"swaps" poems
In a world where salvation and restoration swaps my darkness to light,
there the grace to glory in praise and grace l will embrace.
In a time where invitation and visitation from above sweeps my groan(bondage) to grace to glory(freedom),
there the grace to glory in salvation and restoration from sin l will embrace.
In a season where manifestation and expectation becomes my hunger and thirst,
there the grace to glory in meditation and supplication l will embrace.
In a period where the gifts and fruits of the Holy Spirit becomes my meal and meat,
there the grace to glory in repentance and independence from sin l will embrace.
In a moment where revelation becomes my feast and vision of heaven my yeast,
there the grace to glory in salvation and ressurection from death l will embrace.
At the throne of grace, there the grace to glory in my salvation and restoration from ******* l will embrace.
At the shone of salvation, there the grace to glory in my happiness and forgiveness from sin l will embrace.
At the stem of restoration, there the grace to glory in my freedom and depletion from sorrow l will embrace.
At the realm of freedom, there the grace to glory in my redemption and petition from shame l will embrace.
In the day when my feet is lifted up above the sky and my eyes groomed in white robes,
there the grace to glory in salvation and restoration l will embrace.
Twitter:
@ValentineMbagu
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
I hovered down my cursor
Towards the Facebook icon
My senses were in fervor
For one notification.
I clicked the drop down button
That was drenched in crimson red
My mind had an implosion
As I decoded what it said.
Someone sent a game request
To me when time was lush
My day embarks another quest
In the game of candy crush.
A ticket, life, or power-up
Could be the thing I need
To clear the way and reach the top
And in the ranks I'll lead.
A move that swaps a jelly bean
Perhaps could form an "L"
A wrapper bomb then could be seen
Explosion it would spell.
Maybe an orange lozenge
Could pile in lines of four
A striped bomb could come in revenge
And wipe out lanes for score.
A bunch of yellow lemon drops
I'll surely link to five
In time a color bomb would pop
And clear the candy hive.
Heaps of lollipop heads in blue
And purple cluster sweets
Could get swept out in a row or two
By coco wheels or jelly fish.
How lovely it would be to see
A medley of combination
Bombs and power-ups in spree
To a rainbow candy motion.
Two wrapper bombs would be enough
To blast two groupings clean
Two striped ones make a checker stuff
Where blocks have ever been.
A wrapper and a color bomb
Blast off a certain hue
A color bomb and a stripe in clump
Stripe out some colors too.
Perhaps of all the tricks I've seen
The one that serves me great
A duo of color bombs would mean
The end of all the slate.
The sun may rise, the moon may set
I'll be there to sit and play
A sweet treat is all I need to get
And I'll complete my day.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
Every morning at 9
She puts on the
banker's disguise
puts her poetry
in a sacred jar
next to the ashes
of
her husband
her dad
her mom.
She's a river of currents
behind the smile
darkly ******
phantasims
fly and flower
She not only carries
the keys to the vaults,
but also
the keys to wisdom
sublime
She can see right through you
when
she wants to
She can read your mind
Smilies
Metaphors
Haikus
Rap
Manifestations
of
all that makes us human,
These are the currents she rides
while
she
files
e-mails
signs
floats loans
defaults
default swaps
The whole time
she's got on
John Prine's illegal smile
She's watching secret movies
inside
she's alive.
It took many years
to learn to hide
the images
the colors
thought dreams
which flow inside -
while in meetings
behind her eyes
flows
the poetry
from herself, she cannot hide.
The commute ends
The day ends
She unscrews the sacred jar
pen to paper
the currency of poetry
resurrected
she comes alive,
All disguises
hide.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
it usually leaps like a swordfish out of the ocean
and I’m able to harpoon it,
but as of lately,
I’m stuck with pond ****
and the tuna on my bad breath.
it’s nowhere to be found;
not in the parks,
the libraries,
the liquor stores
nor the circuit clerk’s office,
I tried fishing it out of the swaps of
spitfire and melancholy
but found nothing
I tried to ****** it with an excessive
amount of trouble and ********
but found nothing
I tried scooping the guts out of myself
like a hollowed out pumpkin and
splattered it with a wet slap
against an old newspaper
but found nothing
there’s nothing here;
no spark,
no imagination,
no ingenuity
what I’m I suppose to do?
as I sit here petting the black
velvet fur of my dog,
my toes won’t stop curling,
my nails are bitten down to the nub
and the stink of aging soars past
like eagles on fire
I have nothing to write about:
no unpopular opinion
no peculiar viewpoint
no bludgeoning over
the banality of
extinction
the only logical thing to do is
head out to see some local
band at a Chicago bar and see
where the alcohol takes me
I need the ammunition
I need the fuel
I need to make
something happen
the hard days of labor have diminished me
through attrition and lack of euphemism
but for right now, no matter how
saturated I am of feeling and thought…
whether I’m
drunk on sleep,
salacious on vulgarity,
grieving with quills,
vacant of *****
dreaming of gout,
reading Géza Csáth,
listening to Sass Dragons,
burrowing under empty houses
or fixing the plumbing for the woman down the hall.
I still
can’t
coax
the word
out.
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 10:45 AM UTC
Oh so I guess it was infected
On so many levels
Probably my fault for loving
an angel ****** Scorpio
who gives ******** like a greasy exhaust pipe
who swaps ****** fluid
like a last ditch transfusion for a cure
done in an ally in Mexico
I thought you could save me with your shameless passion
The vibrating underwear at dinner
The dare to straight face in public
You were *****
And you were *****
And I was trying to make a mess
So cleaning myself up might look drastic
You were an adventure I can’t shake
The kind of adventure you can’t catch twice
Until you catch it twice
I have been told
Learning is a change in behavior
Learning is finding ways to not make the same mistake
Over
And over
Clearly
I am still learning
Still infected with
With the self-inflicted wrong decisions
Of loving people who don’t love me back
And filling holes
With the parts of myself that are designed to do that
Hoping mine will be filled too
I’ve put a pillow in my open chest wound
So you might still think it’s safe to lay there
So you won’t hear the heartbeat race of hope
That things won’t hurt so much later
Won’t feel like a film on my skin that doesn’t wash away
When I watch you leave me in the morning
And all I want to do is beg you to stay
Stay and pretend this is real a little longer
I’ve never been one to tear band-aids from wounds quickly
I pick scabs
I have scars
I am ugly
And I am still learning
Still trying different ways
To love healthy
So yeah,
I guess this is infected
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 5:25 PM UTC
Sway atop a lofty tree
I gaze upon the open sea
The north wind casts me from my mast
Into the Ocean, blue and vast
I Swim for miles, swim for days!
break a seahorse, learn his ways
He takes me to the blue abyss
and swaps for truth, what I held myth
The moon peers through the salty swells
it charms me more than I can tell
I leave behind me ebb and flow
Celestial bodies call me home
To great adventures, still unknown
Above, Beyond, Alone
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
I'M A BIG WALL STREET BANKER
SKULKING AROUND
LOOKING FOR SWAPS
WHEREVER THEY'RE FOUND
I'LL BUY 'EM ALL UP
AND BUNDLE THEM TOO
THEN I'LL FIND ONE MORE SUCKER
THAT LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU
I SELL YOU JUST PAPER
MAKE YOU THINK YOU'RE A PRINCE
WHEN THE MARKET GOES SOUTHERN
I DON'T EVEN WINCE
I'VE GOT ALL YOUR ASSETS
YOU'RE HOLDING A SACK
TAKE THE HUGE BONUS
AND NOT GIVE IT BACK
SIX MONTHS AND RETIRE
THE PUBLIC FORTUNE IN HAND
WHILE YOUR CHECKBOOKS ON FIRE
I'M SIPPING DRINKS IN THE SAND
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
A flick of a wrist, floating harmony
Fingers dance, twist and sway
Pluck and strum
The chords shape so heartily and wholey
The air reverberates and shivers the spine
But surrounds you, a warm embrace of song
You feel so fine
As the grandeur grows and grows,
Rythm picks up tempo swaps and shifts fast slow fast faster
The minor mirrors your mind, that soft depressing tone
Another strum springs alive,
Your fingers pick up pace
Pluck, pluck, pluck pluck PLUCK
SNAP!!... twang, ping.
oh
You were playing with my heart-string
The music dies,
And so do i.
Dec 17, 2010
Dec 17, 2010 at 9:00 AM UTC
Corn Mash cookin' in the Georgia Pines
Mash fumes rising to a Chilled Copper line
Turning into a stream of droplets.....
Dripping steady to a Mason Jar
Boxed up in the Trunk of an
Old Rusted Chevy Car
With the Engine Bored and
The Suspension Heavy....
Made to handle old back roads
Offerin' up a taste to them of 'Shine
Goes down like the Devils Fire 'n
Burns ya like a Hell Fire Sermon
Standin' on a back road
In that hot Georgia sun
Cash Swaps Hands, the Sale is Done
Lightening kicks up some Nasty moods
Over Who's wrong and Who's right
'Til its blood on a Saturday Night
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 6:11 AM UTC
My niece is sat opposite me
My niece is in possession of paint
And a paintbrush
And I’ve surrendered my hands to her.
That tickles!
My face scrunches
Paint properly plastered
The newspaper in front of us her dad had put down for her she swaps for plain
I wiggle the digits on my
Upward facing palms.
Now flip!
Like this?
She nods
And splat
SPLAT!
The One That Married Into This
Via me
Comes in from the kitchen.
I rise from my cross-legend position
And pat his cheek as we meet in the doorway
Then I rest my hand on his shoulder,
Trying to gaze lovingly,
As opposed to smirking.
He doesn’t notice the paint
Because it’s warm
And maybe I’ve just got clammier hands than usual.
I go to wash my hands off.
Your turn!
Le artiste demands
My turn?
Everybody turn!
Great-aunties groan.
Alright then.
SPLAT!
The One That Married Into This
Touches a reassuring
Painted
Palm
To just below my back.
So ordinary
We only notice the paint prints
As we graze the hall mirror
As we start the 30 minute process
Of saying goodbye
Walking art
He whispers
As we walk out the door
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 10:22 AM UTC
My love fire of love has made me inferno
But it is your beauty which made me aglow
Cupid has made my heart injured with arrow
My sweetheart you are my heroine I am hero
Let me take from your beauty some dew drops
So seeds of love should grow up to real crops
Love with beauty dance hand in hand on hilltops
Allow your beauty to have with love swaps
What is love a fiery hell what beauty is to dwell
My sweetheart I am constantly under your spell
Being an iconoclast I am a reformer and a rebel
Please refine my state of love with beauty to excel
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 1:44 AM UTC
the bankers are in a bind
(hiding in the shame of
loan loss provision
and incestuous debt)
concocting their swaps
and derivatives
all kindly gifts ~ packaged and bowed!
emanating with a shining light
from the reclusive
and impenetrable
sanctum on the hill
seems the emperors have
lost all clothes!
*as colorful delusions
of grandeur and glut
chlorinate deeply*
memo takers
turn hand
on the penniless merchants
and civilian drags -
slated seniors
and navy jacks
all left holding the bag
as toe cutters
and slithering eels
mark the market
decency in abeyance
and hope gone terribly sour
the members of the sanctum
ratchet up their grip
(their tactics, chicanery
and calculated views
all folded
and pressed
on the waxed
and polished floors)
the finger test
and cross sentiment
are all the talk of the town
(as hedges tighten
and margins press)
pogeys scrape bottom
while narcissists,
cartoon politicians
and super villains
commandeer the front row
heads of state are
sweeping tracks
(like wiley foxes
in the hen house!)
deliberate in their procession
(with a pocket full
of tricks!):
acey deucy
and 2 buck chuck
cup and bean
and vanishing tops...
classic illusions that
have got everyone
spinning their heads!
the goats of the show
are plenty...
merchants of chaos
rewritten in a
perfect second script!
who can forget:
“johny buckles”
or the “one dom skilling”
“gravely” or the
“the good dr. lickatees”
prodigious ponzies
(with twisted boards)
all throwing caution to the wind!
looks like the rants
and accusations
will never fade...
those stone face regulators
will once again masquerade,
fleecing lambs
(with pitches and tales!)
dancing deliberately
like horned centaurs
with their tumblers
and flare
the inquisition
is fast approaching
(and the deadpan
is growing old)
time to scrape
the tempest
from the temple,
and engage the
front lines
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 12:28 PM UTC
that was you;
and how your voice never silent and your yells sweetened and how it made me feel so little, and
how your being found me unsafe and your sorry that came away and how it made me perfectly dead
and i am no poet;
to curse you with words to glorify you on a paper
and keep it in a box, i
wont let the fool in me becomes
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
Man
Makes
Woman
Decorate
Man
Leaves
Woman
Stays
Man
Gathers
Woman
Sings
Man
Competes
Women
Unite
Please
Yourself
Please
Others
Please
Others
Please
Yourself
Man
Kills
Woman
Cooks
Man
Rushes
Woman
Slows
Man
Swaps
Woman
Takes
Square
Faced
Round
Beauty
Oddly
Shaped
Different
Sizes
Trees
Both
Tall
Beautiful
Firm
Creative
Deep
Flexible
Man
Woman
All
Gathered
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 3:52 PM UTC
A rhythmic tapping begins on the snare drum, then the trumpet chimes in. A beating and the sound of the horn vibrates the room as base string begin to strum. A low thundering beat blending to make the room move. The sound of the house band bleeds into the street as the saxophone swaps out with the trumpet then in a duet they sing in harmony as a dazzling woman begins to belt out a harmony as she shimmers in the colored stage lights. All of the scene is in time, as the set jams on into the morning hours bleeding through the floors and ceiling, a jazz serenade.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
As the boeing's engines
Start
To fail
A
Gaint purple butterfly swaps in
To save
The plane
It's passengers
And its crew
From certain
Destruction
Aug 31, 2019
Aug 31, 2019 at 9:37 PM UTC
I plant my last kiss
on the wall of mausoleum,
and turn back to face the
inevitable transparency.
Like a birthmark―
you stick to me for an eternity.
Honeyed tongue swaps
a blue. I am not a path,
only a candle in the wind.
Moon-washed your face
swims in my black eyes.
I search my genes
in you, for an answer.
In poetic jargon, with
broken wings, I take a flight
to that horizon, where
my aura ends and your spell begins.
Blameless-you spin,
and break into hundred of shards.
They become stars. I remain
stranded at sunset.
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 12:48 AM UTC
if somebody asks you,
“who are you?”
here’s what you should say;
that you’re a god who swaps faces
more than the moon changes its phases.
that you’re a different person than who you were,
yet you’re the same person you always were.
that you’re a mess that contradicts itself,
that you’re a puzzle yet a piece of something else.
that you’re the rise and fall of empires,
that you’re a phoenix without its fires.
if you ask yourself,
“who am i?”
here’s what you do know:
you are you.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 2:55 PM UTC
Summer wears a gauntlet green
in Autumn rusted patches can be seen
Winter swaps for stout grey wool
to keep his fingers warm
Spring a stripper's emerald glove
when ready to perform
Nov 6, 2023
Nov 6, 2023 at 3:47 AM UTC
Love In Rain
In drizzling rain you and me my love
Are playing in the rain drops
Rain increases our passion my dove
Love for beauty really swaps
This hide and seek from beak to beak
Increases love fire to burn in rain
My sweetheart my heart is tis to seek
How to get pleasure to avoid pain
My love this world is transitory
And we have limited to but survive
Lets take all pleasure to feel free
So lets revive to honorably thrive
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright Sept 2021 Love Remains
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 10:50 AM UTC