"timbuktu" poems
White folks: pack your bags and go.
Our nut-brown world is quite offended.
Make your shame-faced exit NOW,
And leave your mansions unattended.
Wait—before you pass the doors,
It's time to settle ethnic scores.
No more ragtime Minstrel Show.
Our Moorish Science took it down.
Black lives matter. White, less so—
Now move your pale face out of town . . .
But first, shell out for racial shame
Caucasian losers of the game.
Cultural pride is ours alone:
Kings and Egyptian queens we were.
The glories of our race, well-known
Bedazzle in a darkened blur
(Clear to Africa's descendants—
Puzzling to you white dependents).
Blackness lent your world its light,
Taught the Dutch to tend those flowers.
Scandinavia grew bright
Under our beneficent powers.
Negroes gave your blondes their beauty;
Helped those Norsemen shake their *****
The Seven Wonders of the world:
We built them all. No vain conjecture
Dims our banner, black, unfurled,
Above eternal architecture.
Arts and knowledge gained from us
Are what we threaten to discuss.
We invented math and science
Which you robbed from Timbuktu.
Swarthy wisdom's brave defiance
Caused Old Europe to renew.
All our treasure that you plundered
Testifies: your days are numbered.
Classics of our Greeks you stole:
Philosophy was never yours.
Shame upon your racist soul;
For Bach and Mozart both were Moors.
Misappropriated treasures
call for ruthless hard-line measures.
Latino fate falls next—but, where ?
Jews, Turks, and Arabs: are you. . . white ?
Orientals everywhere:
Choose your side and join the fight.
Blackness rising! Late the hour;
Heed your call to fight the power.
Crackers need to check your race—
Stop rooting for that ****** clown.
Rednecks all up in our face;
Racist throwbacks got us down.
But as your statues bite the dust
Your light goes dark (you know it must).
So move on out, oppressor, thief.
Long have you held our nation back.
In some white galaxy seek relief—
But here the light itself is black.
Stars are racist. So is the sun.
Now let God's great black will be done.
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
Build me a slow boat to Timbuktu via China
Heave down a fleecy cloud and let me float to Nirvana
Hunt me a unicorn and let me ride to the Enchanted Forest
Find me a giant eagle and let it lift me to Outer Mongolia East
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
Show me a Church and I'll show you a hall full of Sinners
Point out a wife and I'll reveal a liar and a fake and none dimer
Call a Doctor and its a Monster who betrayed the Hippocratics
That Government Boss is a cruel heinous snake without ethics
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
See that Preacher and see a spineless hypocrite back-stabber
That lover was nothing but a sick deranged false **** twister
My dear acquaintance a heartless corrupted shyster unhinged
A Newsagent full of pitiless, gloomy, vile, psychotic joy-suckers
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
That friend of years a bloodsucking Judas who betrayed and stole
Uncles who rained terror with sadistic pleasures in parts unwhole
Show me nieces and find two-faced ******* with poisons in veins
Neighborhoods full of silent killers and Rapists of truthful genes
'please don't me leave here amongst demons with human faces'
A vicars' daughter wielding angst axes better than a viking
The pathetic Moors zombies tearing flesh on masters beholding
The dead-eyed Arabs salivating madly or at daggers drawn
Contemptible Men-kids with pin ****** used as King's pawns
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
Build me a cottage in rolling green fields with blue skies
Find me a fair maiden with a true heart and warming smiles
Show me a place that holds fairness and justice real and dear
A world with humanity we're all sisters and brothers for care
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
[email protected] August2018
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
Ask...and you shall be given answers
seek...and you'll be told where to look
knock...say, hello?...hello? hellooow?
a voice named siri replies:
"is it me you're looking for?"
i think,
the eyes, the mind, even the heart, need
clear, goggle-like glasses, for 20/20 vision,
to grasp, to discern, be forewarned,
not to be overwhelmed by whatever
data unfolds on the screen
they say, there are contrived solutions,
for life's every complication
search engines are accessible to all
just press specific keys, and, Voila!
surf, play...easy games, easy friends
but, can they really answer all questions?
every human question?.........like,
do elephants really cry? how did it occur
that they have excellent memories?
is Timbuktu modernized now?
are there still surviving cannibals?
will the remaining Bee Gees member,
tell us how to mend a broken heart?
do rosicrucians really possess secret wisdom?
what happened to you and me?
how do i save myself from emotional vampires?
how do i cook pad thai?
...and how do i get you out of my mind?
why does the rooster crow after midnight
how does logarithm work with poetry?
do dogs have souls? do they visit their
masters?....i miss my dogs Misty and Tiny,
...and i miss you...what's wrong with me?
God, why do i even bother to ask?
my goggled eyes are blinded by grief
my goggled mind refuses to forget
this goggled life of mine feels empty
and it has nothing to do with technology...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 23, 2018
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
Hanging out new to the scene
So often wonder what that means
As I sit in front of the world's screen
Started in on ...Googling
I typed in a single word
Pressed enter for the Google search
Took me down the path absurd
Where all the lines were blurred
From there I ventured off the path
Wish I'd known there's no turning back
Marveled at the knowledge that I lack
Like how to whittle your own baseball bat
Just in case you're wondering
Midgets don't melt in the rain
Who doesn't think that that's insane
As I dive deeper into Googling
The art of bathing a Hindu rat
Skinning a two-headed Siamese cat
The taking of the perfect nap
Standing up while keeping your lap intact
How to delicately pierce a Rhino's ear
Dressing up then down a deer
50 different ways a man can cheer
While toasting his favorite Micro beer
Abstract art using cotton *****
How to paint between the lines on paisley walls
Teaching Yankees how the South says ya'll
Lost episodes of the show called Lost
Food served upon the world's menus
Even specialties from Timbuktu
Why the sea is green and the sky is blue
As my googling madness continues
More artwork this time with the jam of toes
How to pick your friends but never your friend's nose
Cleaning of the house without a stitch of clothes
The whole time being careful with the vacuum hose
80's Hairbands I used to like
That now know what bald feels like
Making a homemade Hindenburg kite
One that lands this time
How to handle midlife like a man
Taking a survey of what you could have been
Raising Spider Monkey's in the comfort of your den
As I keep on Googling
I now find myself Googling out in front
As I'm Googling from behind
Googling up as I'm Googling down
To the left and to the right
I've learned how to gargle Google
That's a well known Google fact
And if you don't believe me
You can even Google that
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
How beautiful is the
Rose flower of my heart,
She is more beautiful
Than the flowers in Aburi,
How beautiful is the
Mother of my heart,
She is a blessing to her family,
How beautiful is her
Dusky looking bark,
Her brave stands for justice
Like Yaa Asantewaa,
How beautiful are my lover’s lips,
Just like that of Frimpomaa,
How beautiful is the lady
Whose beauty Brightens
My heart like her words,
She flourishes like
Koforidua flowers,
How beautiful is the lady whose
Love can control my queer destiny,
She is like unto Nyarkowaa,
How beautiful is the convex hips of the
Lady who can make me go crazy,
She is like unto Adwoba,
How beautiful is the lady who can
Make me disobey my creator,
She is like unto Makeda,
How beautiful is the lady who has
The power to make me loose hope,
She is like unto Daehafi,
How beautiful is my blessed lover,
She is highly favoured like unto Sekina,
How beautiful is the queen of my heart,
She is reliable like unto Cleopatra,
How beautiful is my lover who causes
The will of the Gods to come to pass,
She is like unto the Timbuktu woman,
How beautiful is my lover,
She has faith like unto seed,
How beautiful is my butterfly,
Her love is stronger than tens
Of thousands of chariot
Descending from mountain Afajato,
How beautiful is the
Keeper of my heart,
She has the power to
Break my heart like Nefertiti,
How beautiful is the
Keeper of my love,
She is a mother of all
Generation like Ma’at,
How beautiful is my lover,
She is faithful like the air,
How beautiful my lover is,
She tastes like salt in my mouth,
How beautiful is my lover,
Her face turns me
On like a ripe mango,
How beautiful is my lover,
She has the power to make
Me do things against my will
Just like the seasonal rainfall,
How beautiful is my lover,
The secret to her love
And affection is still unknown,
How beautiful is my lover,
Her desires are subject to her lover’s
Whims and caprices,
How beautiful is my lover,
She sees her lover as
The head of the house,
How beautiful is my lover,
How glories are her
Feet upon my lap,
How beautiful is my lover,
She is as clean as the cat,
How beautiful is my lover,
She is as important
To me as myself,
How beautiful my lover is,
She is the pride of my life,
How beautiful is my lover,
She is as wise as the aunt,
How beautiful is my lover,
She is the guardian of my love,
How beautiful is my lover,
She has honour and respect like Isis,
How beautiful is Kabutuwaa,
She is all that I can boast of,
How beautiful and
Sweet is Obaahemaa,
She is the only lady
I was born to love,
For she is my
Koforidua flowers indeed.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC
Listen! Can you hear?
Behold! Can you see?
Feel! Can you experience
The change from a female
To a fruitful African mother?
Oh yes, she took the concoction
This morning to prove her innocence,
Yes, she had to go through this
Ordeal to satisfy her aggressive head,
But this passionate love was
According the will of Tweaduampon,
Hmm, the moon has appeared
Nine times over the thirsty land
Of Africa since morning,
Can you behold Asaase Yaa
And Isis watching with their
Eyes of favor and fertility?
For Osiris, the Beautiful Being, can even
Testify the May-rain matching
Endlessly over the wings of Timbuktu,
Ah look! The noon is fast approaching
With excess wailing and fear,
For the Military Hospital
Is burning and bleeding with
The fire of eternal expectations,
Indeed, with success comes greed,
And the gods of blacks is not to ****
Push daughter, push!
Push the pain of this Tuesday joy
Out of your vulnerable soul,
For the Marshall bells are still
Ringing to receive this divine offer,
Hear the sweet voice of the dawn
Energizing the anointed male baby
Out of the nine-mouth old darkness,
Today, a new day is born,
Today, a revolutionary is born,
Today, the gods have given birth,
Today, Kabutu is born,
Today, the history of Africa has given birth,
In fact, magical protection and life
Were behind this gods and his
Divine Essence was glorified with power.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
If I were an elephant
I know just what I'd do
I'd pack my trunk with all my junk
And move far from the zoo
I'd bring with me my monkey
Best friend and sidekick Preston
If memory correctly serves me
He's a **** at giving directions
Cause I'd like to move to Timbuktu
Either that or Kathmandu
One thing is clear as long as it's not here
Any old place will do
I'd then open up a doughnut shop
Run by Preston the monkey and me
Where we would toss sprinkles on top
With banana creme in-between
We'd be known far and wide for our doughnut delights
Oh and fancy schmancy eclairs too
Yes if I were an elephant
That's exactly what I would do
Wouldn't you?
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC
body genre
at a carnal address
sensory and sensuous effects
materiality
digital images
anthropology of desire
she tied a knot around his ****
a wedding band made of licorice shoelaces
for the art of tongue and ****
driving it in her pink throat
back and forth
like a shift stick
flared for the retina
a puzzlement and fascination
haptic screen of fiction
adventure of being pinned down
an unpremeditated punctum
fucktum sucktum
the stadium of desire
a shop window
banality transcending banality
the literal transformed
into the ******
a ****** smiles red
girl in a suitcase
with a hole to ****
a treasure chest
the leaky boundaries of erotica
sing in
musical blood whistles
I packed her up
limbless and threw
her on the bed
and with tender kisses
of endless
wet permutations
banged
three oozing holes
into finger ponds of oblivion
she taunted
age play- ageless
***** class
a weird ethnicity
from Timbuktu
racially motivated lust for a
conveyance of
fleshy intensities
way past help
a big **** dips
a tender dimple
like a barnacled whale
in a deep dive
the violence of
a preemptive strike
for everything imaginable
across raw lips
in her cosmos
of swinging hips
and cross bone riddles
oh happy *****
suicide ******
at the computer screen
**** bullets birthday cake
in a River Styx of flames
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 4:40 PM UTC
I want to know more than one
Haitian
I want to know more than three
Jamaicans
I want to meet Nigerians that speak
Igbo
Kenyans that laugh at the Swahili I learned in Berkeley
Ugandans that correct my Mandarin
Tanzanians that teach me how to say it in Cantonese
I want to tour the holy city Ile-Ife
trace the pilgrimage path of Mansa Musa
then circle back to Timbuktu
See the reminders of Aksum
See the remainders of Kmt
Touch the Earth and envision the buildings that my ancestors constructed
thousands of years before they were invaded thousands of times
leaving the still standing walls that others never believed were thousands of years old
till their, “science” said so
I want to board a barge in the south and flow north with the Nile
I wonder what eight others will join me
I want to walk the same trail
that was the first trail
compare my foot print
to the first foot print
The vision I see
The things I want to do
The escape I want to take
Isnt one that is new
Its one that is old
so old that its in the blood
in the very fabric and design
of all that claim
Human
What I want is a realization
no
a reawakening
of my genetic inheritance
of my ancestral birthright
What calls me is the land so old
its true name
its original tongue
is the only
can only
be labeled
The First
There
that is what calls to me
There
that is what pushes me
that is the very intangible force that pulsates my heart
pumping the blood through my veins
That place that is forever older than old
yet
In a constant state of
Reconstruction
Recreation
Revelation
Renovation
Revitalization
Revolution
I want to breath the air in that place that is always in a state of newness
I want to feel the frequency in that place
where there are as many words for new
as there are people to speak them
That is the place
That is the space
That is
© Christopher F. Brown 2015
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
****** a ***** in Timbuktu
Rode her all the way to Kalamazoo
Told to ***** to blow my kazoo
And I'd shove my finger in her tutu
I wish all of this we're true
The only ******* I get say moo
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
Poetry is the direct cause of death of boredom.
Spoken words exist to excite the human soul
and to crown artistry with the nectar of wisdom
Poetry has more decibels than the Superbowl.
Poetry is the Ganga of the human soul.
It induces a beautiful feeling that stupefies
and leaves the mind dazed like a drunken fowl,
yet it delivers results that really satisfies.
Poetry flows from the fountain of Wakanda
and permeates the arid soil of Timbuktu.
Poetry is the vault to the treasures of Zamunda,
where Mammy Wata guards the Kane of Mobutu.
Poetry is the language used at the creation.
When earth was young and everything was dark,
The great arbiter called out light and put things in motion.
He used spoken words to tell Noah to build the ark.
Poetry is life and life is in coexistance with poetry.
Before ancient Africa and the pyramid of Egypt,
Poetry was cooked and stored in God's pantry.
Ready for use in the Garden of Eden's script.
#IvanBrookspoetry ©️
#Bassapoet✍️
5.24.2019
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 1:30 AM UTC
O indiginous tuber to Peru,
Now in nations' daily stews,
From the Polar South to Timbuktu,
Ranked with rice, wheat and maize,
Oh staple potatoe
You grace our table.
We plant seed spuds,
Red, yellow or brown,
Harvest the new ones,
The remainder mound
To thrive in leisure,
As buried treasure.
Heel the spud *****
Unearth your trove,
A gatherer's surprise
To woo true love.
We slice, dice and mash,
Roast, deep-fry and bake.
It's not an egg,
It'll never break.
***Medium-rare, please.
And make mine a baked.
Oh, and don't forget the butter,
Oh, and sour-cream, just in case.”***
It hasn't got *** appeal,
What you see is true,
But make no mistake,
I swear by what's holy in taste,
It only has eyes for you.
Pharmaceutically,
It soothes,
Burns, itches, puffy eyes,
Migraines and headaches.
Make a stamp,
Make silver shine,
Clean your windows with its brine.
And potatoe muffins are simply divine.
When blight strikes,
When crops don't thrive,
Many starve,
Many have died.
So, I raise this toast
To the lofty Tuber,
And I dedicate this Ode,
To the one,
The only:
***Mr. Potatoe,
This bud's for you.***
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC
woot for when i feel you understand
woot for private mysteries of only being me and you
woot for games of lashing raw and scintillating *** in discord's after-thaw
woot for being true
for lies so old they utter love in corners never new.
woot for google's Timbuktu and Timbuctoo and Timbuktoo
woot for w00t
for chasing names into an aether sigh of history
forming castles in the mind,
stonewalling issues to the end of time
woot for fruit.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 12:16 PM UTC
The Roman empire has fallen
sadness weeps bitter tears
how the mighty became poor old waif
and the west held their jamboree without ignominy
For once they were carried on shoulders in sedan trains
in pomp and ceremony the masters sought safaris and ruled lions
from Goa to Timbuktu the whiff of toast on marmalade n Darjeeling
jackboots and clipped voices rang in plantations n hymns in churches
The Roman empire has fallen
Tea two anti-depressants please
Oh no no how have the mighty fallen
unwanted unloved we cry diminished glory
no invites to Continental parties no lovers in Casablanca
the dusky maidens as footstool are Doctors at the corner Surgery
those hunky dark torsos ferrying cocoa to steamers heading Cardiff
are now earning two hundred thousand grand a week and drive Rolls
The Roman empire has fallen
now we just drink Bitter all the time
the mighty s of the universe are now *******
come see the bullies in the school playground playing the Raj
let me show you a place where four in ten cannot spell enterprising
did you know when not in the Tropics some go for weeks un-bathed
shock and awe jealousy n envy is the new black making them so mad
old n young no self respect, no dignity and now only sad mad bullies
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 4:29 AM UTC
A runaway
ducking landlords
just back from timbuktu
containing
wild
wild
and some rite of
some protective voodoo
dialing for
d
o
l
l
a
r
s
I don't have
I just gotta get through
Beggars call collect and the alms are anyone's ears,
anyone
will do
The receiver,
eternity's choir
Singing
soggy
sorry
gloom
The preacher man's a liar
Just tell God to let me through
My tongue
becomes
a sublimated jazz singer spitting
my soul impromptu
some
R a p i d f i r e
c o n f e t t i
At a party where everyone is mute
Their silence unsettling
the space between rings, music
I'm going to
lose it
stop
traffic has gone bebop
Outside the booth
While the rain is trying at the blues
But I know that song
and I know me
it's way
out
of
tune
Singing, Hey mama!
I'm so sorry I flew the coop
I should of changed from my pajamas
But I still had some furious flu
So I got
down
with
the
sickness
Because the cure won't
fit in a tablespoon
Even still,
I hope to get through
the kind of hope thats put me
At the
bottom of the
booth
Bi t i n g
ankles
moon
Howling
at the
Giving
up
to
a
gambit.
Who am I even talking to?
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
Those who cross, this nighttime terror, will be sure to know his name,
From ocean blue, to Timbuktu, the ghost of the man is to blame.
He rides upon, a howling steed, he sets women's hearts aflame,
He will dismount, only to pay no heed, to the life, the gods call, 'game'.
Beware, oh Bandit, do not pierce, the eyes of the open believer,
For what you have seen, on the journey of one, has made thy soul, cleaver.
Hated still, the tainted will, of the man who rides, in the palm of despair,
Points his fingers to the sky, in faith, that the heel of truth will be there.
The bandit will leave less on hands and feet, when he comes through,
Yet, he will leave more than tears, when with your ****** he must make do.
So true is his arrow, nailing to the tree, the reigns which he has overcome,
Out of sight, he is a patriot to the desires of his heart, serving no one, but one.
Where will you go next, bandit, what treasures will you next seize?
What of the riches in your heart, crucified by forgotten responsibilities?
He searches, this bandit, for the one elusive key to his caged soul,
As if it were on race ahead of himself, always out of reach or toll.
Aghast! He halts in treasure cove, at odds with the sight before him.
What layeth on the ground, is a sight that attempts no boredom.
Here! Is a sight for eager eyes, here! Is the quencher for desire.
That which is in front of him, will extinguish his mind's wild fire.
One foot, in front of the other. As if he had no longer the ability to walk.
Made the bandit, his way over. To the treasure that made him gawk.
It lay in fragile casing. It had a lustrous stare.
Even though it was alluring, it should have made the bandit beware.
But, oh! He was too hasty. For the jewel, evidently tasty,
Incited him to grasp it firmly, like a gluttonous man upon pastry.
What was it, in the cave? The treasure that could powerfully ensnare?
Oh child, I cannot tell you, for fear, that you will go there.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
Lawrence (who goes by Lars)
Went to India
And Contracted SARS
Damped his spirits?
I think not!
His best friend is Lou
Payed his taxes and went to church
Alas, 'twas not Jesus
That he found on his search
Lars and Lou
One day had nothing to do
They crowded the streets of the city
In Bangladesh
In Timbuktu
They never found something quite as pretty
Lars had bandages on his eyes
Lou chose not to see
Turning a blind eye
Turning the cheek
Say what you will (makes no difference to me)
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 10:35 PM UTC
With the reception I'm getting from you
I might as well be in Timbuktu
It's a growing feeling of deja vu
All my words you misconstrue
I tried to explain till in the face I'm peacock blue
One of these days your gonna get whats due
And life, on you is gonna chew
And spit you out like rancid stew
Then maybe you will feel bad for what you do
Treating me like a pair of old tennis shoes
Walking on me until your through
An apology is overdue
Don't give me that look you know it's true
With you every thing is a hullabaloo
I think I'll find someone new
With them I'll move to Kallamazo
There my life you can't askew
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
girls like me are built small
some might say fragile, even
but our hands are tough and strong
always clutching broad swords and shields
our lips: ruby red, from lipstick and/or taking the occasional wrong turn once in a while
our hips: like vases for flowers you sometimes forget to water when you're too busy (somewhere along the line i became more of a wildflower than a wallflower though)
our noses: so cute and buttonlike and perfect for those little lost and found kisses
our mouths: hopefully or hopelessly unabashed, through speech and silence
our willpower can crumble mountains
the dexterity of our hands tries as best as it can to reach you
but sometimes you're just too far away
on top of hillcrests in timbuktu
or in another woman's arms
or lost in your own thought
but it's alright, i laugh and you can still see the glimmer in my eyes even in the shadows you left behind
i am stronger than this
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
You may look for me on Oxford Street
At dawn or dusk or night.
Or downtown where the down-and-outs meet
To drink and sleep and fight.
You may catch my shadow lurking on the curb
In the rainy middle-class suburbs.
(You’ll be chewing on the cud and on the curd,)
And they’ll all think you quite absurd,
And pass you by without a word
Without a care.
You won’t find me.
No, I’m not there.
You might get a glimpse at sundown
Of me and The Sundance Kid,
Riding onto Cape Town,
Or sliding through Madrid,
Or stealing through the byways of Turin –
Winking at the bottom of your glass of bitter gin,
Breathing through your window, on your skin,
Guessing what I think, just like a twin
But I swear,
You won’t find me,
No, I’m not there.
Chase my name to the horizon
Or the shores of Timbuktu;
Just be sure to keep your eyes on
Those two feet in-front of you.
I’ll be biting at your heels,
The stinging citrus scent of the fruit you peel,
The whirling hub of your bicycle wheel,
The hassock you fall upon when you come to kneel
In prayer.
But you won’t find me,
No, I’m not there.
Do not think that I will answer
When you ask or shout or call.
The figure of the folk dancer
Will not be me at all.
I’ll be the one that you’re not looking at,
Sitting in the place where you just sat,
Wiping from my face what you have spat,
Sleeping in every dark empty pocket of every new coat that
You wear.
Oh, you won’t find me,
I’m not there.
In every crowd and every gathering
You will turn around to see
That where I am not standing
Is not where you want to be.
Somewhere between you waking and your sleep
I swim the deepest secrets that you keep,
Silently catching the tears you weep,
In the kitchen cooking the food you eat
Minding what you sow you reap!
I am one step ahead of a sentient sweet
And fair.
But you will not find me.
I am not there.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
Patience, the most important aspect of spying
They teach that a lot
Some are born with it
Can't be bought
Me, well I've gotten better after all these years
I try to have a book I can read
For it's boredom I fear
Hey, you get to see the world
I've been all around
Got stuck in Southeast Asia
Myanmar still astounds
A culture in contrast
So rich and poor
When it comes to human rights
The world doesn't understand
So here I am in Timbuktu
I'm talking literally
This is the life I have chosen
It works fine for me
My spouse comes along
To help me deal with the insanity
Such as finding good drinking water
Poor pitiful her and me
Aw, but we love it
This life in espionage
I help to save the world
The frequent flyer miles are large
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 12:15 PM UTC
I didn’t live long
Or so it seemed
I laughed, I cried
I hoped, I dreamed
At Kensington Palace
I had tea with the Queen
And over in Scotland
Nessie and I made a scene
I flew over wild plains
On my way to Timbuktu
I took on Niagara Falls
In a canoe
I played with the bulls
In my time in Spain
And while in Africa
I saw the rain
In San Francisco
I roller bladed the slopes
To the Golden Gate Bridge
Where I swung on the ropes
I built a snowman
That was Himalayan
I slept under the stars
Amongst ruins that were Mayan
In New York to the lovely lady
I sent a smile and a wink
In Rome at the Vatican
It made me think
That while in Ireland
Oh the beauty I found
I never really felt
My feet touch the ground
I never left my hometown
Or so it seems
But I did live it all
In my dreams
05/03/2010
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
Here I set with nothing to do
Dreaming about your eyes of blue
So many things you and I can do
But all I want is to make love to you
All day long I dream of you
How pleasing you look in navy blue
My heart jumps when I look at you
Have I told you I want to make love to you
My heart bounces around like a kangaroo
It's only you that I want to pursue
Lay you down in sheets of powder blue
All night long I want to make love to you
We could run away to Timbuktu
Or maybe even go to Katmandu
Wear lingerie that is Prussian blue
Anywhere I want to make love to you
I will always come through
Stormy sky's of iron blue
I don't have to make love to you
I just want to be next to you
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:11 AM UTC
With the reception I'm getting from you
I might as well be in Timbuktu
It's a growing feeling of deja vu
All my words you misconstrue
I tried to explain till in the face I'm peacock blue
One of these days your gonna get whats due
And life, on you is gonna chew
And spit you out like rancid stew
Then maybe you will feel bad for what you do
Treating me like a pair of old brown shoes
Walking on me until your through
An apology is overdue
Don't give me that look you know it's true
With you every thing is a hullabaloo
I think I'll find someone new
With them I'll move to Kalamazoo
There my life you can't askew
©Pauline Russell
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
The day my baby sister came
They all forgot 'bout me!
Her tiny little hands and feet
Were all that she could see
She only had to burp or yawn
To hear them Ahhhhhh and Oooooh
I might as well have packed my bags
And moved to Timbuktu
I'm only five years old you see
But Shelly's just five days
She has this face that's oh so sweet
She's sneaky in her ways
And so I sneak to take revenge
She'll simply have to go
I look and see enormous eyes
It hits me and I know
This girl's my baby sister
I'll forgive her all her noise!
I guess that once she's old enough
We'll even share my toys
There's just one thing I just won't do
I'll never change her diaper!
The things I've seen and smelled down there ...
I'd rather change a viper!
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 5:29 PM UTC