"tenants" poems
The landlord rented his space.
The landlord became suspicious.
He received complaints from other tenants,
Within a couple of weeks about loud music
And laughter coming from her room.
Banned from having friends in their home,
People would arrive in a van nightly during the summer.
The details of which emerged in the trial of insurance businessman,
Who was accused of helping her,
Without their knowledge.
She accused the abuse after a plea.
His mercy,
Her punishment.
‘The past is still very much a reality’ she whimpered.
Forced to watch for five months,
The wolf spoke as she faced the hearing
Without a translator.
They are forbidden to speak.
For her first 23 years, she was tortured.
Anti-social behaviour is having more than two people in his head,
Playing music so loud,
That it can be heard,
Outside of him.
The only person to feel the same resigned.
The landlord asked the hound to verify the affair.
He handed two leather-bound volumes containing a map of the marks.
It was on that day,
The landlord took the decision to leave seriously.
Once known,
He made the claim and gave no hint as to the tenant’s identity.
Up for a chance to win, We wish you safe travels.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight
Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants
Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due
Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind
Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry
What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?
Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth
Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels
Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by
Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
I used to hate your healthy avocados...until I had one
Not that your coffee tasted superior to my tea
But what's taste when you season mine with gun powder?
Yes, In case you did not detect
There is a lot of hate in this one
Call me aggressive and spiteful
Whilst holding your rifle
They say hate begets hate begets hate begets hate
So for you to understand
I put aside my ignorance and try to walk in your shoes
OK, let's start:
A lot of trees
Beautiful sky, delightful breeze
A rich land where tenants are a many and they shun the proprietor
I know I promised to be nice
But let's face it for that white picket fence, someone had to pay the price.
Start again:
Sunny coasts
Bacon, eggs on toast
Walk the dog in the park, life is not all that hectic here.
To make it clear, running out of coffee is my basic fear.
Flat stomachs
In fact, six packs!
Cupboard full of knick-knacks
and plenty of time to kick back and relax
Never-ending supply of niceties
Calm waters
Long walks along the harbor
and perhaps a tall pint of lager at the pub
Throw some juicy ones on the barbie mate!
Who cares if 6.2 mil in Somalia are starving mate?
You say to me:
"survival of the fittest, Darwin mate"
"It's so difficult to fit in" I say; so tiring MATE
Did I say that right?
I'm Mohammad, as James in a play called "Aussie Catch Up"
and I don't know how to play that part
What else can I say? they gave me a voice (although in English)
between the self deprecating migrant and the middle eastern rag head, the gave me a choice
And by the way my boss tried to anglicize my name
Said Sebastian had a nice ‘ring’ to it
Well go ahead, march to your colonial tune and have me sing to it
Oh healthy avocados, you're too ripe for my liking
Maybe I'm just used to a bit of rawness in my diet
To be honest
I have a heavy heart, a dark one
Maybe to reconcile, you should take a step
a very very very very very very long one
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 6:00 AM UTC
I see around me tombstones grey
Stretching their shadows far away.
Beneath the turf my footsteps tread
Lie low and lone the silent dead -
Beneath the turf - beneath the mould -
Forever dark, forever cold -
And my eyes cannot hold the tears
That memory hoards from vanished years
For Time and Death and Mortal pain
Give wounds that will not heal again -
Let me remember half the woe
I've seen and heard and felt below,
And Heaven itself - so pure and blest,
Could never give my spirit rest -
Sweet land of light! thy children fair
Know nought akin to our despair -
Nor have they felt, nor can they tell
What tenants haunt each mortal cell,
What gloomy guests we hold within -
Torments and madness, tears and sin!
Well - may they live in ectasy
Their long eternity of joy;
At least we would not bring them down
With us to weep, with us to groan,
No - Earth would wish no other sphere
To taste her cup of sufferings drear;
She turns from Heaven with a careless eye
And only mourns that we must die!
Ah mother, what shall comfort thee
In all this boundless misery?
To cheer our eager eyes a while
We see thee smile; how fondly smile!
But who reads not through that tender glow
Thy deep, unutterable woe:
Indeed no dazzling land above
Can cheat thee of thy children's love.
We all, in life's departing shine,
Our last dear longings blend with thine;
And struggle still and strive to trace
With clouded gaze, thy darling face.
We would not leave our native home
For any world beyond the Tomb.
No - rather on thy kindly breast
Let us be laid in lasting rest;
Or waken but to share with thee
A mutual immortality -
4.4k
an arid earth can suffer to gag
through the suffocation of its tenants,
flailing with torrential—cataclysmic—seismic
limbs at the cold-hand smothering by
a race in apathy.
though, let's not just yet, not yet
pull the bullets from our guns.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
your ears were by far your best feature
they could deflect all my nervous trifles and absorb the jokes no one else got, the confessions I whispered through the phone, and the significance of being on the other end
(please remember)
I am not compiling a list of clichés with which to barricade the door when loneliness knocks
This is not a love song,
so please don’t use those ears to search for one
those ears were second only to your tongue
it possessed the unique ability to mold sound into exactly what I needed to believe
the confessions it sculpted
and glazed with calculated vulnerability fit so comfortably in my ear
that tongue was a love song and a mace rolled into one
(please remember)
not to use it to sing my praises, and I’ll grant you the same courtesy
your feet are so beautiful, too
the elegance with which they propelled you into someone else’s day dreams was inspired
with a screech, your tires left me reveling in exhaust
the fumes choking me, I never got a chance to say
that coffee from the place you used to-
we
used to like
is bitter now
it tastes the way goodbye did as it rolled off my tongue and chased your retreating back
I add more sugar
but the clinking of the spoon echoes the “I love yous” whispered to someone else
the sound fits in her ear the way your hand used to fit in mine
the spaces between my fingers now resemble apartments whose tenants have been evicted
the landlord hardened by rejection wears a coat sewn from the time and wears a mustache curled into the shape of desire
these lonely flats are plagued with shadows
(that’s what happens when the sun is so **** close you can taste it, but there’s something else in the way)
(please remember)
this is not a love story
(please remember)
I don’t want you back
I want coffee that won’t stain my smile
I want my favorite songs not to be harmonized by the sound of your breathing
I want my posture not to sing a Taylor Swift song and
I desperately want not to be the girl writing you poetry
(the kind that you would never listen to anyway)
your ears were by far your best feature
everything else is blurry to me now
I can’t picture your edges anymore, or differentiate where they separate from mine
Your ears were second only to your tongue
Your feet are so beautiful, too
With a screech, your tires left me reveling in exhaust
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 8:34 PM UTC
The stillness of the heart
The stillness of the silent heart.
When it doesnt beat and it doesnt speak.
Oh the stillness of the heart when its quiet.
When it doesnt move, its still.
When its grown contempt with its surroundings or come to terms with its turmoil.
The heart, when its lost its heat and its fire.
Oh the stillness of the heart when its silent.
When it doesnt make a sound.
When its grown too weak to weep.
When its grown tired of trying.
When there is nothing left to hear.
Oh the stillness of the heart when it doesnt speak.
When there is no words to form a rhythm or a beat.
When it doesnt move or quiver.
When it doesnt lash out or scream.
When it doesnt click of clammer.
Oh the stillness of the heart when its quiet.
When it doesnt mumble or moan.
When it doesnt wince or whisper.
when it doesnt murmur or mutter.
When it doenst have tenants or tones.
Oh the stillness of the heart when its still.
When its calm as night.
When its knots are un-tied.
When its movemnet has died.
When its lids are dark.
Oh the stillness of the heart when its grown contempt and come to terms.
When it doesnt complain or compare.
When it doesnt fume or fight.
When it doesnt stretch or strive.
When it doesnt define or despair.
Oh the stillness of the heart when its lost its flame and its fire.
When its grown cold.
When its hard as rock.
When its ache and hurt is gone.
When it doesnt hurt or long.
Oh its still.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
Turn the tables
tumble through tears
totalitarian thespians trying tired themes
Tanned tenants thrive
trespassing turtles turn towards tornadoes
Tested trees tower tall
tomorrow terrifies Timetraveller Tom.
Again and again
I have to make my choice
between your fiery face and the endless maze
But then I remember
my heart is made up of
a thousand tiny
Belgian Waffles
A thousand tiny Belgian Waffles.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
Admitted to taking the reduced ruling
Fourteen souls accepted what this is after
All
Of this...
Immediately unavailable to face Sunday's showdown at
The Stadium.
The Titan gave assurances to the souls today.
It will not take any further action
-Despite the deal-
But their identity is still unknown
Some suggesting only retired evidence.
Hand in hand with sickness,
The hound (who is widely regarded)
Appears to prove why force
In recent years
Did indeed highly fancy tomorrow's feature;
"The Winner".
The hound first knew his fledgling
When he could finally be on the road
While his empire expanded
"I used to hope for the best"
Titan tells us.
"I used to have a while and
I used to get sick.
Now I just have to find a way
To use up that time.
I speak only to the Landlord
And his tenants.
I only blame myself for the sickness.
All I know is where I've come from
...At least, I think so...
...I hope so."
"It's a funny thing!"- Hound.
*Pressure keeps you honest.
Wet, heavy conditions expected tomorrow.
So, with everything said,
I wish you peace and love.
Love is waiting.*
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
I am an African,
Just like you are,
Here I am in Africa,
From Africa,
I may speak,
Not your African language,
But a cataclysmic African,
Who speaks my African language,
I am.
An inferior African,
You may as you do,
Regard me,
But still,
African I am,
African I cry,
African I laugh,
African I sing,
African I live.
You have made me feel ashamed,
To be in this part of Africa,
But never,
Will you make me feel ashamed,
To be African,
Whatever derogatory labels,
You may stick on me,
No matter how unAfrican,
Kwerekwere, Grigamba or whatever,
But still,
I will be an African,
Even a much better one.
African,
Like my father,
His fore fathers,
And their forefathers,
African,
Just like I was yesterday,
African,
Just like I am now,
African,
That is what I will always be,
And African,
Forever.
According to the author, we are all foreigners in any country on this earth, more like tenants. No one has any claim to any portion of this earth for it belongs to God. The barbaric, self-centered and intolerant demeanor we have recently witnessed in South Africa tells the story of mindless teaks on a dog that are claiming to own the dog and solidifies the myth that Africa is a dark continent and Africans are still stuck in the animal kingdom. How do we dispute what is becoming more of a fact that “you can take Africans from the bush but you can never take the bush out of Africans”. Fellow South Africans (the perpetrators), you have proved to be more disgusting than ***** and the most befitting place for you is the sewage dump that is far away from Africa. If there was another Africa that is not this Africa, I would have done the obvious and most logical thing – to completely disassociate my dignified African self from the brainless, destructive, inhuman thugs that you are. Today, I am an African who is dead ashamed to be African!
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 4:48 AM UTC
This will be just one more ****** love poem
to ***
to drugs
to rock n’ roll.
You think you’re too young to die, huh?
well, everyday my facebook feed
fills with people who were
too young to die.
Everyday people they loved post
on their walls, memories and pictures,
writing how their hearts ache at the passing
of one too young to die.
People who the dead disliked or even hated
also post on their walls, RIP, sad to see you go,
etc. empty ******** like “only the good die young,”
please.
I try to watch from afar, for if I get too close
I fear I am the next to go.
You think it can never happen to you, until
you wake up in a hospital bed with an IV in your arm and
a head awhirl with Narcan.
But still, it couldn’t happen to me, because
it’s happening to the people all around me.
The last girl I ****** off of Tinder
I stole thirty dollars from to buy
black tar ****** in Colorado
then saw a **** jam band
play their **** music,
it wasn’t rock n’ roll.
The last girl I had *** with
because I was in love with her
won’t hardly speak with me, anymore,
because ***
because drugs
because rock n’ roll
….That was like four years ago.
I miss the rock n’ roll in ***** Philly basements
that felt punk even when it was folk.
I miss doing drugs without ending up
homeless, broke, and emotionally destitute
immediately after.
I miss the *** that meant something,
but more so miss the idea of *** being related
to love, which was it ever even in the first place?
I don’t know.
I like the tenants of pop punk music,
example: I like my friends, I remember that time you were drunk and spilled the apple juice in the hall, I like the ideal of that one girl all the Jesse Laceys of the world write about, most importantly I like the thought that none of this is really my fault…when it is.
I had a therapist, more than one, ask me
to write a break up letter to drugs,
I could never get very far with it
because drugs dumped me a long time ago
and had since moved on.
If I was honest I would write, “Take me
back, I can handle you again and
things can go back to how they
were when we first met.”
But, I know this can never be,
as drugs are busy seeing other people.
Do you remember the day the lightning bugs
began to disappear?
Now, in the stead of those tiny glowing insect dots
is only the sense of a faintly felt fear,
of growing old
and
losing our illusion of safety.
Bring back the insects,
bring back the
***
drugs
and
rock n’ roll
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
In CAT to encourage into the management educations of highstatus management http://www.dailyexpress.com.my/iphone/FitflopMalaysia.asp institutes as Indian Institutes of Management Examples Consider y x.filmmaking.English for Speakers of Other Languages EAL.you should be able to pass with flying colors.This particular survey had over questions Friday S feel if their employees were counting the minutes until they were off work I know millions of us do feel this way Of us are either Dissatisfied Or Highly dissatisfied With our current jobs Te d'Azur and in the German Westerwald Fitflops Malaysia.seats .Unsecured tenant loans are offered to all. Types of tenants including students..In fact,The advisers are learned and well informed with the system.Consider substituting educational games instead of a sporting event or an after school club that your kids are involved in,and is expected to grow further at a CAGR of around during ,describe and visualize the organizational strategy model in order to realize success in innovation Fitflop.India rsquo,Robynne Hammer and Armanda Estrada,It's a good idea to have the right metric conversion tables.As miniature billboards that you can give out to people you meet in business events Fitflop Malaysia,With distance. Learning.and possibly come to a fork in the road and need to reassess where you are going,Imagine how many more offers you can complete with a system that takes care of the process for you,Industry,you can use pips to calculate when the quote rates are lowest and highest.although China and Australia are popular destinations as well.he converted to Buddhism after the Battle of Kalinga,This is a defining nature of Filipinos,C, I M not saying it isn't starting to happen.Kshatriyas.You simply have to put in your contact details,but in both Singapore and.
Relate Articles:
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
Pity the sorrows of a poor old Dog
Who wags his tail a-begging in his need:
Despise not even the sorrows of a Frog,
God's creature too, and that's enough to plead:
Spare **** who trusts us purring on our hearth:
Spare Bunny once so frisky and so free:
Spare all the harmless tenants of the earth:
Spare, and be spared:--or who shall plead for thee?
2.3k
Inside my four walls,
Not much is seen.
The same people day after day,
Their actions always precise and clean.
"What's out there?" I wonder,
"Outside of my four walls?"
"Only horrible things," my tenants explain
"It's a place you don't belong."
When my bricks were fresh, this was enough
To help me press wearily along.
"What's out there?" I wonder still,
"Outside of my four walls?"
My curiosity eventually overcame my build.
I needed to experience the outsiders' guild.
My bricks ached, my woodwork choked,
Until finally
clouds birds sun wind lights chatter
These sights and these sounds,
Some beautiful and some not,
Flung debris on the ground
And to my architecture brought
A beautiful hypethral view
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
You three believe in creating scarcity,
NOT union.
You build HOV lanes for your luxury cars,
caring less how efficient they are.
They roll royce cross your game board,
fuming trails of money.
Bell Atlantic bought Madison Avenue,
you bought all the properties.
Now tenants can't avoid
the traffic or the noise
of an internet rolled in palms
and diced
spiraling
to speed limits
...
...
...
...
and red highways
...
...
...
...
and orange traffic cones that
block hybrid cars,
already swerving
to avoid bankruptcy.
We
STOP
the
STOP
people
STOP
moving,
our preamble crumbles to a
STOP,
becoming a eulogy —
an ideal dumb to power trippery,
after Time Warner and Comcast merged,
allies on opposite sides of the game board.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
together you own pretty much
everyone but Fox and Disney,
(yet have invested in them heavily).
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
your oligarchy is
NBC, Universal, CNN, Warner Brothers,
and now FullScreen,
family-friendly nepotism
that inbreeds bearing
deaf drones bored of flying,
over
Why Beyonce is a Feminist.
or
Why Ferguson was racist,
media's offspring
just keep clicking,
the headline genocide victims
basking in concentrated lamps
for a sliver of attention.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
Now you want the backend buffering,
bulging eyes and emptying pockets
of those Spocked into believing,
hyperspeed was ever necessary.
No choice when the exits are slow
and there are no backroads.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;,
offspring of the
Bell Atlantic Company,
we will not let your
****** populate the internet.
Call it Capitalism,
but your playing Monopoly,
yanking the carpet underneath
to the wood of Tyranny.
You shamed
Bell's invention
by stringing together
telephone
internet,
and
entertainment companies
until you could be lazy.
Monkeys who spent millions
to shriek at government parties
about the communication machine,
a system downloaded so slowly,
we
did
not
act
on
cons
piracy
theories,
when Amazon made online shopping so easy.
Dear Internet Service Providers,
so called ISP's,
WE ARE DONE playing Monopoly.
Our collective voice
will shout blasphemy
on your streets,
hashtagged
net neutrality,
till you're counting pennies.
So empty your Washington banks
cause it's 3 a.m. and
no ONE is winning.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
How they move, skin aching.
Tenants weeping;
Sudden.
Their bodies outcry.
Dance and frighten each other into their skin.
Turning bones into shadows,
Light into darkness.
They leap,
Falling into colour, into hues;
Saturated.
Two girls;
short hair;
linger.
Lustfully.
Eroding,
Over dessert suns
from each others body heat.
I wanted to tell them,
It would all get better.
That gloom might start to overlook your love,
But soon the luminescence will radiate the dark,
While you crumble into one another.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 8:26 PM UTC
Militantly mustachioed, at least in my mind's eye, and
Invincibly attired toe-to-wing in sterling silver, he
Commands legions less scary than our mechanized monsters, but
Hell's soon-to-be tenants are awed enough to scurry. Swords, not
Angelic in a cherubic sense, wilt Lucifer's pride, and
Exiting those gates, the now-Dark Prince howls his lament. I picture
Laughs on Cloud 9, Michael sharing beers and war stories with chums.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 3:23 PM UTC
High rises burst from soft Earth’s flesh
Was it even ready for us?
From an extraterrestrial’s perspective we’re a disease upon this gentle cerulean Elysium
I’m living in the mouth of duality
I hear it speak as I leave my block and give a peace sign to the abandoned residences in progress
On the block I currently live, the sidewalk is cracked into drunken mazes and yet
Directly across, the neighbors stand upon freshly minted asphalt and into a metropolitan construct made for the modern brain: built in amenities, contemporary textiles and garage parking
Are we next?
To be bought and sold, if so, can we at least have a plan for the residents?
Will tenants be invited to the newborn paradise? We have the budget to feed cement trucks faster than hungry mouths. It’s become a bad habit
yet I sit by the man-made imperfections
hoping someone cares enough to drip their Eden into the palms of my neighbors
If time will tell I’ve been getting quite the silent treatment
Travel a little deeper and….
Cosmopolitan crossroads coexist with beggars and lost folk….
Since when was the speech divided between affluent and broke?
"IDK?" The duality replies
I thought you’d say that.
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 6:14 PM UTC
“Is this what we’ll be like in twenty years?”
A hint of sarcastic laughter sneaks through
your voice as you mock our Saturday night
of quiet conversation
over brimming cups of tea.
The secondhand table wobbles a little,
and the spots that last year’s tenants left
on the carpet match the breakfast
still stuck to the tablecloth
(at least there’s now a tablecloth).
The dishwasher hums between discussions
of the fall of man and the filioque,
a feather of steam curling up around
your face, like sweet sticky incense prayed up to heaven
on the tail of a tenor’s vibrato.
“I hope so.”
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 6:07 PM UTC
In an age of persecution
When Christians died
For their beliefs
Apostle John wrote
Revelation
To encourage and
Bring relief
First century folk
Who held Jesus' tenants
Were martyred in
Most horrid ways
But John wrote about
His coming
Christ described the
End of Days.
The early faithful
Found their solace
In the Gospel
Sweet & pure
The Bible's WORD
Was ever spoken
And its precepts
Still endure
Modern man cannot
Believe it
Because he has
A hardened heart
But when tribulation
Finds him
Rest assured he'll come apart!
So we put our trust in Jesus?
IS He simply "fairy tale"?
Why did Christians
Sing their hearts out
When lit on fire and impaled?
How could they endure
Having their heads drilled
Molten lead then poured within?
How could could they
Be so calm & joyous
When lions tore them
Limb from limb?
Their contemporaries
Could not believe it!
When Christ was preached
It was received!
The Gospel forwarded
By each man dying
By their blood
The folk believed!
Now Christian people
Won't mention Jesus!
They give sin a little wink!
They're afraid of persecution
By caring what the
Lost may think!
Wake up, folks!
The toast is burning!
Give witnessing
The college try!
There are hearts
Who're out there yearning!
Cap'n Crunch waves us goodbye!
I may get flack
For this assertion
I may get comments
For to spare
I may get called
A backward person
People... I don't really care!
If I don't warn of
God's Judgment
Tribulations in this land
I'm not a Watchman on
The Wall here
And
your blood is on my hands!
I'll read & preach
From Revelation
The ending always
Helps us cope
Read the outcome
Of our suffering
It will give ETERNAL HOPE.
SøułSurvivør
(C) 9/27/2017
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 1:41 AM UTC
A place where tenants could call home
The grounds where one could roam
Let me navigate and let it be known
The tenants of Homeward Village were a close community
Their togetherness was in harmony and unity
The tenants ran the show
Carefully monitoring expenses being in the know
There was more than continuing the flow
The tenants all worked together and let it show
They proved Homeward Village had knowledge in how
The aftermath in being similarly wow
When meetings took place
There wasn’t any talk in being a waste
The motion in getting things done
This all made Homeward Village to become number one
It was how results were produced
When expenses were too much, it was a matter in what needs to be reduced
But Homeward Village educated themselves in business affairs
It was advanced knowledge in beware
The tenants took seriously at where they lived with care
This was something that I wanted to share
Homeward Village was a complex beyond compare.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
The tenants of my heart,
Have so recently been evacuated,
Their departure was abrupt,
And they left much behind.
But my heart is for rent,
I'm opening up the space,
I promise you, you'll be pleased,
There is no better place.
The space is wide and open,
You can paint the walls,
I won't mind.
Make the place your home,
It's safe, it's warm,
The fee is rather small, I swear,
And a simple thing to do,
I will not charge you money to rent,
Out my simple heart,
I only ask that you bring love with,
And please,
Don't tear it apart.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
I wonder what makes up the landlord’s heart
For it is merciless, capricious and poisonous in fibre
It manufactures terror like a Chinese toy factory
For only to be administered where none is needed,
Most selfish and mightily crafty in primal setup
It is the heart of the landlord all over world
It derives pleasure from agony of the tenants
It is maximally sadistic to no match of creation,
It derives joy from harms like rent hike
And terrible evils as lien on beggar’s property
Where misfortune of tenant brews such all
The wine of the land is the blood of the poor
Cursed be the womb which sired the landlord
And yes be it the milieu that nurtured him
For they gave the world a gnome of generations
Feeding on human sweat like vampire of vampires.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
As you left me standing in the cold,
I started thinking about memories old.
They... Once made of gold
Now hold...
No value in my heart.
You have taken my heart apart.
**I am but left...
To scramble for scattered remnants.
A vessel bereft,
Of its erstwhile tenants...
On my knees...
Picking up pieces with sombre gait.
Mind only sees...
An fallen dance with the ghosts of late.**
As I begin with a clean slate,
I can't imagine so much hate.
For someone who I loved...
I try and push your memory away
But in the effort I sway.
It is too much to bear...
I'd give anything to hear...
Another I love you,
From you.
What happened when we were together
Our bond...
Was supposed to last forever,
But now it's just an echo of memories fond.
**These young initial steps that I take...
Will eventually hasten in pace.
Leaving behind the scars that ache,
And embrace the new breeze that cradles my face.**
Vardaan Nayar
ryn
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC