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Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)


I love life, because in living you get all problems
I love eating because you can constipate if you eat a lot,
I love women because they reduce pocket giants to beggars,
I love children because they instill economic tension to parents,
I love trees because green snakes derive poison from them,
I love poor people because their life is pure experiment,
I love rich people because they snobbishly love themselves
I love motor vehicles because they depreciate in a decade,
I love Americans because they have drones for Gaddafi,
I love Americans because they know nothing beyond their borders,
I love the British because they have a monarch in their democracy,
I love Europeans because they were perfect in colonialism,
I love Africans because they are natural stooges, but very showy
I love the Chinese because they are all short, young and commutalists,
I love the Catholic Church because it has liberal piety,
I love Muslims because they are not intellectually tolerant to Rushdie,
I love young girls because they rarely sense danger,
I love Germans because they made a beetle car; Volkswagen,
I love the Japanese for honesty; they declared me Shinto of poetry,
I love my wife for her spendthrift culture
I love my son for his disgust of school and books,
I love myself for being a poetic rapscallion,
I love everything for in love you display your folly,
I love music, wine and money; they expose you to the robbers
I love short people for their mediocrous thought pattern
I love tall women; they are dull, honesty and rarely divorce,
I love English hunchbacks for they are famed for being erotically strong.
Zainab Attari May 2014
Without a Valentine
All alone I dine
So peaceful, so serene
But not too far, I hear a scream!

One guy stood her on their blind date!
Second came for dinner too late
Third one was way too afraid
Another slapped for his haste to get laid

Everything so crimson, hurts my eyes
My usual brown pie is red too, Sigh!
Pitiful eyes look my way
I can’t digest the hype of this day!

There another drunkard sings ridiculously,
Miss Curvy dances seductively,
The ugly blonde rejects “The Ring” snobbishly
While the old lady argues adorably!

Oh, sweet Valentine’s
Have you all lost your minds?
You've wasted months, days and hours
To sweeten this day which only turns sour!

Trying too hard to be someone else
Won’t ring any happy bells!
A few gestures of love can make it special too
So make it memorable for them and you!

-Zainab Attari
I had posted this poem on my blog on 14th February 2014. Really wanted to share it here. Didn't have the patience until the next Valentine's Day!
I am not anti valentine but just wanted to illustrate this perspective :)
Share with me your valentine days incidents!
Poems by Dayana Jul 2015
one time I was thinking about money.
and it was late at night.
I don't remember what I was thinking
oh yea I had just started this new business
get rich quick scheme
pyramid of sorts
and I was planning and plotting
planning and plotting on how I would make hundreds of
thousands of dollars
by the end of the year
I couldn't sleep
it must of been
well past midnight
I had taken in a woman
a homeless woman
we made a whole day out of it
smoked synthetic marijana
she was coming down off of herione
and I couldn't sleep .
I went to CVS
to buy
nyquil
so I could sleep
in my bed
back home
next to this beautiful creature I had brought home.
we prayed that day
and cried
together
I was thinking so hard about that money
I went into the CVS
i had no shoes on ,
snobbishly
I picked my items
and I was thinking so hard
about that money.
the guy .
the guy at the counter runs my card
and it won't go though
the outrage I thought
I was thinking so hard about that money
I musta had like a couple dollars in my bank,
I had spent it all
on that synthetic marijuana.
but I was snoobish
and thinking hard about that money,
and he started to look faint
and I swear my glare didn't change ,
my face remained the same
emotionless
and I was thinking so hard about that money
it was well past midnight
and I was thinking so hard about that money
he started to get white
and my expression remained the same
and I was thinking so hard about that money
and he stumbled from behind the counter
he didn't look so good
it was well past midnight
and I was thinking so hard about that money
and then he got sick
and my expression didn't change
and my card wouldn't go through
and nobody cared.
and I was thinking so hard about that money,
and I wanted to steal those items,
and I was outraged that my card didn't go through
and I didn't help him,
I still can't believe I didn't help him,
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2020
Warning! This poem is too long for certain elderly gentlemen.

A blue haze morn, pleasant in the transition
from the ides of sensual summer to the
broken, busted curled dead leaves that now
decorate the half & half scorched, mottled lawns,
that soon enough will fall to full-on browning!

All this my eyes see when first I wake, only
the calm morn waters unchanged, thank god,
for the mind is fermented, the brain full on,
three, count ‘em, three born baby poems, all
simultaneous being birthed, triplets from one
****** working overtime, yet, only paid the hourly wage!

The mind interweaves the three, and yet subdivides,
only I, the landlord of the brain, failingly and flailing
struggle to keep track of these wild tenants, each:
a curvature, a tangent, a sibling and a stranger to
each other, sharing  a common single parentage!

Poem #1

Poem #1, a bright child, yet, poorest in vocabulary, more humming
than recites, but below its tuneful melody one just perceives, a refrain
born in the refracted sun rays that first opened our  eyes to this day, in
great gratitude, a morning prayer, a mourning poem, bidding adieu to the great  nighttime where the conception and inception inseminated within the ****** of the brain, and welcoming the warmth of day that cracks our body’s outer egg shell with praises of hallelujah that this one word poem gives so easy, in glory!

Poem #2

The toes wriggle, the eyes rapid-blink, the mouth yawns revealing
a still sleeping tongue, the stomach rumbles a basso tune reminding
everyone that their continuous sustenance comes from it alone, no
matter what those other body part snobs claim! An Uproar ensues
(bien sûr!), everyone roused, slumber a thing of the past, a cacophony
of disharmonious noises, no Greek chorus this, purely 100% American,
each party convinced of its self-worth, its own vitality, a ball park of
loutish fans, hawking vendors, an amalgamation of colorations, a
tapestry of humanity skin colors, though in a single voice upon this all
agree and shout “**** the Umpire!”

Then the bladder whispers “uh,hey people,” and all grow silent knowing
who’s the boss, and the man, stumbles from bed, wondering silently what
the heck that huuge racket was all about and how come no one else heard it?

Poem #3

A subcommittee of the senses convene a meeting and on the agenda, in
no particular order are the following, items of varying importance, but
needing speedy resolution:

The always very touchy skin asks: what shall we wear
today, it is warm outside and overly cold inside, should
we go short or long, stay in our overnight dressage, or
get a fresh accoutrements (clean Tee and sweatpants)
just to celebrate having made successful passage to day?

The aural receptors (who always insist on being addressed
in the plural), state that can wait! first let’s us determine what
music we shall receive, that must match the nature outside
and the nature within?  A Joshua Bell violin concerto, or some
retro greatest hits from the 60s, 70s and 80s?  Let’s vote..

The Gallic nasal passages (Les Passages, as they snobbishly prefer) sniff
in derisive decision, non! to yesterday’s clothes, a shower and a shampoo
dear skin, a nasal necessity, let’s try to remember to use deodorant today
please, and no more feral cereal and milk, something more fragrant s’il vous plait!

The Buds, as the tasting cells preferred to be called, said indeed,
some fresh cafe au lait in a proper bowl, to accompany les croissants frais, une baguette au beurre, and do not forget the red crisscross jar of Bonne Maman (Orange Marmalade/Confiture d'Orange)

The Eyes, waited and listened, and then proclaimed, all well and good,
but realize that after all this, we are the instructor, the instrument panel
without which you cannot operate in concert, let us see what we can see,
in the closet, in the kitchen, read the playlists, prepare the necessaries
for bathing, check the thermometers and then we will decide!

Then, the Mighty Brain, said “folks, we’ve been busy all night and tho
first light has already penetrated, we are going back to bed, as we are exhausted by all this noise herein encapsulated!
Ralph Akintan Jun 2019
Nurse! Nurse!!
Call me the physician
Adjust my bed
Place me on drip-feed
Call me the doctor.

Sentinel! Sentinel!!
Call me the cops
Arrest the reckless chauffeur
Hold him in custody
Call me the cops.

Attorney! Attorney!!
Call me the lay-judge
Issue out assize
Charge him before the assizes
Call me the magistrate.

Fractured bone posted pangs of pain
Fiery flaming fire from the base of an
      impaired anvil of marrow
Across the abyssus of a bruising
      incidence of life,
Discharging fitful fiendish fire of
      pains like a flue of a chimney.
Crutches snobbishly granted no
      audience.
Call me the doctor.

Claws of cramps configured anthills
      of uneasiness.
Plaster of Paris laying siege of
      muteness over prescient of
      innocent protege.
Blockage of accessible membrane
      defied osmotic exit.

Physiotherapist!
Disengage this staring cast.

— The End —