"swivelling" poems
we have an echidna
dining on ants
in our garden
the little devon rex cat
tuxedo boy is perplexed
it is the first echidna he has seen
and tux is not sure if it is
a toy, food or a future nemisis
so is watching it from the deck,
neck stretched out so far
he has lost his wrinkles.
eyes big and nose twitching
his ears swivelling like radar dishes
the echidna,
is placidly eating
little nose snuffling,
and spines shaking as he moves
he is done now
and makes his way
to the hole in the fence
the cat, now bold,
goes to investigate
nose to ground, but not for long.
the acridic smell of dying ants
give him cause to sneeze and sneeze
before hustling back to the safety of the deck
another lesson learnt
echindna's are no cat's toy...
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 12:01 AM UTC
I hear bullets piercing through the dry wind and then I remember my mission: to free those hopeless spirits who have sinned.
I fought for survival, hiding in the grass like a deceiving snake;
Slithering, swivelling, searching;
Searching for someone to lead me to my treacherous fate.
I am imploding with hurt, sorrow, suffering-
That I have contained for too long. Then a bullet fires
straight into my heart.
I loved you all those years
You raised me, shaped me, taught me how to be a soldier.
You were my guide, mother, forced me to overcome my fears.
I feel that fire burning inside of me now.
That fire that united me and you-
Only to be put out by the cruel water of my mission.
You were a patriot;
Gave up your body, life for your motherland. That anguish, ordeal
Still endures in my heart.
And it will be trapped there forever
Until I rest in a bath of worms and mud.
Betrayed by those who feared your beauty. They may known you as a ***** criminal...
But I knew you as a patriot,
Who saved the world.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 9:14 AM UTC
time and time again
i feel the fury seeping in
this blind hot rage
swivelling throughout the page
burning me
night after night
I pretend it's alright
submerging myself in falsitute
but the edges still protrude
decaying
always the same old ******* habit
of reaching and flailing but failing to grab it
surrender
everywhere new, I see potential
yet I do not notice the sentinel
until much later when everything is old
and everything is cold
and each familiar face
is drowning in folds
at first, their art is inspirational and true
enticing me to create, anew
but it always ******* frays and fades and melts away
leading my admiration astray
their judgements, their fears, lay before me, bare
yet I have not ever, not even once, dared
to uncover their eyes, to pull them through
for what if that's how they see me, too?
that thought alone I cannot stand
to be at their mercy, to kiss their hand
begging they take back their words
already lost in flight: carnivorous birds
intent on devouring the rotting corpse
that once was a haven for my creative hopes
perched in the treetops, peering through the night
awaiting any movement, ever so slight
waiting
to attack.
but these vultures will be disappointed
by the cadavre they were appointed
there will be no meat left to hide,
it will be rotting from the inside
to their surprise as much as mine,
from the ashes will rise a pine
whose cones will fall, those bristly gems
and it will start all over again
the anticipation.
the inspiration.
exposure.
and deceit.
lying crumpled at my feet.
but i have the power to walk away
to climb the mountain my own way
farewell you folks of forlorn fantasy
i'm off to paint my own soul's tapestry
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 1:03 AM UTC
feets, are the foundation
of our uprightedness,
knees, are for the leanings
in advance of our fall.
hips, are for the twisting-
and swivelling of it all.
necks, keep our head up
in back stroke, or the crawl.
Obi.
Feb 8, 2021
Feb 8, 2021 at 1:05 PM UTC
Wandering all alone,
In that little dark world.
Ruling the whimsical section,
Was that weird girl.
Little did she know, one day
A light so inconceivable and bright ,
Would soon turn the darkness ,
Into something , this pure and divine.
He sculptured the words so beautifully
Each letter glued, with an alluring bond.
Each thing so pleasantly spoken ,
As if swivelling his magical wand.
Escaping each and every night,
From the falseness yet reality outside.
They always found a soothing comfort,
In the trees, clouds, birds and skies.
Extraordinary is their connection,
Insane are their talks.
He gave life to her soulless world
With his gleaming highway walks!
Jun 30, 2020
Jun 30, 2020 at 10:44 AM UTC
A sound,
caught up in the silence
a mistake by natural cause;
The winds whispering
through the grasses
trying to find an ear to tell
Their secrets
The movement of a domestic cat's ear,
swivelling to catch an unheard vibration;
a voice
Your mind trying to tell you that it was nothing,
yet succumbed to the lie itself
it's tendrils unfurling fully,
controlling more than you'd like
A sound,
caught up in my ear,
Begging
to be heard.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC
I still can’t find the words
Because, perhaps, a part of me feels
That you’ll look at me like I have ten heads
If I say how I cannot heal.
Perhaps I don’t want to heal at all,
Now I am a vulnerable, scorned thing.
The looks of realisation passing over their faces
As I tell my sorry story, my frightening fabula.
The tale of poppies and lilies and
The coldest winter I have ever known.
I was skin and bone with a big black coat
And I didn’t like who it was that I was.
The tale of glassy eyes and cold ones
And throwing yourself at me
The tale of black and white pudding
Of Brett Ashley and Daisy Buchanan
Of ostentatiousness unrivalled.
I still can’t find the words
I’m angry, sad, tearful in public alone
Confused and bewildered.
Is that how you love someone?
Or claim that you do?
Is that the ‘nice thing’ you’re holding back?
Is that the swivelling chair or the casting couch?
Is that why I cannot seem to get over it?
Not over you, it.
And you say you weren’t well at the time.
I supposed we were both stuck clinging to each other
To broken to move away, to scared to be alone.
But no, this isn’t an excuse.
I still can’t put it into words
How profoundly odd I feel these days
You didn’t hurt me but you hurt me
And all I can see if your smirking face.
‘Calm down, you’re gorgeous.’
Oh, I could hate a hurt like that.
My sorry story, fantastic fabulam
Is it too posh if I speak outside English?
Why do you care? You knew who I was.
You know who I am.
You know.
And I’ll bet you also can’t find the words
So you hide behind cheap drinks and albums
And everything scummy because you despise who it is that you are.
Hoi polloi, the common man.
Whatever ‘common people do.’
I still can’t put it into words
And I don’t want to.
It’s too complex and I don’t have the energy to tell a story
To tell the world of the war I won
The hollow victory, the end of our empire.
Red lips, red boots, silver shoes.
Go to sleep, it’s over now.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC
too many options and the head keeps swivelling
and choosing the way to go can be boggling
in the end despite yourself you find your deepest self has carried you forward and
its your deepest self living the present moment
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
That's just the way it is.
The way of the heart
is really baffling.
It keeps changing, turning,
swivelling, grappling,
peeping, checking,
reviewing,calculating,
evading, listening to what
you are not saying,
scheming and can't
keep quiet for a second.
Beautiful things happens
in the heart of a beautiful
soul that makes life brighter,
better and more beautiful.
Some committed crimes
of passion and become
prisoners of love,
how can we get to the
other side of the soul
where the heart cries
out to be loved.
Isolation and loneliness
invades the heart of the one
who never care to risk relating.
We are the extension of each other.
We can't get enough of ourselves,
we are smart, sharp and
intelligent and beautiful inside.
Love is the best for the moment.
A soul that never loved is lost
and it is definitely the one that
lives in hell.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 5:01 PM UTC
surrounded by dribbling vapours,
crumbling suns
the music rumbles bones,
living it up
inhaling smog,
fragile lungs
swivelling wheels,
screams on tar
we're on our way, we’re the bizarre
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 8:50 PM UTC
Illusion betrays with its edifice:
Forms always change and grow, they shift
In front of the mind’s swivelling, gimlet eye.
Reality is always playing
I guess to illustrate what I’m saying:
You’ll never twice see the same sky
So then, if we agree, it's good
That perception pranks us as it should
And nothing can be sure
We no longer have to live in suspense
Or dwell in ambivalence
Any more
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 7:02 AM UTC