Same time nation got some pearls
precious
Those elite, scholars and interpids
Being tyro of revolution done great
deeds
Those martinets, enthusiatics and
knighters
Fought till last breath of being mother land
fighters
Having high characters had the power
to placate
Gathering all brought strength to open
victory gate
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
say goodbye to the bucolic summer
the rafts of winter are upon the banks of your desire
please placate the wild streets of abandonment
let the edges of your neediness
take you into independence
i am less dense than a fly
and more round than the sky
i am a shade too dry for some people's liking
are you wanting a more permanent vacation
the icing on the cake is the real equation
immediate desires all forsaken
our love is worth practicing non-anticipation for
if you kiss me now i’ll be forever liberated
if you show me how
i’ll take you to the 9th dimension
seventeen floors above the world
and we are standing on
an indefinite embankment
i am intimidated by your perspicacity
as the persimmon sun sets upon the horizon
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
In 1963
Mahalia prodded
the good reverend...
“tell them
about the dream
Martin”
transfixed on
a yonder time
he recounted
prophecies of
a near future
from a mountaintop
he foretold a
history of a people
returned again to
gardens of paradise
thriving in friendly
democratic soils
overflowing with a
colorful biodiversity
governed and
nurtured with a
vibrant sunshine
of divine justice
welcoming all
weary sojourners...
from the
pinnacle of
a Birmingham
jail cell
Martin burst
the bars with
the clarion peel
of a golden trumpet
proclaiming the gospel
of liberation to
the wardens of
unholy gulags
“free yourselves”
the horn emblazoned
in streaking lightning
across the sky
cowed by
prophetic truths
of righteousness,
shamed by
lies the pride
of arrogance
bespeaks to
placate the
intransigence
of dominion,
we prayed the
the walls of racism,
bigotry, prejudice
would tumble down as
Martin lit the Battle
of Jericho
today our country’s
profit driven gulags
overflow with people
of color as justice
lingers on death row
begging for a plea bargain
of a life sentence in
solitary confinement...
from the
****** Sunday Bridge
in Selma, Martin
offered a prayer for
peace, rebuking
the dogs of war
admonishing
the tenders of
blood thirsty
machines to
beat the gears
of war into
pruning hooks
and plowshares
advocates of peace
hope to steer
the plow across
the battlefields of
acrimony to sow
rich seeds of
reconciliation, planting
new gardens where
the rich yields of peace
will be consumed
by all God's children
yet these gardens
remain unplanted,
untended and defiled
by the machinery
of war that churns
churns, churns...
Martin last
dream occurred
on a balcony
in Memphis
witnessing
to the divinity
of those considered
untouchable after
a hard days work
collecting a city’s
refuse
he insisted all labor
was worthy of dignity
and the economic
justice of a fair wage
Martin looked squarely
into the eye of the gun sights
of those who thought differently
he never blinked, he dreamed
Martin formed his last
testament to an angry nation
yearning for the reconciliation
of stability and peace,
unmoved that it’s violence,
exploitation and bigotry only
stoke bonfires of acrimony
and division, condemning
the reprobate principality
to the bleakness of a
smoldering discontent and
continued generations
of recurring nightmares…
Martin's dream continues
in awakened hearts
sojourning on
Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson
Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho
MLK Day
2014
Oakland
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
Whilst you may keep me in a cage,
placate me, try to soothe my rage.
You can try to clip my wings.
But an unhappy bird, never sings.
I will trick you, into letting me out.
Of this be sure, there is no a doubt.
Off I fly, wondrous birds too see.
Spread my wings cos I am free.
Singing melodies, everywhere.
Now I'm free, I do not care.
I will find my own seed.
A caged bird must be freed.
(c)mandy rigby 24/02/2014
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
There are too many hairs
I keep blowing off my keyboard
To pretend they aren’t there
And that they can be ignored.
I can't pretend I have gone blind,
I am admitting they are all there
And that they come from me;
They truly are my own hair.
It must be true, I hazard
Because I can see my scalp.
It’s a situation from aging
For which there is no help.
I have long expected it.
It will do no good to whine.
