"sanitation" poems
What a wonderful view to see
The flowers and the trees in serenity
The people and animals strive for prosperity
For peace, mans’ natures’ unity
All united for every body’s equity.
A creation of such wonder and beauty
The birds’ one and only sanctuary
A product of God’s power of infinity
There’s no other majestic than a tree.
It stood so still and tall
Its rustling leaves gave a melodious song
Like a lullaby from far home
That someone would always long.
But now, man is blinded by treasures and selfish thoughts,
And forgot the tree’s such true and noble worth
He destroyed nature and the idea of balance he seems to abort
He thought that maybe with treasures he will go forth,
But never for if Mother Nature revenge he will be caught.
Buildings, computers and other inventions
These were the things which caught mans’ attention
Trees and animals suffered from mans continuous exploitation
Nature provided everything, so why can’t man give a little appreciation
Cut here, chopped there, cut here, chopped there
What a pity the fate of the trees were
The forest was swept off, hectare by hectare,
What a fool man was to think he will prosper,
When the joy he felt now tomorrow will differ.
Deforestation and pollution product of man’s wrong action
Reforestation and sanitation, why don’t we practice these act of affection
Why destroy nature, for mans upcoming destruction?
Why don’t we love God creation for a better nation?
Flood storm and fire, a taste of revenge from nature
Catastrophes or calamities that strike and torture
These will all happen if nature is not given cure
A sign that doom will fall and it will be sure.
Soon people will suffer without pity
And nature’s answer will never be mercy
For if man continues to destroy the tree
Then it will be the end of the story
But it’s never too late for us people to change
Plant a tree and be aware
For today’s, tomorrow’s, children’s sake
Save the tree, Save the Nature, Save the Earth.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 3:48 AM UTC
It's 3:09am
I'm im the library
Desperately trying to write a research paper:
'LGBT Familes'
How fitting.
Caffeine courses through my veins
Coffee overloads my bladder
Bathroom.
I hate bathrooms.
When you have no gender
The simple act of relieving yourself becomes a chore
The heavy weight of that key decision
Chokes your lungs as you stand outside the doors
Two doors.
Men.
Women.
Not me.
The choice becomes simplified:
While I sometimes pass as a man
I often do not.
I can choose the men's bathroom
The consequence of which could end in physical violence
The same hate I explain through my essay.
The same fear that plagues my community.
The women's restroom is also an option
The consequences likely less dire than the former:
Heavy side eye and the potential of yelling.
A much safer choice.
Obviously.
Per usual, I walk into the women's room.
I take three strides inside.
Then I stop.
I've never used the men's room.
My fear of violent reactions has always won.
Yet at a time like this
How likely is it that someone is inside the men's room?
Now is my chance to face my fears.
Now I have a safe chance at peeing in peace.
In a bathroom potentially more suiting
Of my gender identity
So I turn around.
Let the door slam behind me.
Half a step into the men's room
The smell of rancid ***** hits my senses
Toilet paper liters the stalls
I have missed absolutely nothing in my years in the women's room
Women have nicer facilities
A significantly more advanced hand dryer
Cleanliness
Air freshener
Men do not have these luxuries
Now I question,
Do men not take as good of care of their bathrooms as women do?
Do the workers intentionally prioritize women's sanitation?
What causes this undeniable divide?
Is the messiness of the men's room a result of their conscious decisions?
Or simply a response to societal expectation?
Regardless,
I think I'll stick to the women's room
While I add bathrooms to my compilation
Of more discrete gender inequality
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
Rust downing like bayed menstrual blood--
booming steel walls...a rattling sanitation truck.
Housewarming...'the rough beast' in
fetal orbit...nay-toothed in squalor.
Whose gummy roar shall presage the
audacity of all places, that call forth
houses!!!
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
Americana is not Greyhound.
People come and go like life,
Attached to the waiting random.
The road feels longer,
Relief of excretion and sanitation,
Home spreads everywhere.
Sitting strangers are stories,
Riding by unknown sceneries,
Thinking about their hometown,
Wondering if they will reach their destination on time.
Earphone music connects memories to a person so vividly,
It feels like a new chapter in my life,
Bookmark the important ones with parts of me,
It feels like I’m departing,
From something small to somewhere big.
It’s
already
an adventure
once the first
step is made
with you.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
As the wind blows across the fiery desert,
The desperate people of Yemen sigh.
How many more will suffer today?
How many more children will cry?
A Saudi-led coalition
Strikes with a heartless disregard,
Leaving behind misery--
Death and destruction its calling card.
Choking the poor country, the Saudis
Organized a major blockade,
Cutting off vital medicine,
Food, and water, and stopping all trade.
Cluster bombs have fallen on cities.
Thousands of innocent people have died.
Hospitals and schools have been hit.
How can such horror be justified?
Millions of people risk starvation
If all the bombing does not end.
The Saudis hunger for more and more weapons,
And they have billions of dollars to spend.
A bomb made by Lockheed Martin
Hit a Yemeni school bus
Killing fifty-one people, and hurting
Many more, thanks to us.
A U.S. bomb hit funeral mourners;
One destroyed a marketplace.
That our support causes such
Atrocities is a disgrace.
The people suffer from cholera--
Something that is hard to avoid
When a country's sanitation
Facilities are being destroyed.
A massive humanitarian crisis
Plagues the country despite appeals
To end the conflict by caring nations,
While major players dig in their heels.
Sunni-Shiite conflicts continue
With innocent citizens caught in between.
Callous leaders turn their heads,
Afraid to speak up or intervene.
-by Bob B (10-17-18)
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
If a world is known by its ideals
Let mine be known as sanity
Let all men be infertile
And all women, stale
Let streets be known for sanitation
And all babies dipped in chlorine
All talk, sterile and sufficient
All excrement concealed
Let the youth of my predecessors
And their mocking vulgarity
Drown in a town of minimal design
And shocking similarity.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
Pacing in endless circles
Appearing to be chasing their tails
With nothing much to focus on,
Eyes reflecting haunted souls unveil
A ghost town abandoned long ago
With no signs of life and the dust
Rising up trying to hide the shame
Of a system which failed the public trust.
Street smells permeate the air;
Sanitation becomes a four-letter word.
There's no need for appetite here,
Not in this theater of the absurd,
And, well, I wouldn't feed the stuff
To my worst enemy if I had one.
It's a no-kill shelter with defunct inhabitants.
If resiliency of the spirit be overdone,
The ability to survive incredible odds,
Look at souls forever trapped in their cages.
As if to mock decency and humanity
The signs read "Patria o Muerte."
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
The representative from Ohio
wipes his *** with Jose’s brown
palms after a bout of verbal defecation.
Luckily, Jose’s food truck houses
a small sink in the corner where
he can wash his hands in between
baskets of chorizo prepared
for rich politicians.
Sometimes Jose scrubs so hard dream flakes
rub off of his skin and he throws them
into the wastebasket to be picked
up by the sanitation workers who
eagerly jump like frogs in orange vests
into the waste of Americana. When
the Representative stops by for
a plate of carne asada, Jose’s
dream specks pepper the beef
and his salty sweat flavors
the inside of the burrito. He grills
the onions and green peppers with
a dash of minimum wage and
boils the rice in a mixture of blood
and pieces of his heritage.
He serves the meal in a white Styrofoam
tray and drizzles it with cheese flowing
from an open wound. The receipt is an unpaid
medical bill, the drink an icy reminder
of his future sipped through a straw.
The nightly news tells Jose
the Representative is bedridden
with a stomach infection. He
complains his insides feel like
a million ***** feet kicking the lining,
like unheard mouths with rows of
sharp teeth gnawing at the liver.
Jose to the tv: tonight we’re not starving.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
The first duty of the State
Should be sanitation,
Not defense, nor cyber-security.
Drain the swamps.
**** the vermin.
Wash & sweep the streets.
Let us forgive his past shenanigans.
A vote for ****** is a
Vote for cleanliness.
After all: next to Godliness.
(American politician **Anthony ****** former member of the U.S. House of Representatives from New York City, was involved in a ****** scandal related to sexting, or sending explicit ****** material by cell phone. On June 16, 2011, ****** announced his intention to resign from Congress with his official resignation occurring on June 23, 2011.)
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Gotta wipe off the seat , sanitation is key,
Squeaky clean future if you make it soon,
Skipping that class in the bathroom,
Be on the phone in the bathroom,
Taking those pills in the bathroom,
Ladies look good in the bathroom,
Not that I spy on the girls room,
Teenagers have *** in the bathroom,
Pick on other kids in the bathroom,
Gather bearings in the bathroom,
Gotta wipe off the seat , sanitation is key,
Squeaky clean future if you make it soon,
Treasures , treasures , they fill the hearts of these people,
Disguised as greed,
It never ends , there are still more sequels,
Pushing and pulling emotions and boundaries,
Can't be weak in this world ,set in every country,
**** on the government in the bathroom.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 1:53 AM UTC
C:\USERS\ISAAC > open C:\Impulse\Expulse.raw
The dust settles
On the fans and the plans.
Looking like a double "2",
You try to see like one.
See or look.
Or just a look-see.
Laughing at nothing is a common thing for you.
The strangest has come,
The strangest has left.
The strangeness is correct.
Every spring,
Every water,
Every drop has a secret.
They sing to him in the form of river.
He jumps to the bank
To get his money's worth.
It's an organized procedure to him.
He sinks his head in the ground,
In the rocks and in the sound.
A random pattern is heard.
Two, Three, Ten, Five, Twenty.
One Hundred, Thirty-One, Two.
A, G, I, S.
North, East, South, West.
His, My, Her, Them.
Great, Rough, Green, Tan.
Giant mispronounciations and hidden truths.
One more thing,
Don't get lost...
"Sadness for a screen,
Sadness for a screen."
He sells his money for a screen,
To get his money's worth.
Lost files and hidden documents
Not worth the oxide their printed on.
Old memories of times still here
Hidden in words of the past.
One more thing,
It's all on impulse.
Next day he found a .raw.
He walked towards it.
It said,
"Why do you live with frantic?"
He said,
"I live to take the time."
It said,
"Why do you do the things you do?"
He said,
"To me, it's not impulse, it's expulse."
It said,
"Why do you need to get rid of?"
He said,
"The questions people seek."
It said,
"Take me to the sky.{?}"
He said,
"Gladly."
To the sky he went.
And the time he spent
He used to solve the problem.
He saw a new opportunity
To make a new sanitation.
It consisted of three notes.
Two for show and one to go.
The go note did the work
Of tasting the ground for dirt
To get it's money's worth.
It cleaned like Ben one.
And when sanitation was complete,
He went to .raw.
He said,
"The last words are gone."
It said,
"So that means we've won."
He said,
"What should we do?"
It said,
"Wait for the next."
Mar 23, 2011
Mar 23, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
From wars erupting earths core,
we've settled a score only for the heavens and hell to see.
We smother the stench of temptations with potpourri,
only to deceive others stimulating parts of a brain.
Still pardon my slang
Are we using something to rearrange a type of mental suicide arranged,
in order to display portraits of lucid terror?,
Throwing smoke bombs to keep a little order
but even so that's just keeping us ***** for more slaughter.
Like roaches and raid a single spray will cause fragment mutations
a zombie faze shot with steroids and black plagues, just a graze to depict nations,
human infested sanitation able to retaliate government abomination.
A conversation my mind read by Pagans
walking through hallways,
a million rooms perfume and a two headed waitress,
mind binding views,
imitations, crosses, limitations,
serpents, pulpits, fuels lit and shattered creations.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
Observe the dents and the bents
This barbell is sitting alone in the alley
How long has it been there you ask?
It has been years, but it is a forgotten story
The barbell was rusted and old
But doing its day, trainers knew how to take hold
The barbell was outside a once very active Gym
The owner’s first name happened to be Jim
The Gym’s name was called “Fitness Theory Gym”
The members were all Fitness Buffs and Bodybuilder’s that were massive and muscular
The gym was strictly ********
All about fitness being the core
Yet all the trained was centered around barbells with an uptown grade being called weights
Walking pass on any given day, you could hear the sounds of moans in lift
Catch my drift?
But a Financial Crisis at the gym slowed business down
Little by Little, the members could no longer be found
In fact, it was next to none
So the gym had no choice but to close down
But then again, gym after gym was no longer bound
The end of fitness and ******** not being the sound
So one loss barbell that was left in a forbidden alley
Rusted and no place to go to be lifted
The barbell stayed in the alley until sanitation arrived
A barbell being old and no longer in use
Also a barbell no one could see
A ******** past with what used to be
Aug 7, 2020
Aug 7, 2020 at 3:48 PM UTC
*My thanks to the store clerk working the midnight shift
God bless the dishwashers at local restaurants laboring for minuscule pay
To the forklift operators moving freight for hours on end ,
to cleaning crews preparing offices for another day
For the plumber protecting health in the wee hours of
the morn
For sanitation workers hard at work well before dawn*
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
Big old jade earring hung from that haunted necklace, swinging from this and that and the other way where and if that sky upstairs let go of the thing I wanted you to be but a break in the system, no a malfunction in that suction of a love that you tried to forget about but feel those typing keys on the fingers that break knees and the heels up and up with the ***** a lingerin' and thats sounding like a new pounding, the one upstairs with the translucent roof ghostly and guess i got a new boot thats fixing itself to elate another prisoner upstate where the worries are always about the women.
Yeah, that women with the diamond ring with her children by her side thinking about the monastery she never visited a big time act act act in a dress that helped her enough and forgot about the rest. But we all move on quick to detest times test with the burritos that she never ate because of the figure she imposed that she got from her transistor radio and the yearly subscriptions of the ghostly ghost that haunted her in the moat around the castle of stairs up ripunzel with dragons a aflame listening to the same wishy washer story of old uncle Maury and the twenty ten twelve salute to the mastery of the fiction of listening, another riddle in the twiddle beneath the sheets that were once painted gold but her husband done left her and she's moving to seattle to start up some new cattle spreading the seed of 1910 where time stands still with his drink in his hand because the guy has got to get around to something with all that talent, with all that anger with all that impulse that proves itself time and time again it will never be enough for a salvation sanitation with the twisty fro's of yearly ye and ye bouts of fights she twisted in that shout that she knew, she knew she swears, what it was all about.
May 6, 2011
May 6, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
C:\USERS\ISAAC > open C:\Impulse\Expulse.raw
The dust settles
On the fans and the plans.
Looking like a double "2",
You try to see like one.
See or look.
Or just a look-see.
Laughing at nothing is a common thing for you.
The strangest has come,
The strangest has left.
The strangeness is correct.
Every spring,
Every water,
Every drop has a secret.
They sing to him in the form of river.
He jumps to the bank
To get his money's worth.
It's an organized procedure to him.
He sinks his head in the ground,
In the rocks and in the sound.
A random pattern is heard.
Two, Three, Ten, Five, Twenty.
One Hundred, Thirty-One, Two.
A, G, I, S.
North, East, South, West.
His, My, Her, Them.
Great, Rough, Green, Tan.
Giant mispronounciations and hidden truths.
One more thing,
Don't get lost...
"Sadness for a screen,
Sadness for a screen."
He sells his money for a screen,
To get his money's worth.
Lost files and hidden documents
Not worth the oxide their printed on.
Old memories of times still here
Hidden in words of the past.
One more thing,
It's all on impulse.
Next day he found a .raw.
He walked towards it.
It said,
"Why do you live with frantic?"
He said,
"I live to take the time."
It said,
"Why do you do the things you do?"
He said,
"To me, it's not impulse, it's expulse."
It said,
"Why do you need to get rid of?"
He said,
"The questions people seek."
It said,
"Take me to the sky.{?}"
He said,
"Gladly."
To the sky he went.
And the time he spent
He used to solve the problem.
He saw a new opportunity
To make a new sanitation.
It consisted of three notes.
Two for show and one to go.
The go note did the work
Of tasting the ground for dirt
To get it's money's worth.
It cleaned like Ben one.
And when sanitation was complete,
He went to .raw.
He said,
"The last words are gone."
It said,
"So that means we've won."
He said,
"What should we do?"
It said,
"Wait for the next."
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
Customers have torn open the Christmas
chocolates. Shoving it in mouths,
shopping bags, children’s eyes.
Quiet. We are shopping. as. a. family.
Smoke accordions out of Santa’s mailbox. The sprinkler system
hisses stale air. Custodians ride by on their metal cart laughing,
sanitation chemicals flickering out of buckets.
The 80 year-old piano player is hammering out Schoenberg.
Customers shove lamps into their shopping bags, shove children
into them.
Turn on the light Jimmy.
The ninth floor is barricaded off by old woman. They
have turned the clearance divans on their sides
and are throwing toasters. Down in the basement,
the security staff have locked themselves into 2’ by 2’
cells. Fetally-positioned, their panting echoes off stone walls. Static
sizzles on the array of sixteen camera screens. Customers
have begin to bow in the reinforced door next to the two-way mirror.
A fat man is leaning against it. He has been dead
for over an hour. Restaurant staff are tearing
down the great tree. Ornaments funnel down pop-crashing
upwards from the floor. Three pound ceramic dinnerware crashes
into the walnut bar The customers are putting mattresses in their bags,
they are putting the offices in their bags. Human resources
are backed into the employee orientation computer lab. Customers
have poured Starbucks on the circuit-breakers. The lights are dimming,
Escalators are jamming. Children scream
I want to see Santa.
Santa is dead. Employees calmly walk over his protruding
belly. The velvet and fat feels good on tired
feet. An inhuman voice garbles
The store will be closing.
Families grab onto shelves, racks, other
families. Employees pick up the registers and slam
them on granite counters. Coins explode out like bells. The rotating
doors are not spinning. They are stuck, crunching on limbs.
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 5:16 PM UTC
Monster snowstorm Meteorologist have warned
But when you have faith you don’t be alarmed
Yet this snowstorm is going to be for the record books
All a person has to do is just look
Like a typewriter keyboard going up the ladder
But in this case it is the Northeast with the matter
If the snowstorm piles up as much as Meteorologist predict, the snow will be around long and will certainly be icy and thick
Transportation will definitely shutdown
There will be no way too get around
Everyone will be stationery in homeward bound
It will television and cell phones with snowstorm updates
Then a mission to work or wait
There is no guarantee
It is a matter of wait and see
The snowstorm provided by thee
Man can’t defeat and tell the snow too stop
It’s all controlled from the almighty being at the top
The Sanitation Department will be doing their job in clearing the snow away
However it won’t be gone all in one day
This could be a snowstorm bringing snow that could last for days
Don’t even think on taking a plane being a getaway
It will be the wintry frozen ice that will stay
The best advice that I could give is to think of the season spring
Mild with warm hearts in getting through the snow in helping you preserver
Don’t think on fear
As God is always near
A snowstorm is God’s way in purifying the earth
I remember being taught that at birth
But think on doing things at home being fun
Always remember, weather conditions you have no control and God will always be the centered number of one.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
"All I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate-school mountain, but there in the sandpile at Sunday School. These are the things I learned. Share everything. Play fair. Don't hit people. Put things back where you found them. Clean up your own mess. Don't take things that aren't yours. Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody. Wash your hands before you eat. Flush. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. Live a balanced life-- learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some. Take a nap every afternoon. When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup. The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that. Goldfish and hamsters and white mice, and even the little seed in the cup-- they all die. So do we. And then remember the Dick-And-Jane books and the first word you learned-- the biggest word of all-- LOOK. Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and equality and sane living. Take any one of those items and extrapolate it into sophisticated adult terms and apply it to your family life or your work or your government or your world and it holds true and clear and firm. Think what a better world it would be if we all--the whole world-- had cookies and milk about three o' clock every afternoon and then lay down with our blankies for a nap. Or if all governments had as a basic policy to always put things back where they found them and to clean up their own mess. And it's still true, no matter how old you are-- where you go out into the world, it's best to hold hands and stick together.
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 7:14 PM UTC
Falling snowmen from the sky
The vision of snow and ice being my surprise
November being winter early
Heaven’s way being surely
Yet blinding storm put me on alarm
Cars stuck on roads and Homes destroyed being harm
Winter’s arrival at Autumn’s season expense
This was something the skies actually sent
The mystery behind the sudden snowstorm that weather forecaster’s can only guess
Yet to drivers and sanitation it was a guest
It seemed to get worse more or less
More snow is scheduled to come
To school kids they want some
But a snowstorm that came at the wrong time to arrive
However it’s ironic and must take in our stride.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
We fight and we fight and we fight
For what our communal conscious believes is right
We scratch and we scratch and we scratch
At the surface of our supposed human needs
We wave and we wave and we wave
These banners that state a truthful name
How hard we work to prove that we are human
How hard we try to not to be dissproven
The grave does not care who you are
The scythe strikes fast strikes clean but strikes fair
It doth not judge for we beings think far too much
At night when the prowling pride stalks its prey
Where the stars shine heavy on the hides of the unlucky
Does the lion question whether to eat the man or the woman?
The gay or the straight?
The gimp or the man stumbling due to too many sips?
The lion only wants his meat
His catch
Much like our friend the grave
We fight and we fight and we shout and we shout
And we wave and we wave because we think that is how freedom behaves
How lost we are, we children of mother earth
How stunned we become at our own plain insignificance
That a drifting leaf in a Fall breeze has even more elegance
Twisting spitting crying masses of flesh and bone
Drones upon drones stand upon stones upon stones
An eternal cycle of nature's evolution
A plan that is known and unknown
Seen and said but not ever shared
We fight and we fight and we fight and we fight
We say the cause is the hand of an almighty God
That the cause of liberation comes from the impulse of our sanitation
The wolf howls to be free and is
But we
We human beings
We just
Fight and we fight and we fight
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 11:09 PM UTC
I first cried
where freshness itself struggled
to breathe. Outside
the Ganges,
asthmatic,
began to cower
back in fear, in
disgust, in
disease, browning
like the discarded banana peels
on the roadside below.
I first cried
in a dirt town
where kings and queens
drank to grass avenues
and swaying music in the realms
of history books.
I first cried
where those books
aged quietly
in forgotten rooms.
I first cried
where the streets bled
out crumpling homes and
cardboard stores with misspelt names,
spilling children in dust dresses
and hair matted
into rust pieces.
I first cried
where those children hung
babies on their arms
like my mother swung
her handbag, a flag
of Valentino, while stumbling on
crushed cans and dog ****
and foetid mud-water
on the way to the dentist.
And the children cried
out snot, their arms
perpetually reaching
for a rupee
from the traffic.
I first cried
where white-lit department stores
sprouted in defiant sanitation
between eczema-covered apartment blocks
in which washing lines drooped
and parking was always a problem.
I first cried
where many gods and goddesses
resided on the footpaths
decked in glitter
and cloths of rouge
as old men with
skin weathered into mottled
leather shook
beneath sheets of jute
on the roadside below
and offered tiny flames
to their gods
as morning bellowed and their coughs
grew worse.
I first cried
where stareless men burnt
their fingers
on the Chinese noodles with too much
chilli powder
they cooked and fried and cooked
for those who never saw them
but to haggle over a ten
rupee note,
on the roadside,
on every corner.
I first cried
as thread-blanketed teenage girls
with wrinkled faces
squatted amongst cows
in the middles of roads,
chanting prices, in voices
full of tar,
of the mound of peas
they were selling for that week.
I come every year.
And I'm ashamed to say
I'll never live here
but in my verses
because I can't stand the smell
of the place where I was born.
I first cried
here.
I first cried here.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 2:55 AM UTC
Can I touch your hair?
No.
Neglecting that I have no knowledge of
the sanitation of your hands
Nor am I in the mood for questions
I do not hold the answers to.
My hair speaks of a thousand stories
you will not appreciate.
My hair speaks for millions of women
Darkened by birth or sun.
So no, you can’t touch my hair.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
Manipulation's
Allegation's
Sanitation
Strangulation
All frustration
Let out
On a
Seventie's delux
Strat.
Putting blues
On the screaming
Map.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
Dear political parties, please stop arguing with other parties and save the nation, the time you wanted our votes you made empty promises .
Service delivery is your daily message,employment is a frog song,water and sanitation is your bed you lay on it.
Where is that promises you made,most of orphans are starving, where is that food parcels.
Opposition parties please stop opening your mouth,you were on that party the time that corruption took place, you always talk and talk but none of the things you fix if is not civil war.
If you were having good promise why don't you help those who are staying in sharks,so that you can talk what you know.
We are all living in Africa,let's not point fingers and do the Job we all given by God,we can not sleep and wake up with grass in our hand .
Together let's join our hands and move Africa forward, this is not Africa for parties is Africa for all, the is no other government the government is you.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC