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Megan Grace Oct 2015
the hill dips down deep
behind our house, stretches
out to touch the creek and
runs itself right up to the tree
line. when i was sixteen and
i wanted to die i would come here
and beg the sky to tell me why i
wished my skin would fall off,
why i couldn't bare the sight
of my own hands. i used to
think the ground would
just soak me up,
wouldn't it, if i stayed
there long enough. but
katie always found me, always
yelled for kerstyn to scoop
me from the heap i had
created out of myself and take
me to my room before mom
wandered upon me, the brim of
her shirt filled with blackberries
and her fingers stained.

but now i lay here and i
fill my eyes with sky
and sunlight, think about how
thumbs is buried not too far
off, think about how every once
in a while i'm sure i've caught a
whiff of the fur around her neck
when the wind shifts just right. i
let the leaves trace my body
and crunch under the weight
and pull of my fingers
and i
breathe breathe breathe
until i remember that i no
longer have to force myself to
do it. is this what normal feels like?
moving back home has been
only slightly disheartening
Andrew M Bell Feb 2015
Have you ever stood,
craning your neck to look up into the canopy
of the ancient kauri, Tane Mahuta,
while peace and birdsong permeate your soul?

Have you ever felt
the crusty spray and the satanic whiff
as the Pohutu geyser shoots aloft
while a dozen languages bubble through te reo?

Have you ever shivered
in the receding darkness,
standing in the china-white sand as you waited
for the first sunrise over Makorori Beach?

Have you ever sat
on the summit of Mt Taranaki
and eaten a well-deserved sandwich
while cows grazed far below on the lush, volcanic-rich pasture?

Have you ever experienced
that mixture of fear and awe
as an orca’s dorsal breached beside your too-fragile kayak
in the shining waters of the Abel Tasman?

Have you ever paused
atop a ski run on Coronet Peak
and reflected on the reflections
of sunlight dancing on snow and water?

Have you ever felt sorry
for tourism chiefs and advertising creatives
trapped in offices in the Auckland CBD
dreaming up “100% Pure” and “Clean and Green”?
Copyright Andrew M. Bell
Serenus Raymone Dec 2012
I’m too fast

I’m too swift

You never seem to catch my drift



I came prepared

Unwilling to share

…Victory is my scent



You can try

As I **** by

To breathe deep and catch a whiff  



I don’t sweat

As quiet as it’s kept

…I ooze pure bliss



I gotta love me

Because I know you hate me

…I’m truly hit or miss



You can’t beat me

So just join me

In my world-

Defeat does not exist


I cause collateral damage

Whenever I’m challenged

Unafraid to give Death a kiss



So get your head out of the sand

And catch me if you can

So I can X your name off of my list



It’s time to face the torment

I hope someone records this

It’s the first time in history

A hare eats the dust of a tortoise!
Sombro Nov 2020
Sorry said the merry man, adjacent on his way,

I've gone and ticked you off while I've been out tramping today

And in my careless frolic I seem to have stole your heart

What brutal lust you blow towards me, gushing like a ****


But I'm not la-da-dee-da-dee, a manly bearded sprite

Jingle though my stirrups do like dormice held too tight

I'm a serious enterprise, a man deeply invested

In stacking stocks and picking prices, if you're interested?


She danced reluctantly to him, unnatured to the rhythm

But with a wink she start'd to slink and jim-jam along with him

The two then picked their sandals up and shuffled down the street

And drank and laughed amerrily at all they chanced to meet


To the bank they wandered, legislating they did go

In government, in finance, in high station to and fro

Each day they yawned and gargled on a fresh new tonic smell

And went on down the street to make a fresh mismanaged hell


Soon agiggling and adultering they fell down in a mess

Holes and tears ashaming his and her once modest dress

There they lay and blocked the road till bobby picked them up

And once they'd laughed their fill of him they bribed the greasy pup


He took them to the city square and let them borrow his hat

They gave out fines and sentences for being thin or fat

They stood on boxes, had ideas for rent for half a pence

And sat gracefully cross-eyed on the splintering picket fence


Then donned a mitre, did a dance, their pageantry displayed,

They became gods, just for a laugh, the vicarage dismayed

When down from heaven lightning bolts, shot with a holy hum

Came buzzing like a hornets' nest and shocked them on the ***


A **** of smoke, a whiff of cheese, the townsfolk breathed release

Gone at last those terrors past, they could return to peace

Then up from high a saintly sigh two angels billowed down

Golden halos greasy and no pants beneath their gown


The townsfolk wept and cried aloud, their stomachs plopped and churned

To see the pair of villains there, so gracefully returned

Blessed be the kingmakers the two of them agreed

Until next weekend, Duw my dear, and until then, God's speed.
Duw means god, so you know
My flows Isaac Hayes hot butter emcees stutter
Once I rise from the gutter no other
Layin' raps guillotine know what I mean
Make a chick lean once shes see me on the tv screens
After my greens but I play mean switch up the scene
Ya styles anorexic so ya necks better get protected
Another sucka selected mics I wreck it
Head on I'm dead wrong cheat more than Armstrong
Cycling rhymes easily I be the coldest
Past the tundra sound the thunder with no lightening
Only striking I make the earth move
But it ain't no quakes take over I dominate in all states
But you ain't in good hands running" with the clan
Once I stand ya turn up a paraplegic
lieutenant Dan desert sand storm soon to swarm
Invoke harm sound the alarms bombing farms
Let ya blood meditate in my
palms
Silence **** end your wills made many sigils
Begins a new sequel since snitches squeal
They gotta get dealed with blows deadly
Than a uppercut from Dempsey swing rapidly
attack the mic like a ragin' chimpanzee
emcee of the century
Don't many wanna see the styles of real street gory laying killer
ephipany


Lyrical iceberg **** the seas flows honey
Attracting bees melodies so smoothly call me
Johnny G sayin my my my as the bullets fly by
Another dead guy soul searching the sky
I got ties from the Buddha that rises the highest
A wise guy
Know a lie when I see a lie so why try
Shootin' fairy tales only to mind
jail
Ya thoughts I'm dead caught
Without a chase slash ya face
With my Lyrical sickle got ya brickled
Penny to nickle count ya steps watch the reps
I got prepped so many slept as I crept
On the mic turn the industry swayze amazingly
My styles wicked complex as myxlplix
Mentals twisted lyrically gifted none could lift
My rhymes couldn't weigh on whales scales
Sail like Gail Devers please believe tha
Brother in black is back to set the track
Bumpin' out new jacks with they wack acts
No ******* I move minds like clergies in pulpit
Vatican Assassin clench my fist catch a whiff
Of a Bruce Lee's lift way of the dragon I'm stabbin'
Deep into intellects once the  rhymes injects
Spreads like infects contaminated none could reject
Avii Oct 2016
Creeping  though the town looking for something to smoke,  


They don't care about money cause they rather go broke,

They got the solution its written in this wrap,  

Everybody sells it it's all on the maps,  

Dark red eyes and the movements is stiff,  

You can catch a contact if you get a whiff,

It comes in different colors ain't no need to be picky,  


They ain't worried bout God but this could be risky,

They love the slow Burns but it's slowly burning they're souls,

They ain't worried bout nothing but fulfilling those holes,

They smoke into they're lungs get numb,

The worlds slowed down they're forever young,

They're on top of the world trying to hide these emotions,

God still loves you he doesn't hide his devotion,  

They rather feel free then  wait for freedom,
  
This life that they chose is more then treason,

God will still forgive no need to feel shame,

So start today and burn that flame,
When I say zombies I am talking about people doing drugs but not just any drug but ****,
J M Menon Dec 2020
Green meadows or grey rooms,
I can't quite tell

It sparkled and breathed.

People in white,
conversing in an alien tongue
I can't quite tell

Only the faintest flavor remains, a whiff time to time
All through the day

At noon it struck;
Yes!
I see it all at once;
I feel it;
Beauty, depth, insanity
I am enraptured in the glorious swan song

Before my dream disappears forever,
beyond this world
Only its lovely essence lingering
don adcock Jan 2014
As my mind started to kick-in I got a whiff
The smell of a rich Columbia brew
My Grandpa was a Jew and so was my Mom
My Mom married a Protestant  
A good brew
Matt Shade Jul 2014
A number of years ago when I was learning to drive
My dad would make me drive down to Ionia Michigan
because it could **** a full hour of driving practice
And because it was some other place to go.

Just recently I had to go back there and pay off a speeding ticket.
There are worse things than paying off a speeding ticket.

This town has gotten tired.
I walk by the city hall and eye the crumbling brick beside the road
and I think they must not be trying very hard to attract any visitors here.
But there I was-
suddenly insulted.

The city lights have gone out decades ago but they never died. They left their posts- abandoned. Now all that remains are the the dim and flickering street lamps that stand on sidewalks and bide their time watching or waiting for the final walls to crumble.

The city has a sleepy aura that one would feel seeing somebody's 70's childhood toy, like a jack in the box or a colorful plastic record player left outside. A lost innocence, and the smell of marijuana seeping from every upstairs window downtown or of a girl once beautiful who now waits alone and used to take off her clothes and reveal her tongue and love the universe as it appeared to love her.

I walk inside another second hand store and see nobody attending the counter. Stiff- funereal clothes and grey dresses. There is one rack of men's clothing, I accidentally take a whiff of the stale dusty air and it suddenly holds me from touching them. I quietly stare at my sobering realization that I am in the cities ashtray. They sell here what they can't burn but probably should, and every ten shirts in a row indicates one more rock in a row at one of the many churches of necessity and I decide to get out.
This place gives me the creeps.
SøułSurvivør Mar 2017
a
       whiff
of smoke  
a drifting
          feather
                   a breeze
              which
       wafts
through    
        fields of
heather
an ocean          
current in
             stands of
****
a daffodil              
a growing      
             seed
      all these
things            
above    
          below
what's
their              
secret?
             they all

**FLOW
an eagle soars

a rock errodes

SoulSurvivor
(c) 3/28/2017
lost girl May 2014
"It'll make you happy darling. Aren't you tired of being sad all the time? Just one whiff and you'll be on a roller coaster that only goes up."

"It'll make you feel alive darling. Don't you want that? All it takes is just one sip."

"You won't feel a thing darling. Aren't you tired of feeling? Just one slit on each ****** wrist and it'll all be over."

Which will you chose to destroy yourself, darling?

(a.d)
I remember being chained to the floor
My mouth stitched shut by threads of doubt
Not knowing if I'd been locked away in an abyss
Or if my eyes had been seared blind by all the pain I chose to see
All breaths were heaving burdens
And I could feel my heartbeat slowing but did not have the will to use it to trace the passing time
What could I do?
Was there a word, a spell to unlock the hold placed upon me
If I could only clear away all the trauma and tragedy
But nothing, I could find nothing
I remember crying to the sound of voices telling me I would end and waste away here
They laughed as they told me I was meant to die
Screaming I tugged viciously at my shackles
Nothing, I could feel nothing
But then my moment came
Something gave way the chain had certainly loosened
That night or day or moment void of time
I bit down ******* my own flesh as I begged my body to fight for me
Despite the blood trickling off my fingertips
Hours, no it could have been days
I wouldn't have known the difference between seconds and weeks
But through curses and agony I split my chains
And I tore open flesh and stitches to let my cry of victory echo
I remember laying my fingers over every crevice of that chamber
Still blind to anything that lie beyond my cell of self inflicted torture
Surely there was a way to escape
I scanned over the room until I could find the walls without reaching out
I found myself stranded and the voices came back to mock my feeble attempts at freedom
And I cried and cried and cried
I remember growing a fire in my heart with the burn of determination to survive
Begging it to quicken and bless me with the will to fight
And that is when I began to climb
Oh how many times I fell and cursed my foolish hope
Only to convice myself to scale the wall once more
Sweat raining off my back
At last I caught a whiff of something alive and fresh
And titled my head up
Proceeding to choke on my own breath
How long had it been since I'd witnessed the glory of light
And with layers of skin stripped from my fingertips
I clawed my way up to flat land for my final battleNow I'm looking down on the endless pit I jumped into
And here is what I will remember
As I breath air both crisp and smooth
Savoring flowers unique scent and tastes
I will remember that the only reason I now take every advantage of our golden sun
By absorbing all and every ray of light
Is because of every ounce of effort and energy
I poured into gaining back my open skied world
Every drop of blood
Every anger soaked tear
Every fear filled drip of sweat
Made my journey a success
There was no miracle, no spell
Just a straight uphill battle matched only by my own will to thrive
And so there is no forgetting
That this was more than worth it

C.N. / Words written in the sky that is my mind
I've got an old buddy named Cliff
And boy-o, could he roll a spliff!
He'd roll it up tight
I'd hand him a light
But always pass out from one whiff!
Written for my good pal, Ranger Rick (he's a park ranger)(and a business teacher)
Hank Van Well Jr Oct 2014
Ingredients

My fingers skate along the sleek surface if the finished cedar box , although it has been varnished it still somehow finds a way to harness a whiff if the scent to push in my direction every time I open it . Recipes , basically a conjugation of ingredients , when melded together in perfect amounts , create a complete meal, my recipes , amassed from a lifetime of existence , instances collected individually , and blended on to the parchment that is now being filed amidst the rest of the nourishing collections within this wooden encasement , I have organized them based on feelings, " moods " the perfect ingestion , for any experience , it is well acknowledged that often we find our way to someone's heart with the perfect recipes , food for the soul , but this is my collection of food for the heart, this box contains a life's worth of poetry , little daily doses of not soul food , but food for the soul , little inspirational quotes and quills , for any emotion that may full our belly with that hallo feeling that comes with chaos , our emotional nourishment , which is why you will never find this treasure in the pantry with the rest of the " cook books" for this has a place on the corner of the nightstand , along with the rest of my hopes and dreams .........
Cheyenne Feb 2016
A Rose by any other name is said to still retain its scent:
A sweet perfume that fills the room to all of our content.
And though this little musing contains poetic form,
When truth is told, I am not sold, for I know there to be thorns.
And if known instead for these pricking fiends
--and not its aromatic petals--
Then perhaps the rose would not be love's flowered vessel.
And the fragrant sweetness we attribute to its structure
Would cease to be a welcomed whiff and the Rose would lose its luster.
Fianzy Jan 2023
It goes on and on until one day abruptly it just stops.

Your eyes shut with no idea that it’ll never see a sunrise again.
My lips never got a chance to form those words.
Your mind is only able to conjure me, reliant on nothing but memories.

Memories that’ll one day fade, until all you remember is the outline of my body.
And every now and then you catch a whiff of the perfume I used to wear on someone, but it doesn’t compare to my scent.

Still you seek me in a crowd, knowing I am not there.

The new guy i’ve got my arm around does not warm me like you do,
So I pull him closer and closer, forcing him to close the gap between our bodies.  
Still he leaves me, feeling incomplete.

But he is not you, and he will never be.

I know she makes you feel secure but the sight of her does not shake you to your core.
And I know he makes me feel at ease but I like the sound of waves crashing against shore.

I never felt more safe, then I did with you within our storm.
I’m not sure what this is about but i feel much relief after getting it off my chest.
don adcock Jan 2014
As my mind started to kick-in I got a whiff
The smell of a rich Columbia brew
My Grandpa was a Jew and so was my Mom
My Mom married a Protestant  
A good brew
I have a super power.
I've always known i was different, cause when you see me from a distance, I stand out in and instant, so people can tell, that's the girl... who doesn't belong. She's the one who just looks kinda wrong. But, Hell!, I got along and stayed strong. Because I have a superpower.
Well what is it?! You should ask... But you don't and you won't... you just pass. As, never to be harassed, I sit calm in the grass and cultivate my super power.
At first I thought mind reading, but a new kind, where people start bleeding from their mouth what's on their brain as soon as they catch a whiff of my "tell-me-your-story" vibe. But then people lied and, though i took it in stride, inside I cried as my supposed power died.
Then I thought invisibility, or maybe ambiguity, because I stood fast like a tree, always there, always to be, but never really seen. But then I hid and when I did, someone... the one found me. So my second supposed superhuman feat faded happily.
But time passed and hearts cracked and stones hit the back of my head so I fled... I can still feel the way that I bled when I said goodbye and he just nodded his head in reply. And the other day, I identified my true super-power.
I can't read your mind. But I can avoid it. And I'm not hard to find, just to hold in a thought. You won't ever think of me because my power won't let it be. I'll stay far from your psyche for eternity. I'll dodge. I'll hide. I'll bob and weave because my power is making sure no one ever thinks of me.
Jack Torrance Sep 2018
How could you leave me so unexpected?
I was waiting, I was waiting
For you but you just left me
I needed you, I needed you
Yo, I don't know what it's like to be addicted to *****
But I do know what it's like to be a witness it kills
You told me you love me, I'm thinking this isn't real
I think of you when I get a whiff of that cigarette smell, yeah
Welcome to the bottom of hell
They say pain is a prison, let me out of my cell
You say you proud of me, but you don't know me that well
Sit in my room, tears running down my face and I yell
Into my pillowcases, you say you coming to get me
Then call me a minute later just to tell me you not, I'm humiliated
I'm in a room with a parent that I don't barely know
Some lady in the corner watching us, while she taking notes
I don't get it dad, don't you want to watch your baby boy grow?
I guess that ***** is more important, all you have to say is no
But you won't do it will you? You gon' keep drinking 'til the ***** kills you
I know you gone but I can still feel you
Why would you leave me? Why would you leave me here?
How could you leave me here?
How would you leave me? Why would you leave me?
Oh, Hey
I got this picture in my room and it kills me
But I don't need a picture of my dad, I need the real thing
Now a relationship is something we won't ever have
Why do I feel like I lost something that I never had?
You shoulda been there when I graduated
Told me you love me and congratulations
Instead you left me at the window waiting
Where you at dad? I was too young to understand where you at huh?
Yeah, I know that alcohol  got you held captive
I can see it in your eyes, its got your mind captured
Some say it's fun to get the high but I am not laughing
What you don't realise and what you not grasping
That I was nothing but a kid who couldn't understand
I ain't gon' say that I forgive you cause it hasn't happened
I thought that maybe I feel better as time passes
If you really cared for me, then where you at then?
Why would you leave me? Why would you leave me?
How could you leave me here?
How would you leave me? Why would you leave me?
Hey
Our last conversation, you and I sat in the living room
Playing our video games, you started slurring and I broke down in front of you
You started crying, telling me this isn't you
Couple weeks later, guess you were singing a different tune
You Drank that ***** for the last time, didn't you?
It took you from me once, guess It came back to finish you
Crying my eyes out in the studio is difficult
Music is the only place that I can go to speak to you
It took everything inside of me to not scream at your funeral
Sitting in my chair, that person talking was pitiful
I wish you were here dad but every time I picture you
All I feel is pain, I hate the way I remember you
They found you on the floor, I could tell that you felt hollow
Gave everything you had plus your life to those jack bottles
You gave everything you had plus your life to them jack bottles
Don't know if you hear me or not, but if you still watching why
Why would you leave me? Why would you leave me?
How could you leave me here?
How would you leave me? Why would you leave me?
Hey
Custom version of NFS why would you leave us
Sally A Bayan Feb 2016
(fourteen lines).....

It could be a gentle breeze...it could be a mist
Sometimes, it's a whiff of patchouli
Oftentimes, it comes so strong
Like drops...or splotches of pure lavender oil
On my collar, my sleeves, on my chest, especially
......where it feels so close to my heart<3
At night, it is a moth flying past my cheeks
The softest voice carressing my ears
For, it is light....as whisp'ry cloth
Almost like an invisible touch
A quick, transparent passing of sweet air
That clings to my being,
I wear it upon...and within me
Your scent.....is my second skin...


Sally


Copyright February 3, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***Happy Valentine's Day to all<3 ***
Emily Pidduck Apr 2014
In warm sunlight
upon my neck I feel soft shivers
as you caress my sweat
and you carry the soft cries
of a hummingbird
who's little wings beat their full power
against your gentle storm.
A gentle whiff
of a foul scent
descends upon my sense
and I resent that you've left me
but if I give you time
you return with a strength so beautiful
the odor is destroyed
and wisps of my hair flutter
like parade flags
praising your gentle demeanor
and soothing murmur

but in the dark storm
with lightning crackles
cast by gods or science
your presence is fearsome
you are esteemed to be the terror of a shrieking Mother
Nature, and by nature - you cannot be stopped,
only regarded with delightfully reverential eyes
eyes filled with tears
perhaps your tears
as raindrops are launched
with the same ominous power used to toy with waves
tease oceanic squalls
flirt with floods
and ravage each land chosen
because heatwave or frozen
only your reckoning
gives birth or destruction
to vim
from your feeble whim

but I will ever call
for the tantalizing effect you direct
to my cells that come alive when you fill the streets
with your choice of a dainty fulfillment
or dark engulfment
of the sensations I possess
and I ask for nothing less

only for recognition
of your influential status
and you claim dominance
oh, World's preeminent
what can I say, I love the wind
Mike Essig Apr 2015
This was just published so it is copyright 2015 by Holy Cow Press ~ mce**

Poverty is the fence around your life. Poverty wakes you up at 4 AM only to whisper meaningless slogans in your ear. It is the school of Piranha nibbling at the back of your brain. It is two hours waiting in the anteroom of despair for $22 worth of food stamps and being glad to be there. It is changing your phone number frequently because bill collectors are such boring conversationalists. It is the empty space your heels used to fill. It is letting your hair grow long and scraggly and your grizzled beard sprout because you know that although you sleep in rented rooms tonight, the street is not far off, and you want to fit in when you arrive. Poverty scalds the lint from your pockets. It is your private Treblinka within which you rage but are crushed. It is desperate prayers against dental catastrophes, blown tires, surprises of any sort. Poverty is when everything you own is frayed including your nerves from sleepless moments spent trying to solve the equation that will make X number of dollars cover X + ? number of bills, knowing that such math would defeat Newton or Einstein. Poverty is eying the cat's kibble imagining that with a bit of sugar and a splash of milk it might be fine and then eyeballing the cat himself thinking of protein of last resort and trying not to measure him against the microwave door. You ration your cigarettes; whiskey is a fading memory. Passing a diner on the street, you catch a whiff  of burgers too expensive to consider and experience a Pavlovian  moment. Poverty is trying to keep your head up and then remembering you pawned your neck. Poverty is watching the needle eat your last few gallons of gas. Poverty is the archeology of despair. It portends the death of irony. There is nothing ironic about a car with 217,000 miles and no insurance on it. Facts are facts in the world of poverty. Poverty is the last quarter reclaimed from beneath the cushions. It is too much time and not enough quarters. It is the specious logic of the self-righteous proclaiming that you deserve to be poor because you are, which in Amerika passes for wisdom. Poverty makes each day like the next because nothing does not vary. It is who you are and where you are going, although you won't get far. It is the life you lead inside the fence. It is the sum of what you lack. It just is.
   - mce
My most recently published work, by the folks who pronounced me dead.
Mybadbrainday Apr 2016
We are firefighters you and I.
Fighting back a blind hot fire. 
You, because of our impossible situation and the Other.
Me, because of my impossible situation and your Other.
I'm trying to keep my fire low and starving, or only a faint glow even,
but a whiff of air is enough,
enough to set my whole existence on fire.
Lay homes in ashes if not drowned or extinguished.

I'm grateful...

you keep your fanning breath of air
a swift tickling breeze for my sake.
Keeping your flare out of my flammable hair

but God, I want to burn so badly
I want to flame high, white and hot.
Not allowed to do that though....sadly...

I want to explode in a firestorm.
Consume everything in my way.
not listen to what they'd say
Turn everything into sorrow and ashes.
Let my heated tongues of flame lick you,
until you too is burnt to pieces.
Burnt pieces of charcoals
that I'd keep  in my heated heart.

A charred smoking reminder
of how devastating this fire of our love is.
How ugly to all that is beautiful and true.
Once letting my fire burn free there is no taming it,
no pardon, no wit

So, thank you my love!

For not fanning this fire
with more than
your flammable existence
It is oxygen enough.
I've lost all resistance.

So, thank you my love!

For not doing it my way.
Not letting me lay
my world in ached ruins.

It doesn't seem fair,
but let me slowly suffocate,
Turn your love into hate
make me choke and gasp for air.
A faint flickering flame
Pitiful and tame
As my fireman, put it out while you still can...
Nah, this doesn't come out right, but still needs out...
Aditya Shankar Dec 2015
Forgotten, in the need to have something to say
The cool whiff of silence is just a foolish child's dream
If you begin to see my eyes slowly glaze
The pause you ignore is where you'll find me.

As conversation pools into a stagnant puddle
Restless fingers flit across glowing white screens
It's the beginning of the end to all our troubles
And the sky burns purple behind clouds of cream.
once read, go from bottom to top
Daniel Tucker Nov 2024
It is not somewhere over the Rainbow
Beyond Mother's breath or
In the devices of ancient
Or modern hands bereft

We touch it in our pathos
And empathy from
Time to time
Through a shallow fading
Gravel bed
Filtering a bitter water table Perhaps

Whilst the tender leaf of spring
Feels it
In the autumn of unconditional
Acceptance of the inevitable
Morning frost
Cold relentless rains
And colourful leaves
falling to their death
In beauty

So far removed from our bipedal Posturing
And upright positioning at the Computer
Desk knowing there is no mystery here
No wild cry in the night
Only electronic and organic
Bleeps and drones and

Aw! there… I heard it again

A lost chord
A missing link
That the wild
Creatures understand
Of what we sometimes feel nearer in our shared limbic
Brain seldom penetrated through
Our domineering eyes planted Firmly in front
Of the gray dross from an eternal Fire

We spend our given time on
This planet trying to douse when The rest
Of creation knows the need for Its
Purification and leaps willingly Into its
All-consuming heart as we
Live in fear of the unknown
And of fear itself

Keeping us estranged from the Cosmic mysterium which Provokes us to awaken
To the wondrous eternal
Which will
Alter our deluded consciousness
To see what has been seen Through the
Unknown eons to help us take to The fire

We only catch a whiff of in the Twilight
Of our hopes and selfless dreams
So we will rise through the
Dry brown leaves of our once Tender
Green vision of an ever-changing Universe
Which whispers louder and Louder in our darkness
Until we cease our chatter and
Learn to listen to the serene Silence
Of an eternal vibration Heightening
Morphing

Less organic much more
Ethereal
spiritual

Crawling further and further
From the pulse of the earth
As we shed thickened skin which
Once replaced thin soft Unprotected flesh
Needing protection from Extraneous
Sources to cover what should Have been

Eternally naked bare to the Elements
Not limited to a frail carcass Which
Will ultimately be left behind as We
Transform into our individual Eternal temples to
Join in worship with the rest of Creation
To be the living offering
At the foot of the
Eternal voice ineffable
Not waiting to be obeyed
In mass procession but

As individual as one spark Igniting
A plot of trees newly released as Mystery
Revealed ever so slightly in the Wake of
The burial of earthbound mind Steeped in
Temporal ancient tradition Fermented in
Oak casks which were made to Remain
And grow in their ****** state

As we hear distant yet distinct Whispers of
The origin of our human calling Above and beyond
Thoreau's distant drummer’s Near silent tremors of the
Most ancient rhythms Now mostly echoes as we
March to
And follow our own drummer
Leading the way back home

As we at times seem to distinctly
Hear original rhythm's calling
As we try so earnestly to
Respond like a dying sea
Longing to once again sway
To the beckoning moon

Often keeping in step
With our
Own inner drummer who
Is always trying to keep
Time by asking

"Are we prepared to give
In to what we will
Inevitably meet in the end?"
© 2024 Daniel Tucker
amidst Jeffersonian opulence
the Prez broke bread with his
GOP poker face friends
to solve government gridlock
and sequester predicament trends

citizens of the republic
hopeful for nonsense to cease
sat at the table asking

“would you pass
the biscuits please?”

Obama perused the wine list
boldly choosing a luscious Merlot
senators ordered the finest hors d'oeuvres
the guests were all aglow

numerous delectable dishes
were liberally splayed on the table
revelers sipped flowing vintages
wine a surefire icebreaker

sparkling crystal Lennox flutes
tinkled with convivial release
while America’s disenfranchised
voices ask

“would you pass
the biscuits please?”

chutney meat, curried hens and
sweet walnut rainbow trout
the table a horn a plenty
the guests gorged on fine cuisine
a blessed nations bounty

the feast consumed
the Senators sated
said it was some
of the finest ever served
but the taxpayers only
got a peak of the banquet  
a whiff of senators nerve
and asked

“would you pass
the biscuits please?”

the dessert cart was rolled in
with custards, cakes, creme brulee
cordials, cognac and VSOP tastes
rounded out the wholesome feast

when the check was presented
for payment all guests headed
for the door with haste
they told the waiter the bill of fare
was covered
by the guy asking...

“would you pass
the biscuits please?”

Music Selection:

Andre Williams:
Pass The Biscuits Please

jbm
Oakland
3/7/13
st64 Mar 2013
I thought I sensed a whiff of former life
Through the tingling of my fingertips
Through the tingling of my fingertips.

                    Admiring the silhouette of your posture
                    Letting my eyes linger on your face
                    Letting my mind drift to your words.

I feel the breeze calling me to greater heights
That my eyes really cannot see
That my ears really cannot hear.

                    I see the leaves waving me good-bye
                    To the life that I do not live
                    To the moments oh, that I let go.

Chorus:
Slowly falls the sombre light when the sun offers
Its adieu to this side of humanity.
And I dare wait no longer
No, I dare waste no longer
I dare wait no longer!
To live...to live....to live.....oh, to live.....


I hear the cadence of arpeggiated chords
Being played on a guitar
Letting it lift me so far away.

                    And I realise I'd rather be the fool
                    Who dabbles in amusing tales
                    Than the sage who pretends.

I feel the magic being born when you're around
You're weaving butterflies of love
Carrying my silhouette away.

                    I touch the candles placed within my heart
                    You're the one lighting up my core
                    And my wings will not melt away.....



Star Toucher, 08 March 2013
(Inspired by the ephemeral nature of Life and trying to appreciate every exquisite moment.... unjadedly :)
A PLAY


BY



ALEXANDER   K   OPICHO









THE CASTE
1. Chenje – Old man, father of Namugugu
2. Namugugu – Son of Chenje
3. Nanyuli – daughter of Lusaaka
4. Lusaaka – Old man, father of Nanyuli
5. Kulecho – wife of Lusaaka
6. Kuloba – wife of Chenje
7. Paulina – Old woman, neighbour to Chenje.
8. Child I, II and III – Nanyuli’s children
9. Policeman I, II and III
10. Mourners
11. Wangwe – a widowed village pastor

















ACTING HISTORY
This play was acted two times, on 25th and 26th December 2004 at Bokoli Roman Catholic Church, in Bokoli sub- location of Bungoma County in the western province of Kenya. The persons who acted and their respective roles are as below;

Wenani Kilong –stage director
Alexander k Opicho – Namugugu
Judith Sipapali Mutivoko- Nanyuli
Saul Sampaza Mazika Khayongo- Wangwe
Paul Lenin Maondo- Lusaaka
Peter Wajilontelela-  Chenje
Agnes Injila -  Kulecho
Beverline Kilobi- Paulina
Milka Molola Kitayi- Kuloba
Then mourners, children and police men changed roles often. This play was successfully stage performed and stunned the community audience to the helm.













PLOT
Language use in this play is not based on Standard English grammar, but is flexed to mirror social behaviour and actual life as well as assumptions of the people of Bokoli village in Bungoma district now Bungoma County in Western province of Kenya.

























ACT ONE
Scene One

This scene is set in Bokoli village of Western Kenya. In Chenje’s peasant hut, the mood is sombre. Chenje is busy thrashing lice from his old long trouser Kuloba, sitting on a short stool looking on.

Chenje: (thrashing a louse) these things are stubborn! The lice. You **** all of them today, and then tomorrow they are all-over. I hate them.
Kuloba: (sending out a cloud of smoke through her tobacco laden pipe). Nowadays I am tired. I have left them to do to me whatever they want (coughs) I killed them they were all over in my skirt.
Chenje: (looking straight at Kuloba) Do you know that they are significant?
Kuloba: What do they signify?
Chenje: Death
Kuloba: Now, who will die in this home? I have only one son. Let them stop their menace.
Chenje: I remember in 1968, two months that preceded my father’s death, they were all over. The lice were in every of my piece of clothes. Even the hat, handkerchief. I tell you what not!
Kuloba: (nodding), Yaa! I remember it very well my mzee, I had been married for about two years by then.
Chenje: Was it two years?
Kuloba: (assuringly) yes, (spots a cockroach on the floor goes at it and crushes it with her finger, then coughs with heavy sound) we had stayed together in a marriage for two years. That was when people had began back-biting me that I was barren. We did not have a child. We even also had the jiggers. I can still remember.
Chenje: Exactly (crashes a louse with his finger) we also had jiggers on our feet.
Kuloba: The jiggers are very troublesome. Even more than the lice and weevils.  
Chenje: But, the lice and jiggers, whenever they infest one’s home, they usually signify impending death of a family member.
Kuloba: Let them fail in Christ’s name. Because no one is ripe for death in this home. I have lost my five children. I only have one child. My son Namugugu – death let it fail. My son has to grow and have a family also like children of other people in this village. Let whoever that is practicing evil machinations against my family, my only child fail.
Chenje: (putting on the long-trouser from which he had been crushing lice) let others remain; I will **** them another time.
Kuloba: You will never finish them (giggles)
Chenje: You have reminded me, where is Namugugu today? I have not seen him.
Kuloba: He was here some while ago.
Chenje: (spitting out through an open window) He has become of an age. He is supposed to get married so that he can bear grand children for me. Had I the grand children they could even assist me to **** lice from my clothes. (Enters Namugugu) Come in boy, I want to talk to you.
Kuloba: (jokingly) you better give someone food, or anything to fill the stomach before you engages him in a talk.
Namugugu: (looks, at both Chenje and Kuloba, searchingly then goes for a chair next to him)
Mama! I am very hungry if you talk of feeding me, I really get thrilled (sits at a fold-chair, it breaks sending him down in a sprawl).
Kuloba: (exclaims) wooo! Sorry my son. This chair wants to **** (helps him up)
Namugugu: (waving his bleeding hand as he gets up) it has injured my hand. Too bad!
Chenje: (looking on) Sorry! Dress your finger with a piece of old clothes, to stop that blood oozing out.
Namugugu: (writhing in pain) No it was not a deep cut. It will soon stop bleeding even without a piece of rag.
Kuloba: (to Namugugu) let it be so. (Stands) let me go to my sweet potato field. There are some vivies, I have not harvested, I can get there some roots for our lunch (exits)
Chenje: (to Namugugu) my son even if you have injured your finger, but that will not prevent me from telling you what I am supposed to.
Namugugu: (with attention) yes.
Chenje: (pointing) sit to this other chair, it is safer than that one of yours.
Namugugu: (changing the chair) Thank you.
Chenje: You are now a big person. You are no longer an infant. I want you to come up with your own home. Look for a girl to marry. Don’t wait to grow more than here. The two years you have been in Nairobi, were really wasted. You could have been married, may you would now be having my two grand sons as per today.
Namugugu: Father I don’t refuse. But how can I marry and start up a family in a situation of extreme poverty? Do you want me to start a family with even nothing to eat?
Chenje: My son, you will be safer when you are a married beggar than a wife- less rich-man. No one is more exposed as a man without a wife.
Namugugu: (looking down) father it is true but not realistic.
Chenje: How?
Namugugu: All women tend to flock after a rich man.
Chenje: (laughs) my son, may be you don’t know. Let me tell you. One time you will remember, maybe I will be already dead by then. Look here, all riches flock after married men, all powers of darkness flock after married men and even all poverty flock after married. So, it is just a matter of living your life.
(Curtains)
SCENE TWO

Around Chenje’s hut, Kuloba and Namugugu are inside the hut; Chenje is out under the eaves. He is dropping at them.
Namugugu: Mama! Papa wants to drive wind of sadness permanently into my sail of life. He is always pressurizing me to get married at such a time when I totally have nothing. No food, no house no everything. Mama let me actually ask you; is it possible to get married in such a situation?
Kuloba: (Looking out if there is any one, but did not spot the eaves-dropping Chenje).
Forget. Marriage is not a Whiff of aroma. My son, try marriage in poverty and you will see.
Namugugu: (Emotionally) Now, if Papa knows that I will not have a happy married life, in such a situation, where I don’t have anything to support myself; then why is he singing for my marriage?
Kuloba: (gesticulating) He wants to mess you up the way he messed me up. He married me into his poverty. I have wasted away a whole of my life in his poverty. I regret. You! (Pointing) my son, never make a mistake of neither repeating nor replicating poverty of this home into your future through blind marriage.
Namugugu: (Approvingly) yes Mama, I get you.

Kuloba: (Assertively) moreover, you are the only offspring of my womb             (touching her stomach) I have never eaten anything from you. You have never bought me anything even a headscarf alone. Now, if you start with a wife will I ever benefit anything from you?
Namugugu: (looking agog) indeed Mama.
Kuloba: (commandingly) don’t marry! Women are very many. You can marry at any age, any time or even any place. But it is very good to remember child-price paid by your mother in bringing you up. As a man my son, you have to put it before all other things in your life.
Namugugu: (in an affirmative feat) yes Mama.
Kuloba: It is not easy to bring up a child up to an age when in poverty. As a mother you really suffer. I’ve suffered indeed to bring you up. Your father has never been able to put food on the table. It has been my burden through out. So my son, pleased before you go for women remember that!
Namugugu: Yes Mama, I will.
(Enters Chenje)
Chenje: (to Kuloba) you old wizard headed woman! Why do you want to put    my home to a full stop?
Kuloba: (shy) why? You mean you were not away? (Goes out behaving shyly)

Chenje: (in anger to Namugugu) you must become a man! Why do you give your ears to such toxic conversations? Your mother is wrong. Whatever she has told you today is pure lies. It is her laziness that made her poor. She is very wrong to festoon me in any blame…. I want you to think excellently as a man now. Avoid her tricky influence and get married. I have told you finally and I will never repeat telling you again.

Namugugu: (in a feat of shyness) But Papa, you are just exploding for no good reason, Mama has told me nothing bad……………………
Chenje: (Awfully) shut up! You old ox. Remove your ears from poisonous mouths of old women!
(Enters Nanyuli with an old green paper bag in her hand. Its contents were bulging).
Nanyuli: (knocking) Hodii! Hodii!
Chenje: (calmly) come in my daughter! Come in.
Nanyuli: (entering) thank you.
Chenje: (to Namugugu) give the chair to our visitor.
Namugugu: (shyly, paving Nanyuli to sit) Karibu, have a sit please.
Nanyuli: (swinging girlishly) I will not sit me I am in a hurry.
Chenje: (to Nanyuli) just sit for a little moment my daughter. Kindly sit.
Nanyuli: (sitting, putting a paper-bag on her laps) where is the grandmother who is usually in this house?
Chenje: Who?
Nanyuli: Kuloba, the old grandmother.
Namugugu: She has just briefly gone out.
Chenje: (to Nanyuli) she has gone to the potato field and Cassava field to look for some roots for our lunch.
Nanyuli: Hmm. She will get.
Chenje: Yes, it is also our prayer. Because we’re very hungry.
Nanyuli: I am sure she will get.
Chenje: (to Nanyuli) excuse me my daughter; tell me who your father is?
Nanyuli: (shyly) you mean you don’t know me? And me I know you.
Chenje: Yes I don’t know you. Also my eyes have grown old, unless you remind
me, I may not easily know you.
Nanyuli: I am Lusaaka’s daughter
Chenje: Eh! Which Lusaka? The one with a brown wife? I don’t know… her name is Kulecho?
Nanyuli: Yes
Chenje: That brown old-mother is your mother?
Nanyuli: Yes, she is my mother. I am her first – born.
Chenje: Ooh! This is good (goes forward to greet her) shake my fore-limb my
daughter.

Nanyuli: (shaking Chenje’s hand) Thank you.
Chenje: I don’t know if your father has ever told you. I was circumcised the same year with your grand-gather. In fact we were cut by the same knife. I mean we shared the same circumciser.
Nanyuli: No, he has not yet. You know he is always at school. He never stays at home.
Chenje: That is true. I know him, he teaches at our mission primary school at Bokoli market.
Nanyuli: Yes.
Chenje: What is your name my daughter?
Nanyuli: My name is Loisy Nanyuli Lusaaka.
Chenje: Very good. They are pretty names. Loisy is a Catholic baptismal name, Nanyuli is our Bukusu tribal name meaning wife of an iron-smith and Lusaaka is your father’s name.
Nanyuli: (laughs) But I am not a Catholic. We used to go to Catholic Church upto last year December. But we are now born again, saved children of God. Fellowshipping with the Church of Holy Mountain of Jesus christ. It is at Bokoli market.
Chenje: Good, my daughter, in fact when I will happen to meet with your father, or even your mother the brown lady, I will comment them for having brought you up under the arm of God.
Nanyuli: Thank you; or even you can as well come to our home one day.
Chenje: (laughs) actually, I will come.
Nanyuli: Now, I want to go
Chenje: But you have not stayed for long. Let us talk a little more my daughter.
Nanyuli: No, I will not. I had just brought some tea leaves for Kuloba the old grandmother.
Chenje: Ooh! Who gave you the tea leaves?
Nanyuli: I do hawk tea leaves door to door. I met her last time and she requested me to bring her some. So I want to give them to you (pointing at Namugugu) so that you can give them to her when she comes.
Namugugu: No problem. I will.
Nanyuli: (takes out a tumbler from the paper bag, fills the tumbler twice, pours the tea leaves  into an old piece of  newspaper, folds and gives  it to Namugugu) you will give them to grandmother, Kuloba.
Namugugu: (taking) thank you.
Chenje: My daughter, how much is a tumbler full of tea leaves, I mean when it is full?
Nanyuli: Ten shillings of Kenya
Chenje: My daughter, your price is good. Not like others.
Nanyuli: Thank you.
Namugugu: (To Nanyuli) What about money, she gave you already?
Nanyuli: No, but tell her that any day I may come for it.
Namugugu: Ok, I will not forget to tell her
Nanyuli: I am thankful. Let me go, we shall meet another day.
Chenje: Yes my daughter, pass my regards to your father.
Nanyuli: Yes I will (goes out)
Chenje: (Biting his finger) I wish I was a boy. Such a good woman would never slip through my fingers.
Chenje: But father she is already a tea leaves vendor!
(CURTAINS)


SCENE THREE
Nanyuli and Kulecho in a common room Nanyuli and Kulecho are standing at the table, Nanyuli is often suspecting a blow from Kulecho, counting coins from sale of tea leaves; Lusaaka is sited at couch taking a coffee from a ceramic red kettle.


Kulecho: (to Nanyuli) these monies are not balancing with your stock. It is like you have sold more tea leaves but you have less money. This is only seventy five shillings. When it is supposed to be one hundred and fifty. Because you sold fifteen tumblers you are only left with five tumblers.
Nanyuli: (Fidgeting) this is the whole money I have, everything I collected from sales is here.
Kulecho: (heatedly) be serious, you stupid woman! How can you sell everything and am not seeing any money?
Nanyuli: Mama, this is the whole money I have, I have not taken your money anywhere.
Kulecho: You have not taken the money anywhere! Then where is it? Do you know that I am going to slap you!
Nanyuli: (shaking) forgive me Mama
Kulecho: Then speak the truth before you are forgiven. Where is the money you collected from tea leaves sales?
Nanyuli: (in a feat of shyness) some I bought a short trouser for my child.
Kulecho: (very violent) after whose permission? You old cow, after whose permission (slaps Nanyuli with her whole mighty) Talk out!
Nanyuli: (Sobbingly) forgive me mother, I thought you would understand. That is why I bought a trouser for my son with your money!
Lusaaka: (shouting a cup of coffee in his hand, standing charged) teach her a lesson, slap her again!
Kulecho (slaps, Nanyuli continuously, some times ******* her cheeks, as Nanyuli wails) Give me my money! Give me my money! Give me my money! Give me my money! You lousy, irresponsible Con-woman (clicks)
Lusaaka: Are you tired, kick the *** out of that woman (inveighs a slap towards Nanyuli) I can slap you!
Nanyuli: (kneeling, bowedly, carrying up her hands) forgive me father, I will never repeat that mistake again (sobs)
Lusaaka: An in-corrigible, ****!
Kulecho: (to Nanyuli) You! Useless heap of human flesh. I very much regret to have sired a sell-out of your type. It is very painful for you to be a first offspring of my womb.
I curse my womb because of you. You have ever betrayed me. I took you to school you were never thankful, instead you became pregnant. You were fertilized in the bush by peasant boys.
You have given birth to three childlings, from three different fathers! You do it in my home. What a shame! Your father is a teacher, how have you made him a laughing stock among his colleagues, teachers? I have become sympathetic to you by putting you into business. I have given you tea leaves to sell. A very noble occupation for a wretch like you. You only go out sell tea leaves and put the money in your wolfish stomach. Nanyuli! Why do you always act like this?
Nanyuli: (sobbing) Forgive me mother. Some tea leaves I sold on credit. I will come with the money today?
Kulecho: You sold on credit?
Nanyuli: Yes
Kul
this is a manuscript of a play, please guys help me get any publisher who can do publishing of this play
i  will appreciate. thanks
Amber S Mar 2013
summer, spring, winter, fall,
it always carried a whiff of cleanliness, like lysol,
bleach and daffodils had made a not so secret love
child.
there were never any marks. no signs of mistakes,
accidents, humanity.
the floors glistened like the sun beaming off a black
convertible.
the windows, you couldn’t even tell they were
windows. not without the panes.
transparent like the shores of the Mediterranean.
I never touched anything.
I held my breath among glass, ornaments, picture frames.
afraid one intake would show up like a smudge that could
never be wiped off, no matter how much one tried.
she fits the house. like those china dolls, polished to perfection.
blonde hair rolled in unison curls. no frizz. never any
fly aways.
face just like those windows, eyes raging in a storm too far away.


his room was the only one i could sink in.
legos scattered
(i always stepped on the yellow ones)
clothes fuming with dirt and almost manhood.
his posters crooked, carrying characters dressed in
armor, or tuxedos, animated, weapons in hand.
his bed, never made, incasing the last impression of his body
(he always slept on his side)
a spot of drool still visible, blankets holding his scent.
soap, laundry detergent and oranges.
game controllers trashed, bite marks, dents, too many battles.
i finally breathed when i walked in.
You know she wants it always
The thirst for blood she cannot clench
For the moon no longer holds her sway
A someone may cross her path
And she cannot hope to contain the monster within
For the urge is too great to resist

It will swoon her, consume her, and she will become it
A savage; an entity entirely controlled by pure instinct
A whiff of this and that
And before you know it; fangs will grow
And piercing blue eyes will be clouded
By the certainty of death

She lives for the chase, the hunt
Her pray so fragile, so vulnerable
It's almost sad; she will crush them
Drink them, eat them, forget them
The taste of red liquid metal has her infatuated
And it is all she is now,
For the moon no longer holds her sway
Zach Nov 2022
How to describe that moment when we wake at last?
Tentatively emerging from the comfortable cocoon of that early, endless summer
****** into a cold, vibrant land, full of beauty and pain
Equipped with a newfound vigor but fueled by our disillusionment

Here, in the infancy of our societal influence
Fresh off a restful bout of childhood ignorance
We take aim to preserve that magic, for as long as we can
We dance in the summer rain, so it might not fade away…

But when do we lose focus?
When do we become,
The target of long lost laughter,
relenting to the forces of absurdity?

Perhaps when our world comes crashing down
With the weight of a thousand suns
When purity falls prey to the stalking darkness
That lives in the darkened mire

We’re all lost souls in this garden world
As our sanity stumbles with each passing season
From a fleeting glimpse at beauty in the warmth of the spring
to our frozen heart from winter’s endless pain

What is it we really want then?
As we wake up dreaming of a peaceful life,
of blue skies, and free-flowing thoughts
in the warm embrace of a sun-kissed day

But out of darkness, fear does grow
Those memories seem so far away.
Saddled with willing acts of complacency
We trudge on, immune to our nagging decency

For as we stand on the edge of the abyss
Faced by the power of the absurd
We can’t help but look down
Into the unrelenting grimace of finality

Can we recapture, moments lost, memories fallen
from the hardened heart of our war-torn soul?
For deep inside, perhaps we’ll find
A glimpse at a forgotten past

Might we gather one last breath,
A passing whiff of that summer day
So long ago, when we dreamt of a greater purpose and when magic
Enveloped our reality with the warm embrace of mystery and intrigue

Might we realize then that pain makes beauty?
And as we stand on the edge of the abyss
Trading a summer daydream
For a midnight reverie

We take a step back…
JS CARIE Aug 2018
Found you out withered over time frame
Found you out over time chain
Place is now, no doubt now
The call is overdue for the rating it's easy to accrue

There's mud in the streets
We're in this together and they're cutting the mold out forever and ever
Place is now, no doubt now
It's all a big silent addiction makes the blood run cold

They'll never make it if they don't get...
We'll never make it if we don't get
Smell clever wait sit whiff spay won't fix

He's on his way to play the game
On his way rebranding aim
We're calling it off
Got a strong urge stop
Got a bad case of nerves and the taste isnt so good

They'll never make it if they don't get
We'll never make it if we don't get
I'll never make it if I don't get...

— The End —