The disappearing tonsure
I needs must claim as mine.
And so I placate myself
With selfish comparisons
I may look older than others
But much better than some.
Not many decades ago
I once thought sixty was old.
I am thankful for my friends
Who decided not to scold.
They knew I was being
Just the least bit callow.
But they avoided labeling me
With words like vain and shallow.
So, perhaps the vain part
I have with me even now,
And I would abandon that
If I could figure out how.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Another gladiator fell
Watering the field in blood.
His head was sheathed,
He never cut through the net
That descended from the stands.
The iron-fisted trident
Brought thumbs up from the spectators
Indulging in the beer and nuts.
There are always some to be sacrificed
To placate the mob in the colosseum
Beneath the night lights on Mondays,
When Coke is the drink of victors,
And jerseys are sold to the trainees
Who now put on their spikes.
These are ours
Running headlong into the arena.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
Day One:
A voice speaks to me.
When you realize that being lost is so close to being found, you see a sea of family members plagued within the lineage of licentious newborns and hospital beds. You become yourself, a lisp.
Day Two:
Long ago in a city left unscorned he was torn, from the cokeheads and colorful regimes, angels sing long songs of separation anxiety and **** withdrawal. I was torn from the deadbeats of supposed society and three day vicodin trips into my mind. So can you let me know when I get there? ‘Cause I left there running…I wonder, did someone ever tell you that two strangers could twist around your neck at beck and that three parked cars and seventeen lonely nights could haunt you for the rest of your faces.
Day Three:
Tell me of your drug induced hallucinations.
Day Four:
Wait. Hear. Can’t you listen to the relapse? Stop, think. No. gone. Left. Love. Return. My curious addiction. Go back into yourself and listen. Can’t you hear your soul call to me? It’s loud.
Day Five:
I remember prizes at the bottoms of cereal boxes, right before the net broke. Will you be first? Snap back to reality.
It’s dark in here. Wretch from me… I am crying, screaming,
haha! I’m melting inside!
Day Six:
By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower, but the seed inside
Caked over in grief, we are not plates that match. But fools of folly caught in a sea of coke and disillusioned discord. Speed stands between directing and orders to death’s soldiers.
Day Seven:
The difference between God and his counterpart is that he makes exceptions!
Except me.
Day Eight:
Accept me!
Please.
Wait.
No.
don’t slow,
speed.
I can only take so much forgiveness,
is a decision, and I cannot make it.
I am without it, leave me breathless.
Day Nine:
The angel of death waits
He comes for me, but I am running, finding, hiding my inner Nemo in the hands of oxycodon, privileged in the amenities of amphetamines.
I am tired of running!
Haggard.
Take away my hands, my restraints.
Let me feel
again.
Please.
Day Ten:
I am awake.
There is an apple in my field of vision.
Kiss it. Love it.
Take it to hedonism and back again.
But it knows too much.
So tell it everything will be ok.
It lives in epilepsy.
So placate it.
Resurrect my apocalypse.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
Un-Scrupulous Malaise, must you too bleed
Then savour the Sauce which makes your Thoughts sink?
I could bill you for Libel; Or if need
To saddle the Horse called Radar-Stone-Pink
Her Name makes no sense; And purposely so
More than the Watch to her Father she gave
My Thought's own Mystery comes with a blow
That such single comfort would make me brave
Give to Mind Mind's Self; If it does exist
As one Mahatma told me through and through
Placate this Red Farm; Be strong to resist
Your stubborn Barn from which the Wind it blew.
Life would be feathery if you just dance
To this Musical but Simple Romance.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:52 AM UTC
LICHEN laden, granite cross,
Reminder of a celtic culture’s loss,
An icon to placate a harsh deity,
A religious symbol, an outward plea.
LADEN cross, granite lichen,
Not a mere whim, but a deliberate decision,
Ley-line power, here to focus,
Awaiting another mid-summer solstice.
GRANITE cross, lichen laden,
Sculptured for a dark-haired maiden,
Elaborate and ultimate statement of love,
A prayer for a union to be blessed from above.
CROSS, lichen laden, granite
Manufactured on a far off planet,
Crafted and left to become immortal,
Marker of a time traveller’s portal.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 2:16 PM UTC
sometimes,
The time it takes
to curate a reality
Where
The eyes of a hostile reflection
Don't contribute to, but consume-
the moment's prison of littleness...
Is it not possible?
To escape eternity's hour's ceaselessness?
Hope,
is too short;
we perpetuate-
it takes shape.
we preform,
then placate.
Jul 16, 2024
Jul 16, 2024 at 8:00 AM UTC
Loving feelings can restore
balance to relationships.
If you can only bring yourself
to make it happen.
**** the ego and selfish pride
that imprisoned you.
Set yourself free and
go for the one
your heart seeks.
Nurture the one whom your
soul loves.
For out of your
efforts to come out
of your cocoon will emerge a
beautiful lifetime relationship.
A love that is deep
can flow like the
river that leaves its
bank and flood
the whole unimaginable places.
Just like a finger
dipped into the oil
can infest the whole fingers,
so is the love that
forgives penetrates
the whole body
and **** all the
vulnerability to
show it's wounded
face to the sun
without being shy.
Acceptance is of
extreme importance
to bring desired pleasure
to placate and nurture
the heart to heal.
With pleasure the heart
is reverted to a blissful
sequence that is lovely
where both hearts will
feel safe enough to let
their inner child out
of the box to play.
Victory is accorded
to such a joyful end
while the relationship blooms.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
I know this place well
It is where I dwell
At times it can be forgotten
Ergo it is my shell
Reverberation fabricates strings and lines that demonstrate
Echos driven back to source with insanity to placate
Lessons are never learned within such solitude
Until a rupture occurs defeating meaningless platitudes
Fundamental discretion against complacent and ill-comforts
Do not take away visibility from the truth that sometimes hurts
Cracks emerge, illumination transcending
A surge, then an urge to crush this shell circumventing
I know this place well
It is where I dwell
In time I do remember
Ergo I leave my shell
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
Butterflies do stammer
on first dates.
Thinking of what,
What to say.
My head rambles.
My breath abates.
My voice scrambles.
My face straight.
I throw smiles of my youth
Tell stories wide and bright
My subtle lies of clean truth
With utter hopes to placate
My eyes dart, my breath aghast
This moment to be
of our future's past
This moment to be
of our first date.
We meet
We greet
We hide our anxiety
Wading through tension
Behind smiles and drinks
We tread lightly
With humorous winks
Passing off stories of our past
Sitting composed at full attention
I listen intently
But you catch me stare
Hmmm, with each soft word
We calm the air.
Anticipating discovery
I peek into you.
Opening myself
To reveal what's new.
You smile freely
Clenching fingers tight
Butterflies take flight.
Hoping what might
You peek into me
Saying no to what could be.
My head disappears.
My eyes dream.
My shiny veneer
Begins to hear.
A flutter begins flight
As I seek your light.
My chest slowly warms
To glows of moonbeams.
My heart slowly endears
As I faintly hear
My butterfly's subtle screams.
We attract hints of passion
By sharing what's true.
For all this fragile effort
I hope for date number two.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 1:00 AM UTC
In my dreams there are smoke
detectors and crashes and lies.
There is a kiss in an atrium right
before it catches fire. There is placate,
stay straight, evacuate.
Neodymium nitrate always smells
a certain way and always looks
a certain blue. Why does an alarm
go off after I dream I've kissed you,
but never if you kiss me?
What doesn't my brain want me to see?
As Orion slinks into view
I stand mixing solvents at the centrifuge.
There is always a healthy dose
of things I don't know. Always something
for Orion to pin with her next arrow.
If I am not here, asking questions of the world,
demanding answers from what I put
into test tubes,
the next thing could be you.
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 10:55 PM UTC
I said I’d return
Some time ago
Anticipating it was true
But broken matter surrounded me
Now it’s tantalizing heartbreak
Followed by whispers in the night
It’s like I lied
And I stole from you
Now I’m lost
I’m sorry I’m such a lost cause
I’m sorry I made you tremble
But the tantalizing heartbreak told me
That I forgot you tonight
Please stay so near
I’m crying and weeping inside
Don’t placate my fears
Nothing matters
Can’t you see
I don’t care
Tantalizing heartbreak
Teaching me whispers and lies
I did lie
And I stole from you
I’m so lost
I’m sorry I’m such a lost cause
I’m sorry I made you tremble
But the tantalizing heartbreak told me
I forgot you tonight
You’re not safe here
You’re crying and weeping inside
I placated your fears
Everything matters to me
Can’t you see
I still care
The tantalizing heartbreak
Lied
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 11:46 AM 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
The funny thing about life is
You try and try to be a good person
A good neighbor
In a good mood
With only good things to say
But then life intervenes
With the landlord screaming
About uncollected bills
That shouldn’t exist in the first place
Of bosses ranting
That you’re lucky to be working for them
When they’re running the company into the ground
And your only compensation is a poor paycheck
That you take home to your family
So that you can afford to stay under your roof
For another day longer
And put some food on the table
For another night longer
And let’s not forget about the conservatives
Screaming at the top of their lungs
That we’ve lost our way
And that only they can save us
By bringing us back to how it used to be
News flash grenade explosion
**We are the way we are
Because we were the way we were
For far too long**
And then the conservatives parading
Their hidden agendas like they’re liberals
Pay more taxes than the government is worth
A system that’s failing to support it’s own weight
Should have it’s leg kicked out from beneath it
To quicken the fall and rise of sovereignty
Every day is a new day
And it’s how you deal with the obstacles
Placed in front of you that matters
But the matter of banging your head
On the brick wall
Trying to placate the niceties that we were
Brought up to hold so dear to our hearts
Gets out of control
I’ll grab the sledgehammer
And bash the wall down
I’ll walk around the wall
And find my own path
The one least occupied
By the masses
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
Agape unconditional love
leaves world's mouth
agape (wide open).
Love unreservedly
and lavishly with
unrestricted abandon.
Forgive everything
and be free.
Contentment comes
from within the
heart of the freed,
and a soul that
is truly beautiful,
happy and full of grace
with joyful tenderness.
Without striving but
thriving in prosperity,
full of light
and the living ions.
Powered by the
force of the spirit.
Even though surrounded
by numerous tumults,
immense profound peace
engulfed such a one.
The unforgettable and
unusual unspeakable elixir
of life is unleashed
to comfort him.
Delightful with
a grateful heart,
pleasant and pleasing,
so easy to placate.
A comforter full
of wisdom and knowledge.
Versatile and eclectic nature
is abundantly lavished on him.
His presence heals.
Not judgemental but
full of unimaginable
tenderness and understanding.
Such is the way of love.
Agape love.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 4:55 AM UTC
There’s a sage at the doorway
Negating affinity as a leeway.
He never spoke to me though he’s there
I shunned the thought lest I did care.
Grew up in envy
To those – they never saw right through me;
How I yearned for that man’s attention
And from others’ sage I longed discretion.
A battle occupied his thought,
A war seldom won, constantly fought.
For such warrior was taken abashed
Looked at me, ‘I can’t take you back.’
Grounded within me was the silence,
Left and right I sought for solace.
Never sure if could amount to anything in his eyes,
Until I found out he too was never sought off despite.
Desperate - in a sense
As I took hold of a pretense;
Had not the Divine stoop down to reclaim
What I had yearned for the sage, I blamed.
A treble in my throat croaked, “Father”
Despite holding grudge I never bothered
Spoke nor utter a thought in my mind.
There, I froze with teeth to the grind.
Truth encountered my despot idealism,
Tried hard to renounce the criticism.
It’s weight – truth only subjugated my hate;
“Love – unless you embrace it, cannot placate”
Fell on my knees, armor exhausted itself around,
Wrung over my shoulders arms of the One who found
Me clinging on the border of insight and despair,
Only His Will my broken, calloused heart molds into repair.
I glanced back at the sage, I met yearning eyes,
Sought he, his worth for me and found no despise.
All along, had I known, he too was a broken and contrite;
Would not I, received much bestow what is right?
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
I couldn't know you'd need me then!
Just a human with all frailty and much fault....
Do you think the wind blows differently
When it passes over leaves and trees?
That it says: "Wait, lemme stop here a bit
And blow on this one leaf in a special way"
Hardly! Time to get with the manure beneath
And see that sunrays shine on everything
And indiscriminate clouds shimmer on all,
How haphazard, the way the wind blows.
So, don't hang your head and moan so much
Time dawns for you to get over yourself
Don't you see that I'm still here?
Now quit getting your knickers in a knot!
You rant and rave while I pant and slave
Dissect my every move, make me aloof
How can you possibly go counting
And re-arranging all the marbles in my head?
You're so insecure, you make me mad
So exhaustive are your constant jibes
So tiring to soothe your unfounded fears
I'm having to placate you so often of late.
Before it all gets blown out of size
Sit a while in (h)arboured thought
Confront the dreads which cause disquiet
A trove may wash up....but broken, on your shore.
The wind comes not with tardy tidings
For it isn't the what you say or do
But forsooth, the how which carries weight
Let's not over-whip each other so.
My thoughts may be wanton, wild or reckless
Telling tigs bend on a riotous grind
Yet feckless deeds don't follow suit
Pardon my slightly-misbehaving mind.
Patient and respectful, I remain to be
Just guard against esurient whims
Paucity of faith and clockwork trivial'ties
Will lead us down a road of trials.
Fallen martyrs should not feign, see
The wind makes no pretense. It just blows....
Now, I really couldn't know you'd need me then
'Cause, baby, that's the way the wind blows!
S T, 5 April 13
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC
My kitchen is yellow
Ugly and faded
My kitchen is where
Late at night
I traded
Crumbs with a monster
A tiny little thing
That grows and grows
With growls and grumblings
She does not like the yellow
And neither say do I
Sometimes the hideous color
Makes her want to cry
So I placate her with cookies
Brownies and more
But my little monster
Throws tantrums on the floor
No amount of Nutella
Can get her off her knees
For my little monster
Has a minds disease
And I’m too busy fighting
That I can not see
The empty cartons of ice cream
Will bring her no true ease
Jul 22, 2021
Jul 22, 2021 at 5:20 PM UTC
With my hands, I want to erase 500 years of colonialism off your flesh.
With my lips, I want to placate your christian guilt and burn away your evangelic shame.
With my words, I want to travel through your mind spreading a new gospel of love.
All in all:
I want you to become your own savior
breaking tradition in little pieces and rising in passion as a whole until you can touch the moon without having to be crucified.
I want you to leave me if that's part of your liberation.
It is imperialism and not god that they worship.
Being touched by the holy spirit as they turn deaf to the cries of children in Iraq... and on top of that calling the poor woman of color who just had an abortion a murderer. (meanwhile their pastors and priests **** children nonstop.)
Begging for donations to build the next temple as people in intervention torn countries die of hunger (all of this while Bill Gates and Carlos Slim become richer.)
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
all the photographs are blowing in the nuclear wind
photos of trees and lands and people
the sea has boiled dry and the sky has gone away
they walked into it blindfolded by wishes and propaganda
"it wont happen" they said on placards to placate the truth
while the Earth is a blackened ball spinning with death
"it wont happen"
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
If you hear endearment in the plea
leave the echoed sigh of sympathy
and come with your libretto lungs
and lips of red zephyr absolution
to purify the black coughs of cumulus
evaporating the enclosure
of my satin-threaded fetters
A failed emblem of security
in solitary journeys
Come and lay your mortal coil
of seraphic incarnation
next to my imprisoned vessel
of corrupted humanness
Slow my palpitating hourglass
of ashen peace-of-mind
with organic visitations of
your marble maze shrines
Here I can placate my warped
direction with the porcelain decor
of your serene skin
Angel
Wrap your light around my being
like the sun around an icicle
then release me long enough
to euphemise the darkness in me
from de-light to silhouette enlightenment
Hear my plea
muffled by annulled identity
Be the angel
hiding in my boiled
satin threads
and reveal me
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC