"substituted" poems
Beauty out in the open, light falls on linoleum tiles like heel-worn stones
Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Clotted with conversation, upperclassmen stroll like the elderly
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us
Windows to a sunny world sit at the end of locker-lined tunnels, beckoning beyond fluorescent mazes
Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Young blood doge or cling to the sides, scared of the critical runway that is us
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight
Eyes from all sides, thinking nothing yet are supplied by our own thoughts
Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Finding refuge in educational terrariums, an ecosystem that saves me from the weight
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank
Finding solace in stairwells, sealed off by doors and hold awkward opportunities
Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Clanging like a child’s cry releases stress like floodgates, another trip into the shark tank
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations
Open doors that are actually closed; they are like aquariums – no tapping on the glass please.
Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes - but I know it was I who brought the downpour
The longer I stay the more I wish to leave, away from substituted confrontations
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning
Prejudice like heavy rain beats at my skin and soaks my clothes – but I know it was I who brought the downpour
They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Must comparisons be so obvious when I walk alone, unprotected? They are lucky to have such equals to act as parents; they hold each other’s hands to keep from drowning
Ignorance is bliss, they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.
They pull like vultures at flesh; I am not allowed to wrap myself in hurricanes while out in the open
Look down, one foot – and then the other!
Ignorance is bliss they say, and truth that is here – the less you know the less hate you bear the weight of.
Anger and sadness, guilt and fear turn like Viewmaster slides lit up by the sun
Or am I on my own here? Each boy's path runs along each other like long-exposure stars, leaving streaks between the darkness.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 10:48 PM UTC
Silence. Solvent. Substituted;
subsidised
then marginalised
instituted and muted.
And, often
persecuted.
Rationanalised
by abstraction:
every minuscule
interaction dissected.
All that is left is convoluted,
misconstrued
and rejected.
The lucid bewildered.
The disillusioned bejeweled:
rooted in their state of mind.
Effortlessly self-proclaiming
restraining
and refraining
purging the imagination:
the waning of maligned mankind.
And all of his
illuminated limitations.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
I guess you could call me
a people addict;
I live for the exchanges,
momentary or prolonged,
the satisfaction of smiles substituted for
verbalized salutations;
the how-you-do's and hello's,
the pleasantries of chit chat,
talk of my oh my, I am not ready for this snow
and how was your holiday?;
catching a supposed-to-be-sneaked glance from that tasty
stranger,
allowing your eyes to meet for longer than
you meant to;
a compliment that drips off the lips so sweet,
its nectar invading the taste buds for hours
on end;
individualized or multiplied,
I relish in the conjugated haze,
in the gazes and the giggles,
in the potential formulation of inside jokes,
in a have a good day to a grin I will never see again,
the whirlwind of vowels and consonants,
of coincidences and sarcasm,
of the impressions we may leave of which
we will never be aware;
I crave the mundane,
I get high off the monotony,
I am swallowed by the simplicity;
Yeah,
I guess you could call me a
people addict,
and I'm cool with that.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
So seeing at the feet of the cross was Mary Magdalene looking for one last time in her soul lover's eyes before the death of love (Eros?)
But in the distance is the Gnosis Knight Jason watching this scene of utter Substituted Love - (Bearing one another's burdens) this Eros (Romantic Love and Passion) in action?
The death of duality and the unitive power and wisdom of God; yes the bringing together in the bridal chamber of the groom and bride in loves Eros type death in cosmic reality?
The Gnosis Knight Jason comes close to the cross smiles at Mary Magdalene and whispers do you see by my eyes Mary?
I see two Christ's becoming Unitive in Jesus and his body, male and female?
I see Chokmâh (Wisdom) also on the cross in death with her husband part of Christ?
This is Eros (Romantic Love and Passion) of The Christ,
This is Eros (Romantic Love and Passion) of The Christ,
This is Eros (Romantic Love and Passion) of The Christ,
So I see Chokmâh with a full Red Rose Crown on the temple of the Christ; this is on the blessed head of Jesus, the son of humanity?
Then Jesus gives up the Eros (Romantic Love and Passion ) and dies?
The sky turns black to say is LOVE (Eros, the Romantic Love and Passion) really dead?
Then they take the body of Jesus to the garden tomb to plant the Rose Bush Seed of Love (Eros, Romantic Love and Passionate Love) in the earth for three days to grow into the fullness of Agape (Universal Love?)
Then Mary Magdalene waits in the bridal chamber (human heart) she keeps the hope and knowing Love's Passion is stronger than death itself?
The Gnosis Knight Jason is waiting to see his Queen Chokmâh (Wisdom) come from the garden tomb as well?
Then on that blessed morning Mary Magdalene says the blessed words my Teacher?
The rest of the story is known.
But Gnosis Knight Jason sees a woman caring for a budding Rose bush and she turn's and smiles; yes Knight Jason; It is I the Queen part of Christ; Chokmâh (Wisdom) Herself?
So The Queen Chokmâh (Wisdom) says to the Queen's Hand; the Knight Jason; it is I, Chokmâh (Wisdom) Herself Again?
Because Her Knight Jason was shocked and never answered the first time?
Because he thought she really is apart of The fullness of Christ Itself?
Then the good Knight Jason answer's; I am not worthy to be your blessed hand my Queen?
But the Queen lets her Knight give her a sweet kiss on her Blessed and Holy lips to make Knight Jason's unworthy lips clean again?
So this sweet holy kiss to make his lips worthy and clean in Cosmic Reality?
The Knight Jason replies - "Thus from my lips by thine my sin is purged."
Then the Knight Jason asks my Queen am I also begotten and reborn by the sweet loves holy kiss in Cosmic Reality?
The Queen Smiles and says that is how the children of Wisdom are begotten in Cosmic Reality.
Then he kneels and she crown's her knight; a king of her unitive gospel of Wisdom and Life?
Then Chokmâh (Wisdom) says She will give you a Red Rose Garland to grace your head and present you with a glorious Red Rose crown.
The Bridal Chamber is now open for unitive Wisdom to enter into the blessed garden of the groom and bride once more in Cosmic Reality?
Now the Knight Jason And King rides from that garden tomb with Chokmâh (Wisdom) before all time in Cosmic Reality?
You see Knight Jason sees Red Rose Petals falling from Heaven before her blessed feet in Cosmic Reality bringing The Love, The Passion Of The Love, Friendship and True Life before Her everywhere She goes in Cosmic Reality?
The Rose Fragrance of Chokmâh (Wisdom) fills Cosmic Reality Itself with the Sweet Fragrance of Love and Life and The Fragrance fill's The Groom's And The Brides of Cosmic Reality Itself?
This adds the sweet Rose Fragrance to the bridal chamber of bridal chambers in Cosmic Reality?
The Knight Jason's symbol of love and romance is a single Red Rose to give this single Red Rose to his sister bride in Cosmic Reality?
But Christ's Passion is this Romantic Love And Passion Overcomes death; this death is not to stop the anger of God falling on humanity from The Father and The Mother parts of God?
But it is a unitive Substituted Love to bring unitive power and wisdom to craft together groom and bride again in Cosmic Reality?
This is to bring unitive power and wisdom and craft together the duel flames of Adam and Eve in the bridal chamber again in Cosmic Reality?
So Chokmâh (Wisdom) Crafts and Sews together The Wedding Garments of the Male and the Female Knights of the Unitive Kingdom of The Single One in Cosmic Reality?
So human wedlock in the flesh is a symbol of a higher Cosmic type wedlock?
So romantic love and human wedlock is the door way to the garden and the bridal chamber of chambers in Cosmic Reality?
So the Romance and Passion of Christ is this,
This is Eros (Romantic Love and Passion) of The Christ,
This is Eros (Romantic Love and Passion) of The Christ,
This is Eros (Romantic Love and Passion) of The Christ.
Jan 30, 2022
Jan 30, 2022 at 11:01 AM UTC
her morning pleasure occasionally actually exercised,
a substituted delight for gym-going work with Lulu exercised,
no man can, will ever, understand
the nature/nurture debate over,
in my mind resolved, nature, hands up and hands down
RR's^ query, is god dead,
no longer rumbles around in my head cause when he speaks,
I can't get a word in edgewise
what i did in the sixties, lost to time in memoriam,
especially some really bad poetry
but this gender differentiation
a matter that Aristotle dutifully, so wisely, philosophically avoided
there is no Socratic method rationality in what is just crazy insanely meiosis,
there is no comprehension of the essence of elemental genetic division,
like the NY Mets,
ya just gotta believe, or just accept
but from the other side of the bed
comes a surly, dry rejoinder, a gelled spike
*thanks to modern science,
why don't you come over to the
right side, maybe then,
you'll understand the true meaning
of pleasure
transgend your self,
show your willingness per the bible,
to be god's new and improved version of a human being*
So,
a pretty little, light A-line,
with a summer floral pattern,
a size 12, (20? ***
I,
will wear with great
human pride,
come June
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 11:20 AM UTC
1. There’s an “e” in your name.
2. It’s also composes a syllable of it.
3. Things will always empty, no matter what. Even bottles, for example. Especially ones that contained alcohol. You seemed to enjoy emptying those quite a lot.
4. Once, I emptied a pen of it’s ink while writing about you.
5. There is no “e” in my first name, but you pronounced it as if there was, replacing the first “a” with an “e”.
6. I always, and still do, get annoyed whenever people mispronounce my name, but never when you did it. I always knew that you were the one calling it. You were the one thing I was always sure of.
7. The other night, I tried to think of other things that started with “e” and “a”. I found “always” and “eventually”. Just as you substituted the “e” for the “a”, we substituted “always” for “eventually”.
8. Or maybe it could stand for “eventually an alcoholic”?
9. I just wish that you could have emptied your heart out to us just as easily as you could empty a bottle down your throat.
10. Ever since you told us that you drove home drunk I’ve been thinking about writing an eulogy.
11. Please don’t make me write one. Not while we’re so young.
12. Eventually, everything expires, like our patience, our vitality, and our days.
13. You haven’t spoken to anyone in months, and I don’t know how to reach you, or if you even want me to. When I saw your mother this past October, I wanted to ask her if she knew had badly you had been struggling, but I didn’t because I know that you would have hated me for it. There was a reason you had tried to keep your addiction a secret.
14. The letter “e” is the most used letter in the alphabet. How can you ask me to forget you when nearly every word I write has a trace of you in it?
15. I would never pick up a pen again if it meant that I could hear you mispronounce my name one more time.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
There are too many days..... I cant do this many days. Too many days where darkness wins. Fate laughs endlessly. I am Fate's comedic performer and he laughs without end. Like a donkey behind a carrot I am led and with the rasp of a donkey's bray Fate's laughter rings in my ears.
I don't think I can do this. Where joy is substituted by despair and happiness succumbs to death.... and the symphony of laughter is the tune. The strings on this puppet are frayed and worn but the puppeteer is relentless. How do you fix the strings of a puppet in motion? Who will catch the puppet if he falls? I can hear no answers above the laughter that rings in my ears and so this puppet on tattered strings dances on to the tune that Fate maintains. How long is a piece of string? It matters not if the string can carry no weight.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 10:51 AM UTC
and not in that pathetic delusional fat girl kind of way, and not in the fact that he is corny. No, my boyfriend is like a corn-dog because there is a big layer of nutritionless fried spongey batter that covers his insides. That batter is made up of three level cups of nice. Which is not to be substituted with "honest" or "real". No, nice is the only ingredient that can produce such a meaningless spongey layer to cover up the "love" "sincerity" and "caring" that makes up the center. That golden brown skin enticed me. But, it is what is inside that gives me substance.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC
Trees always have to go out with a bang, don't they
explosions of bursting color
freeze-framed fireworks of fall
bursting and cascading,
leaving ashes and hot coals to cool in soft grass
...I used bursting twice, didn't I?
alright, let me go open up my thesaurus...
blast? pop? rupture?
just replace it with one of those and call it good.
Back to the poem:
my popped-collar peacoat straightens my back
gotta match my posture to the pompous portrait
black wool on an over-scratched scratch paper
might as well just pick it all off
allow the color some room to expand
(I don't even own a peacoat, I just like the metaphor and imagery)
you could set the sentinel alight for the same effect
a more smokey atmosphere, sure,
but the color would be a little brighter
and I'd have the mushroom of smoke to match my coat
I've substituted my earbuds with the crunch crunch crunch
of leaves
crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch ––––
shoot that one looked good but it just flattened
crunch crunch crunch
invariable sound
back to my Beats by Dr. Dre
The arrow of geese points south
...
that's really all I have to say about that
some sort of metaphor about flapping my arms and following them?
I like jacket weather though
better stay grounded
hands in pockets; arms in long sleeves
insert some connection to death to match nature's descent into winter
Gosh, this season is too good to stand for something so sad
let's go jump off the roof into a pile of leaves
drink hot soup and get cuffed
watch steam and frost paint picturesque mornings
read in a dogpile of blankets
Winter may be coming
but so is spring ya goof
get off your melancholic horsey
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 12:10 AM UTC
Don’t believe the sign
that is clawed from another’s cave
of a silly heart, onto some door
in some beautiful garden on a special day.
That scraped shine, that which
opens wide the view for you
and you remember as a sharp, etched
slowly focusing glaze on your time
was probably made with some key
of some fool who regrets it now, no doubt,
as you do.
Nor should you believe another’s photograph of it
and take it as yours, or the same,
and think that this is what you were going
to write your book about, one day, all along.
That book was full of naïve wonders
and melodies you paid too much attention to, anyway.
So just allow what you love the most
to be scrapped and substituted.
Words are just words, you see.
So what do you believe?
The motionless things of a winter walk, I suppose.
They are the kindest.
They know not to talk to you, not to say anything
you could possible believe.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
If my life were a recipe
I feel like every ingredient would be followed
by the word "optional".
8 hours of sleep (optional)
Two to three meals a day (optional)
1 social life (optional)
1 job (optional)
A handful of friends (optional)
A pinch of creativity (optional)
One cup of laughter (optional)
Three heaped tablespoons of positivity (optional)
You get the idea.
But you're different.
You're the one ingredient I can't do without.
You're the one thing that matters
when I can't be bothered with the rest of it.
When all the chopping and sautéing and boiling
and grilling of everyday life
seems like too much hassle,
there's always enough time for you.
You're my quick-fix meal on a weekday evening.
You're a mid-morning snack
snatched between errands.
A quiet evening in on a Saturday
with a bottle of wine and Joni Mitchell playing
"I could drink a case of you".
I could cook you every night.
You're comfort food at its finest
unpretentious, convenient.
Never bland and never tiresome.
You're the one ingredient I'll always have in stock,
that one I'll never let myself run out of.
Because you cannot be substituted.
You, and only you, are not optional.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Have you felt like your life was incomplete like a fraction.
Because from the human eye you see nothing but dissatisfaction.
What's was your initial reaction?
Did you take action or act in an orderly fashion.
Just because you feel a mess doesnt mean you should walk in feebleness.
Dont be stressed, Its only but a test
To see where lies your faithfulness.
From the moment you Opened your heart to The father and Confessed
And commited your self, Surrendering to his will by simply saying Yes.
He Said, "My daughter Rise, shine, and with the armor of God get dressed.
For I have taken your brokenness to exchange it for your wholeness.
Now Take the straight and narrow path of Righteousness.
On this journey you will going through many things that you will have to examine and assess
but I poured upon you my strong spirit of Tenaciousness.
On the days you might feel the sensation of loneliness,
just seek me and you shall find me and you shall be blessed.
As you take this voyage The world will seem so dark and cold.
That even Depression, doubt, and fear will try to put you in A stronghold."
So Now I say to you, "My sister Don't you dare fold!
you have to proclaim the word of God courageously bold.
Let Jesus take the wheel and have complete control."
Just as Peter said to Eneas I speak this message to your inner man called the soul,
"Arise For Jesus Christ maketh thee Whole."
God is using you as a vessel
Because To him you very special
The kind of special a Woman feels when wearing her wedding gown.
You are the elegant jewels that shine intensely upon The Kings Golden Crown.
You are not inclusive.
But Rather Exclusive
just as a guitar that's acoustic
The sound of its music can be very therapeutic.
like a seed that has been planted in the soil deeply rooted.
Dont let devil in your life to pollute it.
Just like Jesus We have to be prosecuted
Because we took on the his spirit for ours substituted.
Remember we are spiritual beings in the the body of fleshy men.
As long as you Let Jesus be your LPN
you will be complete in him
Says the book of Colossians chapter 2 verse ten.
You got to have faith believer and walk the talk.
Just as Jesus said to a lame man I say yoi to you too, "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.
In reference to The book of John chapter 5 verse 6.
You are never too broken To be fix as along as you Got God in the mix!
Make It A goal for The most High to purify your heart mind body and soul
So that in him you will be a brand new creature made whole.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
The tortoise has began
To sniff aloud impatiently,
Causing the *** full of
Palm-wine to burst into flames,
But the bat can only
Think of himself as a bird,
Let the yam tendril
Grow rapidly in this season,
For this matey idea
Engenders glowing nightmares,
Now know this,
The sacrifices of palm-wine
Cannot be substituted with water,
For your departure has caused
Me to sleep with the magic owl,
Oh yes, hear the sparrow
Singing your conventional song,
Listen dear, listen!
Listen and quicken the precious
Beads on your convex hips,
So that my heavy heart
Can behold her boisterousness,
Even though good beads
Do not speak in public,
Indeed, the machete has
Fallen on the wrong victim,
For I left the chicken undisguised,
And the ravenous hawk
Took an instinctive care of it,
***** dear, *****
***** all your pain
Into the thirsty calabash,
For I have evinced
A strong desire to be
Reconciled with your love,
So, let our imperturbable love
Unfold as the implacable day unfolds,
Obaahemaa Nyarkowaa,
The mother of my heart,
Please forgive my dumb insolence,
For I acted out of love.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
the shadow picks
a nice path on your face;
across planes,
in wells
I never drank from,
on a pink bud
from which I stole
sugar
instead
of
tasting.
Where words slipped
I thieved, not
kissed.
shadow hovers
as a bee
searching
for pollen
in darkness.
It loves all
the places
I missed
because
I substituted French phrases for
your limbs;
spoke to your
light
in a language I didn't quite
know yet
but
sounded
like
like
the poetry found
in light's absence.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
telling too many terrible twisted tales
running riders right off resistant rails
selling sailors sailboats without sails
flipping forbidden findings til it flails
bending bedlam beast of burdens bound
killing king kind is kindly crowned
selling seats to such sights and sound
feeling the fallen fears are found
vending voracious vindictive vices
paying predictable pragmatic prices
selling substituted selected slices
drumming on dormant distant devices
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
You're good to go.
Smile and talk like the perfect host
Of a happy crowd, inebriated
Vapid, inane, upperclass professionals
Play nice, your mind is a cage
Chainsaws and stretch racks dance in your head
Fantasies of impending doom,
But alas~ this cannot be
Fear and shame, fear and shame
You are a changeling.
Secretly substituted for a real girl at birth
Alone in a crowded room
Fey don't eat
Fey don't sleep
The perpetual curse of wakefulness
Only desiring to sleep forever
Walking dead, one thing brings you joy
Free fall, kindle the fire
Endorphins and fun chemicals
"The difference between medicine and poison is in the dose"
In this case, your poison
Is a cold cement bridge
Early morning snowfall
And tempting waters blow below.
Eternity passes
And then you become one with the ******* titanic.
Float back to the fairies, my dear.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
We had a shelf life,
an existence that we
played like a broken
fiddle, out of tune...
But now every string is either
broken, worn beyond its
reproductive rhythm.
Were not creating vibrant
versions.
Just broken, collages that
are just not a complexity
more a diluted, infertile
copy
broken and substituted
never to be the real thing..
humanity is just a fading shadow,
fading under the unrelenting
sun of reality....
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 6:02 AM UTC
I've read far too much psychiatry -
Now knowing from ear to there
Many mysterious processes
That make one's mind blink -
Acute chemical reactions,
Therapeutic medications...
But academic texts
In their dryness
Seem to lose
Life's realness,
Why we think
As we do.
That *****
That comes loose
To throw one off course
Could not be all chemistry.
So academically written are words
To those authors who don't live them.
I'd rather imagine some error of cooking -
That tarragon substituted for basil
Or marjoram instead of sage
Gave that strange taste
To the sauce of my life
That salt could not
Cover over.
A wife
Imbalanced
Wasn't my choice
As young lovers married.
Yet in time I heard the voice
Mimicking demons, evil in cycles.
Excused and forgiven as nature's vice
At first - then when wrath affected children...
A man can only accept his own scars
As the consequences of his living,
Entered into wide-eyed, willing.
By knife's nicks I've survived,
Callused skin is tougher.
But to save the tender
I think I'll give up
Cooking.
Insanity isn't contagious
As go diseases,
But as butter
It does
Spread
Feb 27, 2010
Feb 27, 2010 at 6:09 PM UTC
"Fi-li-o-pi-e-tism"
*Noun:
An often excessive veneration of ancestors or tradition such that new ideas are generally discouraged, often via punishment, and conformity is strictly enforced.*
*-The Monkey Lesson-
In 1967, a psychological experiment was conducted on rhesus monkeys:*
Five monkeys (A, B, C, D, E) in a room with a ladder, upon which are bananas.
As any given monkey climbs the ladder for the food, the rest are sprayed down with cold water.
Eventually, the monkeys learn to punish the one who climbs to preclude discomfort for the group.
One monkey (A) is then swapped out for a new one (1) that hasn't gotten the cold shower.
As 1 inevitably strives for the bananas, monkeys B, C, D, and E immediately punish.
Another monkey (B) is swapped out for a new one (2) that tries for the bananas
and 1, C, D, and E punish.
A third monkey is substituted (3) and not knowing of the original circumstance reaches for food.
1, 2, D, and E drop the hammer.
A fourth is introduced (4) in place of another original member (D),
and the beatings continue from 1, 2, 3, and E.
Finally the fifth is substituted (5) in place of the final original member (E),
and the group (1, 2, 3, 4) keeps up the trend of assault.
The result is a group of monkeys
that never received the cold water treatment
that still continued to castigate any individual
that tried to climb the ladder for the food.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 6:54 AM UTC
Can you tell me what's it:
All the beautiful feelings I use
to have flopped down,
Have buried themselves on their hands,
Please -
Can you tell me what's it,
all the people I use to love , now ,
Know are gone ,
Homeless I feel.
What is it?
With all these words of beauty are
substituted by the venoms,
Now I feel like everything is a norm.
Can you tell me?
Why I fail to attain my solid state,
I melt down with this burning flame
I have took hell from afar to me
What there is the hell with me?
Please -
*God take my li...
**** the prayer I pray lately-
I am scared of this pain,
How am I going to be able to handle death
I uttered an idiocy.
What is it?
*No one wanna stay
and talk for awhile
maybe the mist will clear*
My heart have took it course to other
sad side of the sea,
Tryna clean itself of the red.
Can you tell me what is it?
With the sad songs recorded
lyrics written and cancelled-
can't describe the issues of heart.
All the ease are the demons
but the Godly seems fairly hard to follow
Can you tell me what is it?
Why the pen have became so familiar of
every freaked out letter I write
for it write non-stop .
But still dead I feel.
What is it?
...
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 4:46 AM UTC
Thoughts racing
Faster faster
Until they meet
A beautiful disaster
Open conclusions
Creating an illusion
Vanishing doubt
For a moment
Diffusion
Reality becomes diluted
Dreams are substituted
In order to hear
The world must be muted
Silence
Tune out the violence
Mindlessly thinking
Treading contradictions
To keep from sinking
Ideas constantly interlinking
Forming thoughts
Which is where I'm caught
Trying to decipher what is
From what's not
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 4:15 PM UTC
Was I created by the same God
That created this beautiful creature?
I asked myself.
If she is a living being,
What does that make me?
I asked myself.
Her angelic features, substituted all
The perfect and precious pictures in my mind.
For a brief moment I thought
I was healed from being blind.
Touching her hips,
felt like kissing
Her juicy lips…
Her figures makes a
dumb person to
Shout “Jesus”
And I call them
“the figures of speech”
I call her buhle…
Her glittering eyes simulates the
Reflection of the sun in the
Skies and seas.
She is the most precious stone
In the entire galaxy.
And i call her buhle…
Yena muhle shame
Maaka a dirang
Her nose so sharp like it could
Scratch my brown skin when
We kiss and leave a lovely scar
Right next to my chin.
I could tell by just a sniff
She is heading my way when
She is still afar…
Her teeth so white as snow…
She makes me rush when I am slow…
Steering at her,
Feels like watching my favourite show…
For a matter of fact,
She is my favourite show…
I do not call her like they do
They call her…
Sweet lom’khuhlane
Some call her…
Seponono sa dikoti marameng
Mmago ditshaba, moferehla moikutlo.
Ke ra yena mma kgosi wa bokone
Bophirima legaeng la maswi le mamapo
A dinosi
The mother of all heavens on earth
But I call her Buhle
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 2:33 AM UTC
I've substituted
One dysfunctional
PAIN
For one
That's immensely
Productive
Using the cold
Sharp
Blade to
Slice my skin
Wide open
To let the
Hot
Blood gush
Free
Leaving lumpy
Atrocious
Scars
That hold
Discouraging
Memories
Will never happen again
Because
I've become
Addicted to
Permanently
Sewing ink
Into my body
To
Display an image
Of who I am
Inside
Show it
On the outside
Like a canvas
Of abstract compositions
Equal repercussions
But
A positive
Release of emotions
I do not regret
Any
Of the permanent
markings
On my skin
But I am
Proud
To have found
Such a rewarding
Alternative
For if I did not go
And get
The words of my conscious
Sewn across my chest
I would
Still be
Sitting on the
Floor
Carving names
Into my flesh
Leaving hideous
Wounds
By crossing
Them out
One painful
Accomplishing
Addition
After another
Leaves me with
An emotion
That's full of relief
A proud
Uplifting energy
To build optimism
Something that
Won't cause
Tears
To stain my face
When looked back upon
Something that
I can be absolute
About
Something that
I don't have to
Hide from people
Something that
I can
Show off
And express
Myself
Openly
Something that
Holds nostalgic
Memories
To bring
Not tears of sadness
But tears
Of pure
Bliss
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
Who’s everyone talking to?
I thought by now true consciousness would transcend the me generation
The zero’s have already passed and we hide our minds behind our darting eyes
Each of us unto ourselves as creativity has been substituted for sampled reality boredom
Plastic sheets of electronic thought arrangement made to order
Recycled hero’s priced beyond the dreams of street urchins
Imagination unplugged as shock is delivered to your carpal tunnel fingers
Glancing at reality to measure the distance between metal before returning to civilizations ruins
Did you hear a word I said?
I told you that I love you
I told you about a problem that I had
But the scroll widened to the edges of attention deficit view
It's just as well that you didn't know what happened while you drank yourself into oblivion
Your addictions were planned in past decades by people who now buy islands
They laugh at how they made robots out of beating hearts
And you continue to let another ten years pass because the gun was taken from their hands
I wish my face to be in your hands
To see the excitement in your eyes as flesh and nerves are rediscovered
Maybe you can call me and I will answer as our fears are sheltered by a touch screen
And if our feet happen to collide we will see how the human touch is not to be wired
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC