You articulate in swift flight, confidence soaring,
plenitude of words, justly convincing.
Floating on breathless wind between here and there.
Fumbling with sense, coherence of purpose
between twisted bed sheets, whispering pillows;
In the freeze frame static of moonless nights.

I feel the yearning burn towards hoping truth
in a splintering fire against which I warm;
crackling up all your feathers, and concord.
In the daylight you scatter ordinance together,
recklessly aspiring to repair undoing damage:
Wings stunted irrevocably through flailing flighted dreams.

Unknown weighted obstacles glide courageously in hurtled silence,
sideways across the cool air of this post-nested room;
Waiting for gold and diamonds to appear, glorified.
The slightest movement uttered punctures you,
a soggy blown balloon squirting off these walls-
dexterity lays useless on this love-laden floor.

I stare at you spewed inanimately,
like splattered spaghetti in a fitting rage,
across the boards of our echoing abode.
Depths of sightlessness reveal tentatively:
There exists no place for a soul
on the unstable face of the dead.

It’s been said that infatuation makes for a fast spiral down to
sightlessness.  But do you say the blind cannot see? I bear no
mind to mere optics for I need not the sense to possess the
sight. I have your radiance with me, branded to the backs of my
lids for I cannot help but have you always until the next time
I look upon you. With a clutch of my hand you have me at
your will. You present this present with your presence and I
shall honor this with my eyes, never to shield whilst I have
you before me. Consumed I become as you lay me down
beneath the leaves. Take all you will from me for I shall
remain exposed to your desires.

My gaze wandered up and found the leaves on fire. There
was no smoke; there was no fear for we had been the fire
all along. The flames of yours and mine together had
consumed the air of our yesterdays, leaving nothing to look
back on and ceasing the urge to look forward; we were here,
existent, ready to ignite once more. This surge required
naught save for the breaths of yours and mine to chance;
your breath compelling this sealed backdraft longing for
indulgence, growing wild with every touch, every scent,
every taste of your delicate tongue as it wrapped in mine.
The embers knew nothing of destruction but rather renewal
of that which I had longed for.

I once believed it foolish to feel the same with another
synchronously. A belief I now find fault in for just as the
two flames who dance incoherently; once they touch they
become unified in their brilliant engagement, creating a
distinct cohesion that most will undoubtedly remain unaware
to. It is that moment, that paradise we search for. A sensation
that last a moment but for those without sight, a single
moment becomes the ultimate reality of eternity; a single slice
in our whole of existence which we stay hungry for. So look
no further for I am close at hand. We have already set this
world ablaze and altered the realm of our tomorrows. It is now,
in this very moment where we shall get a taste of eternity and
there will never be anyone more adequate to share this paradise
with other than that who makes me sightless.

I feel like i can see
after a moment of sightlessness.
Delighting in the little things
Like an unexpected smile
An all encompassing hug.
It fills me up and i float
On a cloud of meaning,
A little less that i don't know.
If nothing makes sense anymore
At least i can muster a smile.

I want to listen to the wind sing
Dance as it blows the figs and leaves.
I want to fly,
I could almost step off a ledge.
Drawing on strength from within
Absorbing pain from without.

I shudder from the pain of the oppressed
Unable to step out of jail
Shackled to hopelessness
Stuck in a third rate jail.

You hold the key to Destiny
If only you could cut loose your fears
Of failure, rejection and doom.
You need a friend to believe in you,
Share your dreams.
Go out to the highest point you can find
Rage at the world.
I am here! I belong!

My soul aches,
Like a brain suffering from tumor.
My soul breaks,
Like that of a new day,
Telegraphing my tears  along with dolor,
Sormoning the beams of the sun each day.
.
So I sought this healer amongst waters,
Where birds sings and monkeys dance
Along the boulevards of blindness,
In a great hall of fame and great matters.
And herds converged, minds convened
Only with the Polaroids of sightlessness.
.
Like a drunkard she prays,
Welcome! Welcome! she says,
To an abode of hypocrisy, jealousy, blasphemy and misery.
The therapeutic healer, healing in agony,
Dealing in the paradise of nightmares.
With me  your fears shall fall like that of a lost boy's tears
And your pain meet the sweetening balm of my embrace.
She would make a good gift in heaven,
But even a better bribe in hell.

Balogun David {drunk poet}
Drunk Poets Society
© 2017

Young Age or old has never
nor will it ever group her in full definition
only it is a mere showing of elapsed lore in bridging current recognition with before

The same way
Woodland plains grip in poetic pact this lady’s hand in a midway meeting today
For the slow taking of days tomorrow...

Are similar in strategy
How age will compile
Her foregoing, ongoing, and becoming in order to write her tradition unlike any others, for it’s unparalleled origins

What genius evening keeps secret and moribund...

His foot falls echo the chill of November deep
Tapping, clapping, wrapping
His man heavy fragility in wool

How distant and suddenly wide is the night.

What shrewd skills fear casts--a mask,
That evening keeps him wary, attentive as wax,
For Shadows shed no comfort for this lamb,

His rhythm once lord of the dance.

Pulsing toes as eyes flash to every creak, whispers;
The Depth of sightlessness made paranoid
by twisted twilight shapes, shifting, nerves frozen with haste…

His weakness, not knowing, a pallid winter on his face.

Even now the slow climb upon his back
Carried by the slip of a breeze laying waste,
A soundtrack of dead leaves and black.

His foot falls stomping to clash and map
A stroll as reality saves nothing sincere, when fear
Deepens in his bones resolve to panic...

What genius a weapon: dark flights of fancy

And the conditioning of youth to preconceive,
Strange and delicate spaces between the ears
Defeated before finding a sure foot

Before reaching a well lit street
Familiar and familial suburbs of a mind
Diminished by the subterfuge of fear…

His foot falls turn a corner
And the sound of concrete and conflict
Disappear…




SUBTERFUGE

Advance, one step, alone in time
Composing, soft, a feral rhyme
Plucking soul, from here and there
Dispelling forth, the bleak despair....
Hold thy arm up to the light
Effortlessly, quelling fright.
Bray thy challenge, to the foe
Tapping white cane, as you go....
For sightlessness is born a death
Especially, should self pity quest.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

And as I feel your presence
Receding behind me,
Unable to turn around
I freeze
Unable to take a step forward
A step away from you.

And yet you continue to recede
My nonchalant facade
Fading away with you
And I close my eyes
Knowing when I turn around
You'd have disappeared
Leaving darkness in your place,
Sightlessness
Soundlessness...
Lost to a place
Where I can't reach out
And sense your warm memory.

So I don't turn around.
I don't let my emotions flow,
Slowly opening my eyes
To the sight of a grey
Barren world again.

I close my eyes
massage my eyelids
see impossible impressions
of the pressure
become spherical
abstractions
distorted shapes
rippling in the void
of sightlessness.

There's a beauty in darkness that isn't always noticed.
When you become void of one of your senses,
when the water of sightlessness hungrily rushes your lungs, and you acclimate yourself to the fact that the fear can only last for so long,
you will be freed from the burdens of sight.
From the overbearing pictures of the outside world

What genius evening keeps secret
The moribund...

His foot falls echo the chill of Novembers deep
Tapping, clapping, wrapping
His man-heavy fragility in wool

How distant and suddenly wide is the night...

What shrewd skills fear casts--a mask,
That evening keeps him wary, attentive as wax,
For Shadows shed no discomfort for this lamb,
His rhythm once “lord of the dance.”

Pulsing toes as eyes flash to every creak or whisper;
The Depth of his sightlessness made paranoid
by twisted twilight shapes, shifting, nerves frozen haste…

His weakness, not knowing, a pallid winter on his face.

Even now its slow climb upon his back
Carried by the slip of a breeze laying waste
to the soundtrack of dead leaves and black.

His foot falls stomping to clash and map
A stroll in the cryptic saves nothing sincere when fear
Deepens in the bones, no resolve but panic...

What genius a weapon: sheer flights of fancy
the conditioned youths who preconceived calamity,
Strange and delicate spaces between the ears
Defeated before finding a sure foot, a mind clear

Before evening or reaching a well lit street,
Familiar and familial suburbs of a mind
Diminished by the subterfuge of fear…

His foot falls turn a corner
And the sound of conflict
Disappear…

I pretended to be blind, for a day,

it might have been easier at night.

I had a stick, but no dog, although

I did manage to stand on a ****.


  Occasionally I was head butted,

  stationary objects, ******* poles.

  After changing sides, near walls,

  I was shinned by bicycle pedals.


Sightlessness has no colour and

buff, the title, is not banana in hue,

 yet those afflicted with impaired

  vision can easily identify them.


If I pretended to be blind for a night

it would be no different than the day,

  because dog turds, ******* poles,

bananas and pedals are all nocturnal.