"vigour" poems
The hints of a razor gleam
creeping up from behind
shivers begin to scream
a thought undefined.
Crystalline destruction manifests
in shards of failed dreams
circulation and cells cease
I am dumber today.
Clogging and fogging the mind
promises cheat their way into lies
when depression becomes a way of life
serenity is found at the end of the line.
Escaping the cavity
in trails of shame
in vigour and madness
incapable of sadness.
Black hole eyes
cannot see the coming despair
the next morning impairs
certainty is a lie.
Senses start to fail
iron will turns frail
the devil’s sugar and salt
must never be taken so lightly.
Subtle and methodical
killing what makes you, you
another round for old time’s sake,
and you’re stuck to it like glue.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:10 AM UTC
A sigh in the dark.
Past my jaded lips it rises
like a ghost, and I the host
of thoughts enamoured but unwanted,
unresolved.
Night takes my sight and unleashes vision
I watch (not my decision) the memories bloom to life.
Ethereal and hazy, those lazy summer days
Of hasty plans, promises, platitudes made;
childish to dream it could have stayed
the same.
Polite and awkward we shuffle in the light of day,
you think before you act and mind what you say
and if lucky enough you might get away
without blurting a thought from your head gone astray.
Why do eyes so bright bring such dark thoughts?
Why do we fear to take what we want?
A sigh in the dark.
Across chilled skin it spreads
like fire, this unspoken desire
between whispering sheets. Fingers grasp and twine,
I feel hers, she feels mine, as we search in the dark
together.
This night air we’ll share;
it's vice, and with vigour,
seeking the trigger
to release.
To resolve.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
Toting the mysterious bundle and sporting a sore back
I drag my feet up the last few steps, expended of vigour
I almost couldn't resist prematurely looking through the sack
Remembering the words from the wise old seer
Grimacing I walk a slow gait to get to the table
Set the bundle down and relieve my weight onto a chair
Parched throat but wait longer I am unable
Curiosity takes charge and into the gift I will tear
Blood is pumping along with an increasing heart rate
Fingers scrambling clumsily over the strings that bind
Nails digging frantically into this package bearing my fate
Gnawing thoughts of uncertainty flooding my mind
At last my fingers win the battle that lasted
The final string has fallen... Obstinate knots all undone
I pick the cloth by the edges to have it unfolded
The contents inside reach out like rays of the sun
Corners of the cloth open up like a fully bloomed blossom
Exposing the treasure that lay solemn and quiet inside
Common objects we'd normally perceive as random
Petty things now important as they attempt to guide
I pick up the first and notice an engraving on it's stem
Between my fingers - an unassuming feathered quill
Barely legible, such little space the words do cram
"Here is your sword... Draw blood and let spill"
More riddles, I sought to examine the next
A flat bottomed vial filled with jet black ink
On it is a label with scrawling of time worn text
"Here is your blood; let flow what you think"
Lastly, lay bound up sheets of yellow stained parchment
They reek of age-old herbs; intoxicating slightly
At the top of the first, a note scribbled not so recent
"Within these pages, you must bleed to find Sanctuary"
Staring down at the objects laid in front of me
In hopes of discovering something I should miss
Then finally it struck me, so plain to see
I'm using the instruments now, writing to find release...
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
Consecrate us
to grow more!
Bless us
to climb high!
Craft us
to become helpful and useful to all!
Furnish us vigour
to stand sturdily !
Radiance us
to swell your splendour and simplicity every where!
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
[Dedicated to George Raffalovich]
In the Years of the Primal Course, in the dawn of terrestrial
birth,
Man mastered the mammoth and horse, and Man was the
Lord of the Earth.
He made him an hollow skin from the heart of an holy tree,
He compassed the earth therein, and Man was the Lord of
the Sea.
He controlled the vigour of steam, he harnessed the light-
ning for hire;
He drove the celestial team, and man was the Lord of the
Fire.
Deep-mouthed from their thrones deep-seated, the choirs
of the æeons declare
The last of the demons defeated, for Man is the Lord of
the Air.
Arise, O Man, in thy strength! the kingdom is thine to
inherit,
Till the high gods witness at length that Man is the Lord
of his spirit.
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The sun sets on the little huts
Made of mud and roofs thatched
The African child
With smiles on his face
He hasn't a cause to worry
Running to and fro in the scorching sun
Lost in the midst of tall trees
Humming to the gentle breeze
He is a happy child
He is oblivious of the hard truth
That a sad future awaits him
Full of challenges and misery
Little does he know
Those smiles he once had
Widely drawn on his face
May dissolve into frowns of anguish
Committing neither an offence nor crime
There may come a time
The beautiful fantasies
The hopes, dreams and aspirations
Everything he once believed in
May come tumbling down
Nevertheless, he is relentless
There is a ray of hope
In this utter darkness
Full of vigour and energy
By might or magic
He will fight his way through
He is the African child.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 1:26 PM UTC
Lend me your eyes.
So I could fill them
with the bursting stars.
Telling tales of the spellbinding universe,
singing songs of exploding suns...
and of splintering quasars.
Lend me your thoughts.
So that if I may,
write of them.
Fantastical scribbles of love
and praise.
Meticulously lined
and carefully stitched...
with immaculate lace at the hems.
Lend me your breaths.
I'd catch them as they fall...
between the words you would say.
Merging mine with yours...
introducing colour...
and vigour
to my monochromatic world of
black, white and grey.
Lend me your heartbeats...
for mine thumps erratic.
As if beating in silent mock.
I depend on the steadiness in yours.
So they could usurp
the ticks of worldly clocks.
Lend me your hands.
Palms up as a sign,
perhaps as an invitation...
for me to take them.
And maybe...
hopefully fill them...
with mine...
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
Alone I sail across the formidable sea,
Many men have drowned in this stormy weather!
Will the waves devour me to my death?
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
My mind is fatigued by feeling of doubts
As my body has fought many hours to survive
And navigate the dinghy in search of land-
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
Shivering silently in the darkness
My spirit crushed by the ravenous rain!
Should I surrender to the sea of pain?
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
In the brink of suffering and strife,
I realise I am powerless against nature-
Only heaven can bless me with the breath of life.
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
In the chaos, I made a personal prayer
And felt my soul submit to a serene state
As I ask the Lord to decide my fate-
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
For the first time in my vulnerable state-
I felt the love of the Lord embrace my spirit
And all the fears and doubts dissipate –
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
I realise life should move in a motion
Where love tames the wild weather of life
And relinquish all dark emotions-
So the force of the Wind of Destiny can awake!
With this new knowledge,
My spirit renews with vibrant vigour
As the truth of life finally been acknowledge
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!
The sun wakes up from her sleep
The waves gently rocks the sail boat
The cloud calms down from her weep.
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!
I feel my spirit soar
Like seagulls roaming across the sky
For I finally tasted the joy of God’s grace.
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!
What lands shall be discovered?
I do not know what tomorrow will behold
Only courage and determination it will be uncovered
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!
Staring sentimentally at the Sunrise
I feel the fiery breaths of the wind
Blowing my sail boat across the vast ocean.
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Of a Ministry pitiful, angry, mean,
A gallant commander the victim is seen.
For promptitude, vigour, success, does he stand
Condemn'd to receive a severe reprimand!
To his foes I could wish a resemblance in fate:
That they, too, may suffer themselves, soon or late,
The injustice they warrent. But vain is my spite
They cannot so suffer who never do right.
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***** feet
***** of them ache
they're dry
all dried out, moisture to face and digestive tract make little difference
but comfort a little sort of; maybe
subdue to replenishing
skip the pain with a drink fucken, fucken drink fucken
dust lingers in the brain, it swirls
a cloud of ground envelops the shape of u
u become covered
u have a layer,
salty,
and dry
and 'organic'
(surely bio (though im not sure what is or why are))
full city boy, suburban boy, not particularly gritty boy
along side hippies
and volunteers all tripppy
and unwashed, and un plastic
yet forcefully hemped
drunk of micro beer
and burnt brown and blotchy red
and wire-y
and dry
and matted
as if nothing really matters except for principles
misguided and randomly enforced
feel like a husk; peanut shell
insides swallowed by the mouth of the party embodied
a monsterous sweaty man tanned and thickly bearded
and beered
fat dreads fall around and surround u; a forest of hair
a circle encroaching of fuzzy pillars in fibres
entrapped inside them; feel their lingering time matted hold
a wealth of effort to become unkempt; they are bars
they are walls
and the FACE!
……………………… ………………………………… oh
looming down, wafts of armpit vapour cloud; a looming puft that surrounds
engorged by the scent as it circles u, the mouth that lowered onto u
chews u and spills bits of u
chomp chomp
protein for vegetarians; u; ur rigour ur vigour ur guts
eaten in a flurry of chomps and slurps and it crunches
and it grates
like the rocks on the ***** of ur feet it grates
u are digested
and reused
as they would like
but for them; for a collective u dived into
for fun
2 days to peddle ur wares
to progress ( admittedly through some days of regression…)
for all humans, and Humans; for fun
on monday we will repent
for the damages waged on the inside of the body
and the outsides too
for some gain
i guess on this which we settle
for always for display for fun
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
Nothing is more important
than your sanity and your safety.
Achieving that is your choice and
your topmost priority.
You can say no not now,
or no not yet but don't forget you
will be burned if you don't give your
best to diligently work hard to achieve
it daily for the cosmic law fulfills.
What can be more important than
your well-being and happiness.
Do the right things for today and
tomorrow will be alright just for you.
Have you ever thought about helping
someone else in your own little way
to achieve their goals or excel in
their chosen projects.
Always remember that when you do help
with the abilities and resources available,
you are also be investing in yourself,
it's like an insurance,
a protective way that will guarantee
your place in the scheme of things.
Everyone is as unique and irreplaceable as the stars.
When your life is full of incessant activities,
you will not have time to check time.
You are filled with vim, vigour and vitality,
put it to work and be the best you can be.
And the universe will be kind to you
by giving you the right dividends to equate
the effort you put in place.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
There is a tendency among
those poets who may be very young
frequently to put in verse
those foreign phrases, or much worse
the now dead words of oh so ****** Latin
to boast of classrooms that they’ve sat in.
And just in case you’ve never heard ‘em,
Let’s reduce a few to ad absurdum.
It was amore a prima vista
until he left her for her younger sister
for, after all, who could resist her,
so moving on to secunda vista
he took that step and boldly kissed her,
behaviour that is hardly utopista.
The trouble with modus vivendi
is that it sometime rhymes with eye
but there are those who don’t agree
and think that it must rhyme with tea.
Who cares? It’s all the same to I.
Or should that be the same to me?
You may say it is not de rigueur
that I defend with so much vigour
what surely is no more than hubris
that I attribute to Confucius
for he surely ha detto tutto
albeit un po convoluto.
And everyone’s heard of carpe diem.
If not, then I have yet to see ‘em.
But I prefer to seize a waist
which may be thought somewhat unchaste
though far more likely to have shocked ‘em
would be to carpe in the noctem.
Perhaps you think it’s ipso facto
that I’m intolerant of lacto
unless it comes directly from the breast.
I think it’s better that the rest
of this is left to your own opinatus
for which I offer no blank cartus.
Then there’s the modus of my own vivendi
that I indulge in cacoethes scribendi
the itch to write for which I daily
scratch myself or play my ukulele
which is my form of modus operandi
before I pour myself a king-size brandy.
And thus we leave this boring dull citare,
by this time you have certainly grown quite weary
of any further venture into tedium
Or as ***** Harry might say, fac ut gaudeam
For after all a day senza sunlight
Might altrettante facilmente be night
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC
I sank to the ground and all came to halt
Birds flocked east before all shook in vigour
Windows shattered under the weights of roofs
Stone homes toppled before acknowledgement
Clouds of dust rained jagged stones upon us
The turbulent waters foreshadowed more
For waves of sharp heights dominated us
They carried us, and whirled us intensely
Earsplitting cries now silenced by water
And when all had come to a halt once more
The bodies succumbed to the ocean's pull
I was supposed to die, but I hadn't.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 12:28 AM UTC
You are beautiful and faded
Like an old opera tune
Played upon a harpsichord;
Or like the sun-flooded silks
Of an eighteenth-century boudoir.
In your eyes
Smoulder the fallen roses of out-lived minutes,
And the perfume of your soul
Is vague and suffusing,
With the pungence of sealed spice-jars.
Your half-tones delight me,
And I grow mad with gazing
At your blent colours.
My vigour is a new-minted penny,
Which I cast at your feet.
Gather it up from the dust,
That its sparkle may amuse you.
3.3k
Ponds abound with water
Frogs trill with vigour
Snakes creep on the roads
Summer rain
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 3:37 AM UTC
We grew up together
I pulled your hair, you kicked my shins...repeatedly....with vigour
I taught you to skateboard
You taught me to tip cows....make a rope swing and cheat at kiss chase
I taught you to roll cigarettes
You taught me to shoot whiskey, drop acid and roll joints
I took you to the fairground
You took me to an illegal rave and screamed RUN!!! when the police arrived
Years between us, you older, me younger
Yet here I am, the bad influence
While your **** smells of roses!
I showed you my writing
You gave me directions....here
I will always be grateful for that
I will always be grateful for you.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
Now the golden Morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With vermeil cheek and whisper soft
She wooes the tardy Spring:
Till April starts, and calls around
The sleeping fragrance from the ground,
And lightly o’er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wintry trance
The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the skylark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstasy;
And, lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.
Yesterday the sullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by:
Their raptures now that wildly flow
No yesterday nor morrow know;
’Tis Man alone that joy descries
With forward and reverted eyes.
Smiles on past Misfortune’s brow
Soft Reflection’s hand can trace,
And o’er the cheek of Sorrow throw
A melancholy grace;
While Hope prolongs our happier hour,
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour
And blacken round our weary way,
Gilds with a gleam of distant day.
Still, where rosy Pleasure leads
See a kindred Grief pursue;
Behind the steps that Misery treads
Approaching Comfort view:
The hues of bliss more brightly glow
Chastised by sabler tints of woe,
And blended form, with artful strife,
The strength and harmony of life.
See the wretch that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe and walk again:
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening Paradise.
3.2k
Remember to think better,
think further,
think deeper
and with vigour.
Pepper your remember
with colour,
with light,
with friends who delight.
Boost your remember
with story,
with histories,
with cramped group selfies.
And remember your remembers
whenever,
wherever
you drift off centre.
And there you'll discover
your defenders,
your never surrenders
against all contenders.
Then you'll remember
your forevers.
Remember -
it's your best self defense.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
The thing about Narnia is
Narnia leaves
and the kids return back to the real world with
both reluctance
and vigour.
But what if Narnia didn't?
What if it hovered,
shadowed around the edge of their vision,
Aslan in the corner of their eye
the White Witch frosting across
bodies of water.
Would they go back to school?
Would they fall in love with someone who
just didn't get
the game
they used to play when they were kids?
"You bailed on us again, Peter"
"Susan, stop looking out the window!"
"But you've always loved sweets"
"Lucy, lions can't talk."
So yeah.
Start again,
*******
I mean,
you changed Narnia for the better,
Right?
Right?
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 8:05 AM UTC
Just because we've torn their statues down,
and cast them from their temples,
doesn't for a moment mean the gods are dead.
Land of Ionia, they love you yet,
their spirits still remember you.
When an August morning breaks upon you
a vigour from their lives stabs through your air;
and sometimes an ethereal and youthful form
in swiftest passage, indistinct,
passes up above your hills.
2.9k
We gather in Old London town,
the time is getting late.
The fog is slowly coming down,
the year is eighteen eighty eight.
The Leather Apron stalks this eve
ladies of the night beware.
Such things he does you wont believe
and for your welfare he’ll not care.
Hello Mister have a heart,
a girl has got to earn a crust.
A shilling for this fine old ****
for you look like a gent to trust.
In her hand the coin doth shine.
Does she lead this toff astray?
Here’s a quiet place that’s fine,
as she walks up the alley-way.
Face to face and eye to eye.
The victim happy to be plied
with vigour she lifts up her skirt
but now her hands are occupied.
Seizing strongly at her throat
he strangles her till unaware.
Unconscious although not yet broke
he lowers her by head and hair.
Now insentient on the ground
the Ripper sets about his work.
In the dark without a sound
there is no detail he will shirk.
He keeps the body to his left,
her throat is sliced from side to side.
The woman’s family now bereft,
whilst she lies here without her pride.
Left to the nights illumination
Jack executes his deadly art.
Performing such skilled mutilation.
and leaving plus one body part.
Daylight opens up commotion,
"Whitechapel Murderer", strikes once more.
The peelers haven’t got a notion
who it is that killed this *****
Scotland Yard are in despair
as they try to Investigate
their credibility beyond repair
for they cant find this reprobate.
Eventually the death toll, five,
the murders now come to an end.
Folk are free to live their lives
but could you trust even a friend.
Over an hundred years or more
professional research is far to late.
Jack, can we ever know the score?
"No... All you can do is speculate."
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
Wait for the door by the pillar
because she’ll be back again,
with an arm around her neck
to keep her warm against cold
eyes looking down, from the surrounding guys from around the bar.
Every jackpot ever, was won in their hearts that night
in that shadow of time that they called light.
Single girls will always be watched,
and those girls with a man attached
will always seem unmatched in the eyes of the lonesome.
I waited by the door and joined in with her stride,
a pace set with vigour and pride.
Did I speak?
No, never spoke up, just let it carried on
until it lit and flared up.
When that match hit okra runway slip
everything comfortable flipped and switched
into a cushion of stone that now dismantles backs,
blisters fingers and causes calluses that stop and linger.
Hate myself?
Increasingly.
Personification was me, to her
and to me, she was just that.
I should really get in contact,
and apologise.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 11:53 AM UTC
Her legs were determined to never tremble again,
Her breath was never shallow since that day,
She no more thought about her agonizing pain,
The price for someone’s cowardice, she would never pay.
The words unsaid, were no more hidden in her heart,
She spoke freely; her thoughts had gained wings,
A soul without fear, her spirit was ready for a new start,
She was at last, herself, a human, among other human beings.
Strings of hopelessness with which she was tied,
Were, by her soul’s fiery rage, torn,
That day, with sheer shame, a victim died,
With a new cry of vigour, a fighter was born.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
I heard a squeaky noise
of fevered vigour.
opened to see a shocking
act of a well known figure.
For it was Mickey mouse!
******* a slice of Jarlsberg!
A dickey mouse pounding away.
The cheese isn't complaining.
So, I guess it's ok?
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 6:47 AM UTC
Do not let the silence fool you,
The screams are stifled, through and through.
The gentle glint is in their eyes,
Soft smiles grin in wild surprise,
Though the man pretends to sleep,
He hears the words and faintly weeps.
When you walk in the empty hall,
There's no jubilant footfall,
Of yesteryears' purple vigour,
Just vibrant souls that you ignore.
Do not let the silence fool you,
The screams are stifled through.
Do not let the silence pacify,
There is no rest, waiting to die.
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 10:30 AM UTC