"suppressions" poems
"The thought of the future we will never have was pollinating foul fuzzy particles in the air, slowly following the wake of all those tasseled dreams I had held onto for all those years but had to let go."
The most intimate revelations can often expose plagiaristic suppressions that we've most likely tried to already forget. Suggesting to anyone on the outside looking in, that there is a rancid cowardice secreting from the pores of all those who would deny the most basic of fundamental decencies to their fellow man.
All the while, boasting a loud tolerance that would be found on the very last Autumn-the very last colorful arrangements of watering oranges and smothered reds our world was ever going to be privileged to witness again.
The thundering drumming of my own beating heart gave my freshly dead and bland reaction a neon personality, with a few extra ********* lingering, successful gestures that reflected a sparkly prism of tracers.
Tracers that were birthed from the most brilliant of lasers, as I was radiating something that was blindingly gorgeous, something that was heightened with more sensitivity as it shadowed over the complexity of every kiss that I had ever been given in my life..
Spinning a silk and gold web around me that was almost as intricate as an alarm sounding earth quake.
This flaccidly tight response came at a price, leaving nothing but whispers and the wrong kind of impressions at the sight of it's unwanted face..
The time of dignity and grace felt decades away as your tiny little temperaments began to attempt to soothe me into a very still silence.
"Wooing" me and "seducing" me with such a strong touch of romantic readiness, I knew it would never be matched or found again causing me to feel a stroke of sadness at the single sentiment.
This dramatic departure killed any interest that might have supported the abortive sorrows and short winded elation’s of men, but instead the idea of a possibly new tasseled dream, sparked me into a shimmering prism bouncing glittering, glimmering, glowing rays off my skin, as I put the shine in the sun.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
It sticks to the back of my throat
like peanut butter
It sits back there like a frog
and I croak croak croak,
but it never escapes my quivering lips
It never leaves me
It never makes itself known
But it hopes like every little insecurity I've ever owned
that you will see it one day
accept it one day
read bedtime stories to it
feed it food from your dinner table
cloth it as it wants to be clothed
support it like you are the keystone
to my door
to the world, I deserve to belong in
yet I still only manage to look at it
from the blurry red plexiglass windows
I hear voices from beyond it
Be brave.
Be brave.
It gets better
little one.
But when I look out that window
I hear the depressions and suppressions of a people
gunshots and violence
and somewhere off in the distance
I hear the singing laughter and joy
Be brave
Be brave
little one
but they are as far as my voice is trapped and away from me
and as tangible as the frog in my throat
Stuck in Pandora's box
with a million others just like me.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
Like a Victorian harlot who wears long-sleeved velvet gloves, her ghostly fingers tantalised the trigger of my ancient dreams, where vulnerability paraded herself with a boisterous demeanour.
However, my friend, the eyes are the window of our aching souls.
So, as we balance upon this verge of hypnotic entrancement, it is vital that we pay homage to the plants of the dark forests.
Just like the canopy parade of parental ambivalence where suppressions assert their course fumbling of contemporary controls, the atmospheric silence is deafening.
As I have already mentioned, the dichotomy of equality has slid herself up and down upon the phallus of historical expectations and self-abandonment, don’t you think?
Now, the frontier beckons us with her harsh legitimacies, so we must never forget the power of the diviner’s sage as she leads her flocks beyond the parameters of perception.
Can we now have an immediate discussion?
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Whoever brought war to this world
Must have been an evil devil
See, fertile fields idle
Greenness they cradle
But inside them life crumbles
Lives many lives inside their bellies
They cruelly cuddles
What a human’s riddle
When masses in concentrated camps retires
As slowly they falls and expires
A heap of thin eaten bones
Humans as zombies-hell rotten clones
Just stashed skinny skeletons
Returns to humanitarians huts heartbroken
To wait to be just shrines
Of the fatal or battle famines
Fields sleeps still untilled
Occupied only by healthy bushes and shrubs
Humanity die unfilled
Fast of unsanitary outbreaks and scab-scrubs
Land lay undisturbed
Weeds wishing for someone them to pick
Humans perish perturbed
Of traumas, stigmas-too weak and so sick
Of hunger and starvation
Of thirst and malnutrition
Of deaths and devastations
Of infections and infestations
Of war-executions and explosions
Humans die of war-poverty and slavery-suppressions
Whoever brought war
To this well world’s wall
Must have been a devil for all
Can you look at them?
Once or if twice grace you've
Do you see little children?
If still they merit-forbidden!
Withered, shriveled like leaves in dry droughts
Just leanly stretched skins of skeletons
It tries to cry, a hiss like a yawn comes out
A malnourished mass-flame of fragile bones-
A stillborn foetus silently hibernating-mercifully striving living
Patched head becoming deserted and barren
Shrunken skull, inwardly bony discoloured eyes
Bony mandibles, jutting chops-sharp clavicles
Increasingly round tummy above thinly matchsticks of legs
A child hanging on a shrunken shred
Of its slim dermis and her was tissues of coveted *******
And we say she is breastfeeding
Fingers bony like satan's claws, feeble and brittle
On her thin slowly leaving heaving chest
Enjoying mother's nourishing milk
An image, an illusion of her and it sufficiently suckling
Who brought war, war to this side of the world-Africa, Africa!?
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 3:00 AM UTC
.....the beats of your heart are now resonating in mine.
& that powerful resonate is firm enough to reach each vein of my
heart,
And piercing the contracting muscles
with suppressions of relaxing ones.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 1:10 PM UTC
Why can’t poets be happy
All we talk about
Are tales of depression
And minor suppressions
That lost eye contact with the girl down the hall
Maybe it was saving you
From an even bigger heartbreak
The world saved you that mistake
Why do we think everything is lost
We’re the ones who tossed it away
Maybe we just want the thrill
To be lost up a hill
With no one to save us
From the fate
We gave us
I’ll never understand
Why we can’t withstand
The thought of happiness
It’s so ****** up
That we write in the shadows
And we close up
To those who love us
Maybe I’m just mad
At the world for all it could be
Why does everything have to be so sad
Not all of us go bad
I had a dream everything was okay
And had happiness written in the sky
Too bad dreams end with what we could
Have had
It makes life seem so much more sad
-Cnk
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC