"prides" poems
What a historic day it is, that the birth of Motherland we celebrate,
She beautifies herself with Independence and prides in freedom;
Like a berry, Her seeds are nurtured and groomed to pomegranate,
Its the birthday of Nigeria, a tectonic day of liberation from Edom.
A day to celebrate Her sweet Autonomy and Ultimate Supremacy,
An October 1st that marks an Independent and historic liberation;
She prides herself in political Authority, Power and Predominancy,
Its the born day of Motherland, a day of a feast worthy celebration.
Let's all celebrate the birth of Nigeria, for Her age's a befitting feast,
We must unite together as One Nation built on our Elite's landmark;
This day calls for a jubilation to a lasting freedom and a vital feast,
Motherland glows with honour and pride, for her birth's a hallmark.
She fought like an Eagle with great might and valor, for the liberty
Of Her future generation, and Hero's blood a fountain of freedom,
Today we laud a Nigeria that birthed the Independence and stability
Of a Sovereign Nation, that feeds no more on the putrid of Edom.
Today marks the 56th born day of Nigeria, and still a Sovran Nation,
It calls for a celebration, a befitting feast and a historic merriment;
An October 1st that marks an Independent and historic liberation,
Its Nigeria's Independence, a day to celebrate a sweet merriment.
©Vabec.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
The Lioness is one of God's majestic creatures
She is mighty ferocious fierce and brave
Prides herself in her features
While killing the antelope she has desperately crave
The Lioness is filled with love
Only as she watches her cubs
With the lion her belove
And protects them from the hard stubs
The Lioness is not submissive
She lets the lion become king for as long as she pleases
Never permissive
Until hell freezes
The Lioness is the true queen of the pride
No one dares challenges her
If you do you will not slide
You will only talk of blather
If you hear her fearsome roar
then take heed of this lore
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
Growing up, I was taught the story of two men
One built his house upon the rocks and one upon the sand
And I learned the difference between humility and pride
I was taught to differentiate the foolish from the wise
Because when God sent the rainfall and the waters began to rise,
The house on sand crumbled right in front of thoughtless eyes
And my father would tell me, "Darling, don't build your foundation in the weak, in something that might die"
But I've been constructing my home on gravel my entire life
If there is a God
Why did he let me build my house upon the sand?
Why did he lay down every brick and let the nails tear through my hands?
I am an urchin in the dirt leaving claw marks in the earth
And my cries fall from my mouth and cling to my tattered shirt
If there is a God
Then why would he call himself a Father to me?
Why would he want to break my heart and crush my dignity?
He prides himself on the ringing in my ears
and his mason jars of tears
Instead of being my faith, why would God want to be my greatest fear?
If heaven is where he is,
then hell is anywhere but here
If there is a God
And he's my Father
And he is so divine
Then why did I grow up so sick and sad and tired all the time?
Why would he instill doubts from Satan himself for everyone to see;
"You're inadequate
Inadequate
That's all you'll ever be"
My mistakes render me useless,
At least, that's what Father says of me
And if there is a God,
And he's my father
How could he walk away as if nothing ever happened, although I have seen it all before
Because what happens in this House of Heaven stays behind closed doors
He would enter his bedroom, and leave the door open just a crack
So when he would read his Bible and show us how a true Christian should act
I'd turn to my little brother and say "I wish one day we'd be holy like that".
The mortar in my walls are breaking and the water is rushing in
I wish so badly to repair it, but I've always been like this
The dirt I fell in twenty years ago is matted to my skin
The cuts on my soul since childhood are all I've ever been
I'm sorry Father, for I have sinned
And I have nothing good to show
And I don't mean to point the blame, Father, but sin is all I've ever known
If there is a God, would he let me stand before his throne?
Would he take me into his arms and treat me as his own?
Would he wash my ***** shirt and let me stand where the saints have stood?
Would he help me build a house upon the rocks
Like a father should?
I wonder if I can build it well enough to reach him
Because my current house can't as long as its this way
If there is a God
I wonder what he'd say
about me
I am the prodigal daughter you never learned about in stories
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
I am sooooo tired,
exhausted..
My mind needs to be shut down,
my head hurts.
Words want to be said but my prides me wounded, my selfworth is burning low
there is a lump in my throat.
I'm haunted by to evanescent nature of my past joy.
Daunted but how far my seems to be.
Yesterday, last week, last month, last year and today have me in the center, wearing the same things, feeling the same,
worried I'm at my end, but a while older
my life seems to be rejecting me; or maybe I it..
I want to be free to exist but everything seems to come with a cost.
There are critics everywhere
even my thoughts have thoughts objecting to them before i receive them and make certain i don't need them.. So I'm running around in circles not knowing why i never got around to things my mind first thought whiles ago,
my will has become meek
my worth shrunk to camouflage with dust specks
I'm exhausted from playing this part,
misguided by the values of what's recently been made 'right'
distracted completely from the life i want to live.
And i don't have a clue which switch ***** it back to normal,
or which life i will leave for those which have grown accustomed to this timid version of me...
After all people aren't always happy when they say. "...you have changed..."
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC
He is the inconvenient truth,
And always goes unnoticed.
I guess it's for the better,
I would hate to be ****** into,
His heart he hides,
Under the vacant smiles.
He is the boy who tells white lies,
And balms his good intentions.
I want him to tell me so,
I hate the fact he doesn't.
His mouth just seeps sugar,
What he thinks I want to hear.
He is a constant misconception,
And prides himself on his demeanour.
They think of him as nice, or kind,
I hate the fact I see the latter.
His delusions of how things should be,
Will never cloud my judgement.
For what I hate the most about him,
Is that I know who he really is,
And it's sad,
he wouldn't recognise reflection.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
Animals that have one soul, but two faces
Animals that hide themselves in lies and insecurities
Animals that like to overcomplicate life
Animals that will assault each other with words
Animals that have prides, but act alone
Animals that discriminate on each others individualities
Animals that will **** each other of a matter of ideals
This specie is suicidal
They do not deserve to share the Earth with the other creatures
They build and build only for it to be destroyed
One step forward and two steps back
We repeat history, never learning
We may as well call ourselves Chaos and Insanity
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
A flag of a distant island
On the wall of a "home"
Made on a compound
An immigrant family
A mother trying hard
To grasp the sands
Slipping through
the hands of time
As the children prides
Themselves
On the fading memory
Of a language spoken
In a far away land...
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 12:38 PM UTC
It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first:
To offer you now at last my least and my worst:
Minor, absurd preserves,
The shell's end-curves,
A document kept at the back of a drawer,
A tin hidden under the floor,
Recalcitrant prides and hesitations:
To pile them carefully in a desparate oblation
And say to you "quickly! turn them
Once over and burn them".
Now I (no communist, heaven knows!
Who have kept as my dearest right to close
My tenth door after I've opened nine to the world,
To unfold nine sepals holding one hard-furled)
Shall - or shall try to - offer to you
A communism of two ...
See, entry's yours;
Here, the last door!
2.3k
They say your lost at sea
lost at sea within my dreams
hard to reach
hard to touch from where im from
completely out of reach
they say youve come back for another try
the say youve walked and now your down
they said youve been there
open arms
wide looking eye
waiting for the chance to come by
this chemical equation
of covalent bonds mixing in heat
magnetic shifts pull us here
binding energy across the room
is buffered by the prides dream
but what catalyst my love
can ignite such desire
its reaching critical mass
about to start a nuclear disaster
its as if i have turn into a halogen
reacting to the site of you
coming into the room
the insoluble pride of my desire
is boiling to a point
i might return
but to you its as if
my face
was a line spectrum only showing
certain things
the potential energy
bursting
esxstasy
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
For someone who prides themselves on always being honest,
I am really such a liar
And for someone who likes to act all cold hearted and tough,
I'm a lover not a fighter
And when I say "I don't care, I don't care, I don't care"
It's because I care too much
And when I seem level headed, collected, and calm,
My insides are really mush
So when I inevitably get **** faced and text you:
"I love you"
Or,
"I hate you"
Or,
"I hate you because I love you"
Please let me down easily
Because for someone who constantly claims you mean next to nothing to her,
I am really such a liar.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 3:56 AM UTC
I’m convinced that someone’s hacked into my head
and deleted the part of my brain that controls my concentration.
Because at times, I have the attention span of the goldfish who just downed a bottle of vicodin.
See, my brain is a livewire lined with high-voltage power lines of dreams and ideas,
and I can’t shut off all the switches and relays flooding messages to my nervous system,
because what I have is a nervous system.
Every caustic, worried thought that I’ve ever thought tends to show up there,
and all I ever do is worry about how one wrong word might end a relationship,
or how one right word could start a new friendship,
or how everything that I keep reading into,
is just bleeding into everything else,
mixing colors,
while I’m sitting here…
forgetting to take the time to paint with my passions and prides.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
*She's the type of precious flower
That grows well,
And thrives,
In nature's sacred rich earth,
Each new blessed morning
She reaches out to the sunslight -
She knows its energy is responsible
For her daily blessed rebirth.
She's the type of precious flower
That grows to her full potential
After a heavy rain,
She can handle the wild winds -
She can handle a little roughness,
And a little bit of pain.
She's the type of precious flower
Who does not compete,
Or compare herself,
With any other flower,
She knows her worth,
And she is comfortable
Being herself -
This is her special superpower.
She's the type of precious flower
That possesses a rare uniqueness -
An original beauty,
Inside and out,
She prides herself
In living for the joy of life,
She is grateful
For the simplicities in life -
And for being blessed
With the gift of life;
For being chosen to sprout.
By Lady R.F ©2016*
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 6:15 AM UTC
Doubts, dreams, broken hopes.
Faded future
Lost, but never found.
The cost is right
Nightmares now consume the night.
Monsters aren't bad
the heartache haunts me.
Dragons breathe nothing compared to you words.
They burn so bad the coals never cool
The sting and sizzle ruin my faith
You'll never be back
Your prides too high, fall back down to earth
Still by then it's just too late.
So Long.
So long.
Sweet Dreams.
Sweet Dreams.
Apr 21, 2010
Apr 21, 2010 at 1:29 PM UTC
Never he was an honest man
Who prides himself
On wanton expeditions
In a field of truth
He lies, entangled in conceit
To win that which he desires –
It is only but a game.
Mind not his mental means, nor manner –
Be he sane or psychopath –
But the strategy by which he plays:
Cheat, deceive, manipulate,
Overcome, and conquer your carnal estate.
Twisted tales, spun with golden thread
Crafted by careful practice and confidence
The master of charisma in his own head
Is no Eros, in any sense – Erosive, yes –
He is only what you want but for a brief moment
Be suspicious and expect this ever-real Narcissus.
A lecher he is
A Greek God in wish –
Nay, he only lives in the fantastic,
Though he roams about us
In a surreal bubble,
Where love comes to pass,
He is ever-so subtle
He markets himself as a Rembrandt,
Although more a moke* than baroque,
Something which he could never see
Staring into his reflection so blindly.
At a cost, worth more than his fee,
This cheap knockoff of Sal Dali,
Would sell you his love
For a buck forty-three.
Beware the lecher.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
Calculated or spontaneous movements, both quiet and loud
We are who we're becoming, we were born to be proud
But pride has this level, pride has this curse
Pride has this tendency of making matters worse
Pride is crucial and necessary, but pride causes pain
Pride is fear of losing one's edge and in turn losing potential for gain
But do we really have an edge, or just a lackluster illusion?
What's this feeling that keeps us inside this self-securing dellusion?
Sometimes I wonder if just for a day, I took all my pride and threw it away?
If I said all the words I've ever thought to say, would I see things start to go my way?
If I stopped telling myself the world can't see me without a mask
Creating a vision of openness, while leaving vulnerability all in the past
While I'm strong, and strongly convicted to my honesty
I'd rather lie wholeheartedly, than admit I feel weak
Because remember that word, that strange hovering boulder
That tells you to take your welcoming heart, and make it turn colder
But what can we say when pride keeps us safe? Really what can we do?
Whenever I've tried to push it aside, I've felt things that felt together unglue
If the stakes don't matter than prides not a factor, we know what to bring
Yet we'll sit where we are, afraid to move for anything worth anything
I'm hoping one day, I find a new way to keep my soul safe
That I'll stay proud of who I am but not too proud to try
That I’ll look back to how I used to hold back and I'll be laughing
I'm starting to have faith, stranger things have happened
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 1:12 AM UTC
*
oh you bringer of glad tides
His most ultimate of prides
if all of creation couldn't lie
they'd all be puttin' ye high
oh you speaker of the truth
His all of messenger's roof
if none of words could give
the worths of how ye'd live
oh you the defined example
His divine very own sample
if guidance would be ample
what'll save us the trample
oh you saviour of mankind
His mercy on deaf 'n' blind
if we ignorant can't display
what's 'tween night 'n' day
oh you the light upon light
His avail with which ignite
if the darkness will prevail
what track wouldn't derail
oh you guide upon the path
His only way without scath
if the wrath is kept hidden
what door will be forbidden
oh you holder of the heavenly key
His knowledge 'n' secrets to ye be
so to get back at this sinner's plea
oh you would ye please rescue me*
**..assalaato assalaamo alayka ya Sayyidi...!
..salawaat'Ullahi wa salaamahu alayhi wa aalihi wa sahbihi...!
..love always...
عرفان بن يوسف © AH 19/06/1436**
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 1:04 AM UTC
*If these words can only be transformed into --
Arms, to give the warmest embrace.
Soft caress to touch, your wandering soul,
Trailing off, losing it's way beyond the horizon.
Healing hands, that can heal the broken hearts,
Wounded prides,
Scarred lives.
Lips, to kiss away every ounce of sadness,
Every bit of depression,
Every stubborn pain stabbing memory.
If only these words can reach your heart and feel for you..
To steal the unhappiness reflected in
your eyes,
In your every movement,
In every suicidal thoughts toying in your dying dreamland.
If only.
It will.*
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 8:20 AM UTC
Our footsteps echo through ancient halls,
where here is everywhere
and every time is now.
Caesar’s twin-edged conquests are our own
as is Brutus’s fickle knife
and Marc Anthony’s cunning speech.
Plague steals across our Europe
like a remorseless highwayman -
rosies all ringed and falling down.
We wait in Wien's Kärntnertor theater
for Schiller’s An die Freude
to shine anew in Beethoven’s score
and are ushered in at Menlo Park
where Edison's tungsten faintly glows.
Tomorrow will bring sun to the night.
There's Jonas Salk at his microscope.
One more test will crack the code
to banish polio's scourge.
But nature’s caprice strews logs on our roads.
We are dashed by a Tsunami’s rage.
Katrina’s torrents have swallowed our homes.
Prides of warriors wade rivers of blood
and Darfur bullets tear into our chests.
Nuclear Toys ‘R Us shelves are fully stocked.
We are the heirs of each triumph and treachery.
We grasp the keys to tomorrow.
What have we done? What must we do?
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:35 AM UTC
As here I sit,
I await the next hit.
Three men against one,
The pain has just begun.
As I lay under this unyielding sun,
I wonder how this was begun.
Surely it was all just a bit of fun?
And now there's no where left I can run.
There is no way I can win,
And yet I've never given in.
And so the moment they relent,
That's when I begin to vent.
As I rise and begin to stand,
"What are you doing?" they demand;
That's when I strike, quick as a viper and sure as a ******
I hit out right at his jugular.
There may be no way for me to win,
But at least I've erased his stupid grin.
I step back for a moment,
I see the man collapse from the blow I sent.
Now I know that they'll be hell bent,
To make sure that all my blood is spent.
For sure I'm in a worse position than before,
But that's all my prides ever been good for.
There is no way I can win,
And yet there's no way I could ever give in.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 11:34 AM UTC
This woman I fell in love with
is an enigma, none like her,
I admire her, this quite night.
Flames of desire lick me
when I even think of
her voluptuous softness
wearing shimmering black.
She prides in what she is,
doesn't pretend
as someone else.
Darkness is her
without any apology
though she owns a brilliant
cosmic jewelry shop;
only she can display diamonds
looking different in every minute,
each more dazzling than the other.
Without any arrogance or
posturing that suggests invincibility,
she surrenders all she has,
when sun demands it,
with the confidence that
when she'd come back
after a hiatus, she will be no less.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 11:58 AM UTC
Broken hearts are taken for granted,
their sunny shapes are torn;
their tiny windows are doomed and forlorn.
Broken hearts are never noticed,
they are no more than abandoned,
they have never existed;
as far as people can recall,
or as long as their sanity allows them to.
their truths are denied,
no attention are they given by their lords.
Broken hearts are injured,
their wounds probably incurable,
their eyes are now full of hate, pain and recurrent danger
that will never be healed.
Broken hearts have been deceived,
tricked, stained, disregarded, and disgraced
without ever being able to be fixed or retuned.
Their minds have been scattered,
their fragile little fingers that feel sore,
and nobody with their vanity will ever know.
Broken hearts feel lonely in their loneliness,
sad in their sadness,
cry in their doom,
weep silently their misery
in the center of their darkening rooms.
Broken hearts are never known,
even when they are truthfully true,
even when they are as subtle as glue,
when they feel that they are nowhere in blue.
But above all,
their honesty is graceful praised,
their patience is sacred graced,
their courage and loyalty regarded embraced.
They were lied to and thrown away,
they were betrayed and laughed at night and day,
they were kicked out and are now withering away.
They have hands that are now crippled,
their eyes have lost their cheerful sight,
their smiles are false and sort of painful.
Their waves are nothing but smoldering red anger
in their murky oceans,
they roll and roll without ever glancing backward,
and soon they forget who they really were
and embarrassed are them,
deciding to turn away and never bother to look back.
Their carols are never sung,
their chords have now flown away,
their melodies have not any single remembrance of themselves.
Broken hearts have desires that are never fulfilled;
destiny that is never reached,
and craves that are never satisfied.
But truly,
their devotion and humility as sacred and holy.
Unfortunately,
everything is just never more than unfair to them
as if they deserve to be humiliated
and for their prides to be consumed
and cruelly torn
into pieces of irreparable tears
when their deserted nights appear
and the massive lies start to bring out their fear
to haunt their very innocence,
their breaths, and flashes of sadness.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
Here is a poor cat
Striped, sweet and shy
Minding its own world
But somehow feel grateful
For the touch of me
Who is passing by.
With saint hazel eyes
This cat artlessly purrs
To provoke a symbiosis between us
Surpisingly soothes my blue whale heart.
It also seeks for a comfy gesture
That will fit just right
It is that simple and pure
And makes heart feel light.
What a purrfection cat!
That prides itself for having fur like velvet
But never acts like a brat
Leading me to give it a soft peck
Because we have a same wavelength
Plus wanting another species to cherish our rant
That sadly never ends.
There's a saying;
'Humans who think cats don't understand them are the stupidest ones'
So imma get all lovey dovey with this cat
See if you care.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 7:13 AM UTC
I am so much happier when I’m with you,
and as a women who prides herself
on being independent,
that is a terrifying thought;
but what I’ve come to realise is
I’m not loosing myself,
instead I’m becoming a better me
through spending time with you.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 5:31 AM UTC
She prides herself an hourglass
yet never long enough, this body of time.
sharing conversations,
you'd otherwise be sharing with the wine.
It made the day's last leg's cross over
in my mind.
Be more than only snapshot dearest friend.
You are a focus in the lens, who lends
her smile.
And though, a distance shears
word salads by the mile,
just know the love you bring
stays with me all the while.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC