"vee" poems
First, let me start by Greeting you in Twi, "memawo akye" in Kumasi
And back to my home land, I say to you, "Yene"! in Ebira
"Habri za asubuhi"! from Swahill
Ina kwana in Hausa
Emesiere! in Ibibibo
ụtụtụ ọma! in Igbo
Africa, the home of one third of the world's languages
Here I am telling you Djam walli! in Fulfulde
Nigeria is a power house of over 500 languages
I say Kube lazhin! Nupe
U nder vee! in Tiv
Manao ahoana! in Malagasy language
Ojobe in Boki
Africa! My home continent, where some languages are foreign to most.
West Africa, my land region the Zone of the Giant of Africa.
Nigeria, my Father land! I say to you Good morning in different dialect.
May 26, 2023
May 26, 2023 at 11:43 AM UTC
I wrote a poem on a bus
but to hear it you must
climb to the top
of the bouncing metal stairs.
Slither snake-like
past the rail
and sit
on the rainbow nylon bench.
I'll be there
at the top of the bus,
reciting my rhyme,
written as we ride along,
past shops and houses
with musty nets
and peeling paint
on dingy doors.
There's the old woman who
lives in a house no bigger than a shoe box
who had so many children she didn't know what to do!
But they've all grown and flown now and she's all alone
with no-one to talk to but herself.
Look at that kid: grimy smile and mischievous eyes,
skateboard-scuffed knees,
darting out from the roadside.
Screech!
As we stop and angry words.
The kid glances back and tosses a vee
leaving just his smile behind.
The bus lurches on
at a snail's pace and stops at a stop
for a giggle-girl-gang
to chatter up the stairs
with a clatter of feet and voices:
weekends and boyfriends,
music and laughter.
The bus trundles and sways
past shops all shuttered,
old folks gathered by doorways
talking about people
dead and forgotten ...
except by them.
Into the town now:
a river of road-rage
as our bus ambles onward
toward car-parks and markets
and rat-racing shoppers
And stops by a brown pigeon-stained temple
of public philanthropy,
a gift from a long-dead civic leader
and now proud home
to dogeared tomes of PC persuasion.
Our bus, like some Trojan horse,
disgorges its riders
who spatter and scatter
like rays of dawn light
to shop till they drop.
So, just me and you seated
atop the steel stairway
and you say to me sharply,
“So where's your poem then?”
I look at you strangely:
“It's happened around you,” I tell you quite curtly.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 11:35 AM UTC
I share-nowan-do
I share-nowan-do
I share-nowan-do
Fu shew-away u blacks
Icehousey, buddie wiser are..my MAN-he he hein kin..
Dan tell me wat fugshuis -Denmark!
SHRI DENMARK!
VUBAKS go
go Alaska, Africa, be free then...den
My Grandfather stood at Antietam
VUBAKS go
These medals, pins, regalia, -so special.
...not general... like you...
SPE i -CIAL
Der idsey con Tan nint-in shew balon to.
VUBAKS go
Everybody knows, civilization was created by Whiskey!
...whiskey...
Der idsey con Tan nint-in shew balon to.
I share-nowan-do
I share-nowan-do
I share-nowan-do
VEE SHAR NO WAN DO-O....
I voted for Drumpf
*I share-nowan-do
I share-nowan-do
I share-nowan-do*
SHRI TRUMPF -D
yeah...yeah
ISA
de-urdsey
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
i guv me luv a cherry ****
she said to me
"how sweet ya art'
i said "ye know
i love ya so"
SUCH A STORY!
FIT FOR REALITY ..TEE VEE!
i say ........
but then a camera man
stuck is **** into the parth
of a sense of...sincerity
COME....WE'LL ****
RAG-HEADED
MOSQUE-ITITES
and keep all da poets
happy!
happy !!
sappy!!!!!!!!!
happy!
---
an den real luv
( oh shut it up!
real luv dont sell
janet jackson's boobererinies!!!!)
an if n you was a real man
ye'll be dead by
sunday!!!
------
-----
i guv me luv a cherry ****
she said to me
"how sweet ya art'
i said "ye know
i love ya so"
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 11:01 AM UTC
Doo baa doo dweeb man without woman
and ye vee la lovisha woman without man
be like a tree w/o leaves, & flowers w/ no seed;
******* w/o hash; dat hash w/o ******
**** w/o crystal & drugs w/o tranquilin;
my favourites! - smack...! without brown sugar like sugar with no sweets;
showered on her yummy sweats.
swetean ********* aye plead!
gravity w/o **** be like her **** w/o dopping
bars w/o beers; night clubs w/o Hi-ladies;
hookah w/o "chillam"; & "madira" w/ no trekkies
like a cigarette w/o lighter, & dark jungle w/o lantern,
us men & you women be so incomplete w/o love like me - the Homewrecker w/ no affairs with love dieties.
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 8:48 PM UTC
-Ek en my geraamtes het soms ook 'n uitval
Verdoem deur drome van 'n wakker oog
gee ek in tot die eindelose gekarring.
Waaroor die ophef van 'n silwerdoek beeld
die trane en inspirasie , aangemeld -
en saamgesmelt in elke belydenis?
Ek spaar toe maar my knieë en sak neer
voor die rekenaar en fynkam
die intrieke sydrade van ons spinnerakke
Vergrootglas die letters, opsoek na:
'n Gebed vir - 'n Gebed vir hom...
NEE MY!
Toe speel my storie... Ag ek meen
Sy outobiografie af en ek's aleen.
Elke nou en dan en dan en wan
vee ek oor die rekenaar skerm en
skrik as ek sý gesig sien.
Hy wou dit nie aanvaar nie!
- ek wou regtig nie!
Hy wou verander!
-ek wou regtig graag verander...
ek... - ek bedoel hy;
Ons ma's was swertsend selfs
godslasterik lief vir ons en
haar stickynotes het ons oral vasgekeur
, want Levitikus!!!
Levitikus sê NEE...
Ma sê die Bybel sê:
"Ons is dood".
Ma se sy wil ons nie verloor nie.
Kom sy nie agter dat ons in
haar geweierde woorde versmoor nie.
My knieë is lank genoeg gespaar.
Na 90 minute se snikke en trane
val ek neer voor die Heer en
almal wat nog wil luister.
Ware ellende stort uit perelpoele
en plas neer op die koue wereld.
Uiteindelik bid ek vir hom, maar
my gebede is te laat - met so
dertig jaar of wat -.
Ek hoop iemand bid vir my...
ek hoop die gebede vind my
- maar vir my , betyds-.
Want ek sit met VIGS van die
siel. 'n Tipe kanker op sy eie 'n
lifelong companion om die eufemisme
mooi te stel...
Ek is Hy.
Hy is ek.
Ons is ons eie tipe mens.
Amen
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Love is but a four letter word
flowing off the tip of my tongue
in just one syllable
an el, an oh, a vee, an ee
Love is but a four letter word
muttered constantly but rarely understood
and even more rarely experienced
unfortunately
Love is but a four letter word
and life is just the same
but one without the other,
would simply be a shame
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
Falling in love with sarcasm wearing a onesie
From across the pond, I see your smile
Shining with a sparkling nose ring right above it
The sun hitting you just right
One day I’ll see you
You’ll see me
And we’ll grow old giggling about “poot” and “vee-tuh-min”
To everyone, you’re just another brit
To me, you’re royal family
Princess Brit
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 2:18 PM UTC
I have loved this time of year since the moment of my birth;
Its panoply of colored leaves that flutter down to earth.
I’ve loved the cool and bracing breeze, the fruits of harvest grown,
the sight of geese in Vee formation winging their way home.
My treks out to the cider mill for a warm mug or glass.
The times I’ve spent reflecting upon this year just passed.
I raise the collar of my coat against a sudden chill.
I feel cold winter’s icy breath drawing nearer still.
Please delay the Christmas tunes another week or two.
Oktoberfest is barely done, so sit and have a brew.
****** me not with chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
Winter just means shoveling, the snow piled ever higher.
Its days: short, dark, and dreary. Its nights are long and cold.
So I mourn Autumn’s passing with its gifts of red and gold.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
& just as the riots were about to start in the Cafeteria
The Comet came crashing down into the Parking Lot
Right onto Jimmy Johnson's car!
••
That's when she lifted up her skirt & said to me
"I love you!
Take me now!"
••
The teacher started screaming!
"Reality is just a tee vee show!
••
I'm not sure what she meant
••
The SWAT team came racing into the Cafeteria killing everyone
••
Oh well!
••
I slipped between the cracks of perception & now here I am
••
We ALL KNEW this was happening but didn't care
•
I'm never gonna vote again!
••
Gonna get me a job as an under-taker
& get real
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
my legs were a vee
your fingers were searching
like they had eyes of their own
and you drove too fast
the vodkas intoxicating us
lust created an immortal shell
the san francisco bay misting our windows
i tasted its salt on your lips
your legs were a vee
and my fingers had eyes of their own
we transported to a place
you and i know
but very few know
and our fingers still have eyes of their own
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 1:53 AM UTC
Black plastic nametag with white letters,
slightly off-white and not-so-flat from a trip or two through a bachelor's dryer.
I remove it from the bottom of the washer, lightly ********* the engraving,
and ask what's your middle name, this letter T?
From the kitchen you say, my grandmother named me,
with a private grin.
She might have been kinda drunk.
Walking behind me, your caramel-rich low voice soft in my ear,
TsuneoKawehiwehiokekuwahiwionouaioku'uhome.
(saying with careful pronunciation)
Tsu-nay-o-Ka-vay-hee-vay-hee-oh-kay-ku-va-hee-vee-on-oh-vay-ee-o-ku-u-ho-may
and I was just sent
No, she wasn't drunk, she knew exactly what she meant.
Kapunawahine, holding her little mo'opuna kāne,
sensed your father was restless with rock fever,
would be moving away to the mainland with her first grandson soon, so she says to you
This land of water and rainforest trees of the mountains, Hawaii, will always be your beloved home.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
the Vee Tee hipsters delight
in this ferment, Heady Topper
an unfiltered, uncooked, double hopped whopper
with a can in their hand, they’re a real show stopper
but after the bistro night
your intestinal tract
full of brie and this brew, comes under attack
with gas that must pass, like a well that is fracked
and I know this as fact
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 5:49 PM UTC
Daar's 'n droogte in Namakwaland
Daar's 'n droogte by die see
Droogte skeil in Weste-winde
Wat oor ons mense vee
En as ons in ons diepstes
met ons gewete oorleg pleeg
merk ons ook die droogte
wat deur ons jeug beweeg
Geen meer: "jammer oom"; dis als net jy en jou
Weg -die dae van asseblief; dis "gee dit vir my nou"
Vergeet die ring, dis uit my ding, niks gewag totdat jy trou
dis oopmondkou , dis sharrap nou, 'n treurspel om te aanskou
en ek as buitestander, van die leuens en van die leed
ek kan rus met die wete, daar is 'n tent vir my gereed
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
and the beauty and the song
amid the beautiful and the singing
we are the only questions
that are also
the answerings
we have all the powers
if we love
and stop crawling for the money the money! the MONEY!!
we have such beautiful answers!
we are so beautifully singing!
but then
we get tired
we turn on tee vee and watch fox news
and stay dead
so peacefully
as they teach us to think
of the money the money! the MONEY!!
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 1:05 PM UTC
is here
and it tastes
like rain
The slight chill in
the air sends spasms of
delight down
my spine
during long walks
through mud, gravel, and
new grass
Splintered sunlight throws
shadows dancing
and geese form their
bold vee's overheard
sailing through the
stratosphere like
feathered ships with
trails of
cosmic sparkle
The sandpipers I watch
as they scuttle
about on
spindly legs, making funny
little tracks in
the sand at
the roadside
Waves lap on the
shore of a pond, ripples
made by a clean wind blowing
down from the ether
A star burst sky
hangs above
dotted with gossamer
wisps of vapor
and the occasional
falcon or hawk, swooping
with the greatest intensity
you could imagine,
wings going
down
up
down
There is music in
our veins
this time of year;
the dirt has
a pulse
of its own
And as I squint
out at the
light-drenched scape
I begin to
grasp the sweetness
of renewal,
the infinitesimal bravery
of that
tiny flower
pushing its way out
of the earth
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
I lay here in my bed watching tv. My mind is wandering aimlessly.
What am I going to wear for work? Man....I'm going to have to wake up extra early to iron. My dog comes and sits next to my bed.....takes his head and moves my hand .....so it rests on his head. He wants some attention from me.....a little love and I don't have to pay a fee.
I have work I need to finish...but I hate doing it at home. I guess I'll stay late at work tomorrow......don't want the upcoming week to start with sorrow. Hopefully ....I will be ahead and not behind .....I'm not a follower or standing in line.
My friend called and said her trip was fine. I sent her a text because she was on my mind. She called me a few hours later to say her day was fine. She sounded very happy .....but her only bad news.....she attended an affair and brought the wrong shoes.
The people didn't care because of the light she provided.....her presence had them excited and delighted. That's what she expressed to me...so I decided to write it. God allowed her to make it just in time.....and her experience made it into my rhyme.
Life happenings made into a creative piece.....a tailor... carefully measuring his work. This is custom made.....so that means it's one of a kind. I should be sleep.....but I have too much on my mind.
Maybe I can text the sandman and have him send me a dose of sleeping sand.....it's hard to hold and seeps out of your hand.
You are getting sleepy.......very sleepy....vee...slee...py.
Zzz...zzz....Zzz....zzz
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
Gray skies upward fling
In the vap'rous breath of Spring
Melting mounds of snow
Trickling rivulets slow
Lines of feathered travelers
Nature's hope inspiring harbingers
Vee Northward o'erhead
Calling high and loud and long
Their ceaseless journey song.
Houses buried far below
Including the one we own
Beneath the weight of heavy snow
Crack complainingly and groan,
Wait with unknowing strain
Warm sun's shine to own.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
Swaying fields of wheat
A quick downward eagle's swoop,
a dance of nature
RW Dennen-
Screech your eerie
echoing song
Flutter wings and spin
against a cool
blackened starlit-night
Then gently sail your
dark silhouette
across a summer
GIANT pox-marked moon
And gently skim
this bright lunar-face
with wing-tips
of brownish-white Then
dive in sudden Grace,
scissor-angled wings enclosed
Then freely dip
on upper ******
to catch your tiny insect prey Then
stretch your wings
to form a widened Vee
Then glide on
spiral flowing endlessness
to screech your fleeting
summer song
in a star-lit; moon-lit sky
your song for lover's love
that ushers forth
the dark
in
eerie haunting
melody Reverberate
your haunting call
once again
Soon find your airy path;
fly away from here;
take chant of night with you,
leave silent stillness left behind
in darkened sky Now
a final distant screech
then hush,
your fleeting
summer song
of night
in
my
memory...
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
Dear Harry,
There's so much I haven't told you yet,
my finger tips are shaking,
my words aren't working,
where should I even commence?
Dear Harry,
I remember each day, each moment with you,
do you too?
I reckon every second we spent together,
the way your shoulders are carved,
how my fingertips fit perfectly in every dent they curved.
how running my fingers through your auburn hair,
made me feel bare.
I counted your bruises, while you guided my fingers
I lay against your skin, it almost made me linger.
You held me in your arms, tight and secure
I knew you remember that, now I'm not sure.
I remember our calls, how could you?
you said 'she' didn't love you back,
I said that wasn't true.
Dear Harry,
It wasn't me, did I do something wrong?
I know she doesn't deserve you,
I thought while staying strong.
Why would you waste your last night with me,
if you didn't care?
I miss you uncontrollably, could you tell?
Harry, don't make me blush,
this never happens
you said you miss me several times,
Am I cold for the absence of replies?
Harry, stop saying these things,
are they even true?
You dressed up today,
was it for me too?
Harry, I'm sorry, I went there that night,
someone else kissed my lips,
they probably tasted your name ignite.
Harryyyy, I'm sooo sorrysy,
I'vee beenm dringking a lottt,
I tohld evheryobe abouszft youpsl,
and how I'd looooovie to kissss you,
I just couldn't stop.
Harry, you were here tonight.
I looked at you, couldn't you notice?
I stayed away from drinking,
I would have caused a ruckus.
Harry, you were the first one,
the first one to wish me a happy birthday,
thanks Harry, you're punctual and perfect.
Harry, I heard about her.
I hope you're happy.
I stayed up until six that day.
I dreamt of you again.
Harry, again I'm so sorry.
I hope you forgive me.
I was distracted today,
happy late birthday.
My beloved Harold, we would have met today.
Do you remember these things?
And how you taught me how to skate?
How my ears won't fit in head phones,
and when my OCD kicks in?
I'm sorry I'm cold, at least I seem to be.
Feelings are tough,
and my heart hides beneath.
You will never read this, so now I'll confess.
I love you Harold,
I do.
I swear.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
The GAME is about to begin!
(THEY say the stadium will be blown up
In the 3D QUARTER
in a government FALSE FLAG operation
In order to paralyze us with TERROR
--
(We are already paralyzed with terror!)
••
I'm lucky (or wise!)
I don't have a tee vee set
••
See the children moping around
Looking for role models!
••
MR DEATH!
••
Read the story of King Arthur
Tell me your myth of SACRED POWER
••
Come and let us CLIMB THE MOUNTAIN
••
I'll be THE ONE if you're afraid
••
THEY say that THEY have already terrorized you
And that the world is theirs
••
BARAK Obama is a zero
Are you a zero or just un-caring?
••
If THEY blow up the stadium will THE GAME continue?
(Probably)
••
WHAT GAME ?
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
We fire up our internet
with a fortune we've already spent
I tell ya' fella, I've got to yella
I'm head up to here in my debt
We fire up our own internet
with what already should be for free
Bee's make a honey. Hey, hey that's funny
But not funny, not once, not one time to me
If there was a way I could make some more pay
I would never think to try and sell you
I would think twice before tossing the dice
Never would touch a warm body untrue
OOPS. HERE, IT'S COMING
OOPS. YES, IT'S COMING
Hear it? Here it is, hear it?
Hear it? Because here it is!
Here it is:
WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
I don't know why
Seems you could catch an infectious disease
or just die off from all the vee dee
WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
I don't know why
I thought you wanted the internet
to get it, to get it for free
OOPS! can't say it right
OOPS! there I've done it again
WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
Don't tease the wife
And please remember, be courteous please
Don't try to upset my wife
WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
I don't know why
This is a song about internet
There's something that I can't say right
WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
I don't know why
It's really not part of religious belief
I tell ya' I don't want no part
OOPS! Here it's coming
OOPS! Yes, it's coming
Hear it is
WHY FEE THE WIFEY
I don't know why
Sorry I got lost, ran off the track
And got trapped in ol' Hackensack
WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
I don't know why
This isn't the song that I started to write
Don't want those ideas for my wife
WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
Don't know, but I'll try
And if she pays it, that'll be great
I'll get all my free internet
WHY FEE THE WIFEY
I don't know why
That's right I remember, free internet
That is why I've got to try
AND SAY WE FEE
NO, NO NOT WE FEE
Never say wee fee and never say die
So say only why, say why-fie
WHY FIGHT THE WEE FEE
Why fight the wife
I think I can say it
Say it when high
I've got it, I said it
One last more why-fie
WHY FEE THE WHY-FIE
I'll ask my wife
No, don't you ever, ever ask wife
Just only ask for WI-FI
WI-FI THE WI-FI
OH MY OH MY
I hope you enjoyed it
Because you're my enjoyment
My funny, bunny valentine
There now. I think that I have said it right
Yes, now I think that I have said it right
Yes, now we think that he did say it right
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
I’ve got no right and of that I’m very well aware, that I should have a say in how you wear your hair. That I shouldn’t think it looks the nicest after you’ve showered, when it’s darker and the lines of your combs teeth leave neat rows in your styled way.
Or maybe that I love you when you’ve shaved, but also grizzly bear you reminds me it’s the weekend. When you're ruff, I know there are a few more precious hours in the Saturday and Sundays on the calendar.
I won’t ever tell you that your grey tee shirt is my favorite of your limited wardrobe, and that you in my favorite color—it’s blue if you were wondering, though I'm sure you already know— makes my head swoon for a bit. When you wear a button up, and leave it un-tucked, I think about the white vee neck beneath and how I can see it peeking out from beneath your collar.
I love the way your suit jacket makes you stand up straighter, and how your suit pants when you sit reveal those brown socks you always wear with your wingtips. I even love those blue jeans (I think they’re your only pair) that aren’t stylish, but soft and comfortable. And the brown belt with the cracking leather and brass buckle you always play with when you’re laying on the floor with me, watching nonsense tv at the end of a day. I love your sweatpants, and the way that when you lie on your side, your boxer band shows like a tease. I like the way you never fix it, but it fixates me.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
Revealed, the boots rest in bittersweet calm.
The laces fray and choke a lonely moth
whose wings are sliced and cast into the dust.
The leather decays and its dye fades to
the equal of pigments of ashen flesh.
Nothing stirs.
The boots stand at attention against scratched
records, silent since American Pie.
They bend the picture of that girl from a
dreamer’s days, oh summer of ‘69.
All tarnished, as the ‘Nam dust settles on
failing dreams.
These boots had sat in front of Saigon’s door.
These boots had been stained with the “world of war”:
with the colorful hues of long-gone friends,
with a son who never had the chance to
kiss his mom, his dad, his dog, his simple
life goodbye.
These boots carried a wasted soul, Saigon’s
pesky tricks lasting longer than prayers do.
Wasted time, wasted mind, wasted, wasted -
as the world tries to truly understand
the feelings of a place called Vee-it-Nam.
So it is.
The boots sit on ‘Nam’s thick dust, laying in
a closet of tormented memory.
For a man may walk on without his boots.
But he cannot rub away the imprint
of his feet,
nor the heavy steps that he has taken.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
"First day of Spring tomorrow!"
The Weather Teller says....
Outside, the Death of Winter
Drags along,
Over-acted, under-cut, and slow...
Decaying, ***** piles freshed again
In wet and heavy snow
While water fowl vee North,
Circling low to find slim-margined waters
Lining shores and cupping
Cakes of ice the size of lakes,
Brooding in their rotten state,
And waiting Orders from the Sun,
Whose work it is to usher Spring
In all her greening garb to stand
And bless the annual Burgeoning.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 8:44 AM UTC