"yam" poems
Ndivumele juba lam sthandwa sentliziyo yam
ekuseni we langa indi ku balele
incwadi Yothando Yesizulu
(A Zulu Love Letter)
Nguwe be ngi ngo #kiss
incwadi Yothando Yesizulu
(A Zulu Love Letter)
Sthandwa
Ngifisa sengathi ungangibhalela incwadi Incwadi yothando yesiZulu Esho ngemibalabala na ngamabalabala
Axoxa indaba ejulile yemizwa nemicabango Idayimane, ngelo thando lweqiniso
Omhlophe, ngowenhliziyo engenasici Indilinga, ngoba olwethu kalunasiphetho
Oluhlaza-sasibhakabhaka, ngoba wena ucabanga ngami
Unxantathu, ngoba amazulu aphezulu Kanjalo nomhlaba nolwandle ngaphansi bayazi
Onsundu, ngoba kuyitshe kunothile futhi okwemvelo
Njengomhlabathi ongaphansi kwezinyawo zami
Noma ungawu shiya umbala ophuzi Kungani kumele ungithande ngenhliziyo enesikhwele! ?
Ngifisa sengathi ungangibhalela incwadi
Engiyoyigaxa emqaleni
Ukuze zonke izimbali zase maqeleni Ziyohawuka lapho zingibheka
Ngenxa yayo yonke lemibala egqamile Incwadi yothando yesiZulu
Ngobuhlalu bothingo-lwenkosazana Ubuhlalu base mazweni aqhelileyo Minake sengiyoba nentokozo emangalisayo
Lapho ngiphendu-phendula ulimi lwakho
Kancane-kancane, futhi ngesikhulu isineke
Ukuze ugcine usukwazi kahle hle Ukubingelela abazali bami
Ngendlela eyiyona-yona, ngolimi lwesiZulu
Molo sethandwa sawubona ngiya themba ulale ngahle?
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 2:00 AM UTC
Umikot ang mundo
Sumilip na ang buwan
Lumiwanag na ang mga tala
At pumikit na ang mga ulap
Pero, heto ako nakatulala sa apat na sulok ng kwarto
Mahal! Napapagod na ako
Napapagod na akong kakaisip kung mahal mo ba ako
Kaya sana na man, sana nandito ka at marinig mo ito
Sana madama mo ang mga saltiang "MAHAL KITA, SOBRA"
Sana makita mo ang pangalan mo dito nakaukit sa puso ko
Kaya mahal, sinta, darling, babe, baby, honey, love, sweetheart, asawa ko, buhay ko, mine, moo, yam
Sana madinig mo ang sasabihin ko
Na ang tulang ito ay para sayo
Kahit abutin man ako ng dekada dito kakahintay
Sasabihin ko pa rin MAHAL KITA
Hayaan mo nang lumuha ako kasama ng ulan
Hayaan **** mawalan ako ng tinig kakasabi sayo ng MAHAL KITA
Pero, teka, Mahal, mahal mo ba ako?
Ay wag! Wag mo nang sagutin. Kasi alam ko, ALAM KO NA!
Umikot ang mundo
Sumilip na ang buwan
Lumiwanag na ang mga tala
At pumikit na ang mga ulap
Pero patuloy pa rin akong nagpapakatanga
Ha,ha,ha! Tanga ng kung tanga
Pero, hayaan **** sabihin ko sayo
Mamatay man ang ilaw,
Dumilim man ang kalangitan
Mahal pa rin kita
Teka, teka nga
Sino nga ba ang Mahal ko?
Pakisabi naman oh!
Pakiusap, mahalin nya ako pabalik
Kasi ang sakit, sobra
Sa sobrang sakit, hindi ko parin maiwasan na mahalin sya
Na mahalin sya ng sobra na kahit ang paghinga nakalimotan ko
Kaya sana na man, please lang pakisabi nyo sa kanya
MAHAL NA MAHAL KO SYA
At sana sa huling pagpatak ng mga luha
Ang huling salitang maririnig mo
Ang huling hangin naakukuha ko
At ang huling pagtibok ng puso ko para sayo
Umikot ang mundo
Sumilip na ang buwan
Lumiwanag na ang mga tala
At pumikit na ang mga ulap
Pero, MAHAL PA RIN KITA
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 10:11 AM UTC
It’s something that try we should
To provide the parrot its basic food
Apple minus seeds mango banana
Grape orange guava papaya
As for vegetables cooked dried bean
With beet broccoli its heart you can win
Cucumber carrot and cauliflower
They surely love like they love a shower
Corn on the cob is fun for parrot
They aren’t fussy as them you thought
Hot peppers peapod lettuce
For them delicacies you can choose
Sweet and baked potato well cooked yam
They devour in delight add to their glam
Parrots are cute friendly and nice
Give them oatmeal millet brown rice
They’re not greedy from you they won’t beg
Though these birds love scrambled boiled egg
The parrot is innocent gorgeous and sweet
Can’t call them carnivore yes they like meat
Must talk to them and not keep your mouth shut
Your loving pet the parrot loves occasional nut.
Now words of caution what don’t do them good
Candy and chocolate and all junk food
I know you are smart and not at all mean
To offer this wonder bird mushrooms caffeine
Believe my words they aren’t my opinion
Use them in your food don’t give them onion
Dairy products for them are a big ‘no’ ‘no’
You surely want them to healthily glow
Give the parrot shower keep its cage clean
Give them just fresh foods no sugar no caffeine
Say ‘no’ to pesticides choose only organic
See in their bowel nothing goes toxic
Follow what I’ve said the task is not hard
Spend your time well with this beautiful bird.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
A is the Alphabet, A at its head;
A is an Antelope, agile to run.
B is the Baker Boy bringing the bread,
Or black Bear and brown Bear, both begging for bun.
C is a Cornflower come with the corn;
C is a Cat with a comical look.
D is a Dinner which Dahlias adorn;
D is a Duchess who dines with a Duke.
E is an elegant eloquent Earl;
E is an Egg whence an Eaglet emerges.
F is a Falcon, with feathers to furl;
F is a Fountain of full foaming surges.
G is the Gander, the Gosling, the Goose;
G is a Garnet in girdle of gold.
H is a Heartsease, harmonious of hues;
H is a huge Hammer, heavy to hold.
I is an Idler who idles on ice;
I am I--who will say I am not I?
J is a Jacinth, a jewel of price;
J is a Jay, full of joy in July.
K is a King, or a Kaiser still higher;
K is a Kitten, or quaint Kangaroo.
L is a Lute or a lovely-toned Lyre;
L is a Lily all laden with dew.
M is a Meadow where Meadowsweet blows;
M is a Mountain made dim by a mist.
N is a Nut--in a nutshell it grows--
Or a Nest full of Nightingales singing--oh list!
O is an Opal, with only one spark;
O is an Olive, with oil on its skin.
P is a Pony, a pet in a park;
P is the Point of a Pen or a Pin.
Q is a Quail, quick-chirping at morn;
Q is a Quince quite ripe and near dropping.
R is a Rose, rosy red on a thorn;
R is a red-breasted Robin come hopping.
S is a Snow-storm that sweeps o'er the Sea;
S is the Song that the swift Swallows sing.
T is the Tea-table set out for tea;
T is a Tiger with terrible spring.
U, the Umbrella, went up in a shower;
Or Unit is useful with ten to unite.
V is a Violet veined in the flower;
V is a Viper of venomous bite.
W stands for the water-bred Whale;
Stands for the wonderful Wax-work so gay.
X, or ** or *** is ale,
Or Policeman X, exercised day after day.
Y is a yellow Yacht, yellow its boat;
Y is the Yucca, the Yam, or the Yew.
Z is a Zebra, zigzagged his coat,
Or Zebu, or Zoophyte, seen at the Zoo.
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What’s in a name?
It is what turns heads
It can cause a quiver in your body
Or a smile to curl onto your lips.
A name can be tarnished
Or reborn.
It can make you stand out from the crowd
Or join the masses.
It is more than what society deems
A socially acceptable form of
Introduction.
So let me introduce myself:
I used to feel my name in harsh syllables
Rooted in the language of my people’s history.
MAR or MIR meant bitter.
Like having the wrong taste in your mouth
Reminding me of MARor –
Eaten on Passover to remember how burdensome,
Difficult and bitter the Jews’ slavery in Egypt was.
IAM (YAM) – ocean.
Tumultuous, never still.
Always swirling and scaring children out of it.
MIRIAM – my Hebrew name.
Bitter sea.
I grew into that name resentfully.
I reacted when I was called that by fellow classmates,
For what else could I do?
But time went by
And I began collecting seashells by the seashore.
The ocean became a treasure and my name
Had a new ring to it.
Yet when eighth grade graduation came around I was given the option
Of writing Mariya instead of Miriam.
I was going to high school where I didn’t know anyone.
So no one needed to know my bitter past.
I also learned that a name was not made up of syllables
But of sweet sounds.
Mmm – like the taste of something so delicious your eyes close
And you feel yourself melting.
Aaa – you’ve just finished your meal and on this hot summer day
You find solace in the cool water running down your back in the shower.
Rrr – racing, running, reaching for the sky.
That’s the sound I want my plane to make when I can hold a piece of
Cloud in the palm of my hand and feel its silver lining.
Iii – the sound of “and” in many languages. The sound of something more,
Reminding me that this is not the end.
Ya – the sound of agreement and conclusion. As if that is all I have to say…so yeah.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 10:21 PM UTC
Bang! Bang!
The sounds of gun shots mid-day on Thursday,
Sirens getting closer to the crime scene,
Just two weeks ago a man's life was terminated for a cellphone,
More thugs and more gun fires,
the tragedy so bad it even appeared in the news.
But today i can feel fear creeping in my vains,
Another man shot dead today,
why do i have to live in this community?
For i am afraid.
Few months ago
it was just like an action movie,
people running and rolling
while the loud sounds from the police guns aiming over my
roof top kept on going
Bang! Bang!
I see the police patroling the streets by day,
having picnics in the park
while they watch their horses eroid away the soil.
They feast to some take away outlets
filling their sagging bellies by night.
While they letting the just go unpunished all year long,
Oh! It hurts.
I feel a bullet on my chest,
Oh! It hurts
for i cannot look through the dark
night anymore.
I sit on the side of this wide classroom window,
And i wonder,
What if one bullet comes straight to me. (God forbid)
Oh this township that i loved,
you are not safe anymore.
Where can i run to for i called you home?
There is no distance further gone without any loud sounds;
Bang! Bang!
Oh mam' ngiyalil'
ngililel' labo abangasek'
ikakhulukaz' imphil' yam'
umphefumul' ongenacal'
kungab' sewabayin' wena dolobh' lami.
I called your name,
with so much pride and bragging,
but now i cannot even say your name
for you have groomed thugs,
gangsters,
vindals,
drug addicts and drug dealers,
harlots... And what else that we do not know?
Could it be blood sacrificies,
are these the 'EndTimes' proclaimed in the book of Revelations,
Why should i bother trying to think when all i hear in my head are ecoing sounds
Bang! Bang!
All i need to do is to find a way out,
Nyawozam' ngibeleth' !
Ngob' inhliziy' ayisahlalisekang'
qobo
when will that day be,
when crime will be stopped for good,
and police do justice to the community?
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
While the calmness returns,
the strangers gone,
noise of gunshots,
the cry of the wounded
and dying are no more heard,
our children and women
came out of hiding,
the young men smiling sheepishly
as they survived the onslaught
of the insurgents.
You can see the older women
in small groups scattered all over
selling food and all kinds of stuff.
The stragglers returns,
loitering all over the place,
trying to adjust and blend
into the communities.
Laughter and shouts of joy
is again heard in our land
even the morning songs
of the turtle dove.
The stray dogs are seen
looking for food and handouts.
The women pounding
their yam in mortar
with the pistil are
heard in our backyard
with the noise of
happy children singing
and dancing at the village
square in the moonlight,
while the elders and young
men keep watch.
What a beautiful moment
as peace returns.
With grateful heart we
celebrate this day.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
It's quite a feat, walking through the
Graveyard of the Gods.
Buddah takes his time playing majong
Against Thor, his hammer near but at odds,
While Yam keeps ear near conch
Lest the Phoenicians hear his song
And pray his way once more.
They fight over the attention they receive,
A whisper by the heralds
Behind closed doors.
A hint of what may have come before
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
I come inside the room and sat at front
on the last unoccupied seat
I spot a girl that’s not at all blunt
and was really kinda intimidating with the way that she greets
very ecstatic and charming with her gorgeous little smile
she was lighting up everybody in the room, it was really worthwhile
I was looking at you in disbelief, I almost started to sweat
then you glanced at me so I started to fret
but you made a silly face and I did too
that was the day that I met you
Happy birthday Yam Ng. This one's for ya. Love ya bud.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
CREOLE PIDGIN ENGLISH
wetin de call dis, wetin you go call dis
oyinbo com tiffy tiffy from ma yard
I no trouble yam, I no go knock on dem fer notin
but oyinbo an dem pally com de burglarise ma hice
you hear me so!
I say oyinbo com de steal from me home
Dem be thieves tiffing all over de compound
an when I go say why you tiff about the place
oyinbo tiffs them tell me I go be the *** whey go suffer
See palava see how dem de treat black people
in dem country.
If I go steal from oyinbos, na ma *** dem go trow in jail
yet for dem town, dem com steal your property
and when you go talk they slap you down
Dem go make me loose ma bread, loose ma woman
Dem spoil ma name, them abuse me
Dem tell al kinna lies against me
Dem make nonsense stories and fabu abot me
Dem harass me, discredit and disprofit me oh!
Dem become tomenters, dem say dem go drive me crazy
dem go ruin ma life, dem go make me sik in da head
And heavens know i never trouble any persons
I never put ma feet in anybody house to steal
I never see this kin ting before
where you go do wrong and destroy him whey he do no wrong
Dis is what dem do here now, make you people know
I no fit work, I no fit go anywhere without oyinbo and him
pally dem follow and harass ma *** dem say dem want me dead
Dead for stealing from me, dead for me doing notin wrong
an them feel proud for all dem de do, dem feel right for wrong
De kin wickedness whey devil himself no fit do, dem don do
And I swear before man an God, dem go get their retributions
Every single one of dem whey involve
God go punish dem
God go bring the chaos of hell on dem
God go mash dem up like dem mash ma life
Except God no be God an tru an real
Dem are evil people and evil will claim every single one of dem
who do dis to ma innocence.
Peoples wherefer you be, wherefef you go, make you know
That in london der are evil oyinbo thiffs dere
an them go steal and destroy your life if you talk
I beg jus pray for me, dem want me dead
Dem want blood.
De blood of an inoncent man who never trouble anybody
dem de make mockery of me now
Dem de call me Modern day Jesus....
An by de Grace of de real Jesus Christ
Each an every one of dem who hav made me suffa
Will get dem just reward, I wait on the Lord
He is a tru an just God and Him say
Vengeance is mine...
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
For the angels who inhabit this town,
although their shape constantly changes,
each night we leave some cold potatoes
and a bowl of milk on the windowsill.
Usually they inhabit heaven where,
by the way, no tears are allowed.
They push the moon around like
a boiled yam.
The Milky Way is their hen
with her many children.
When it is night the cows lie down
but the moon, that big bull,
stands up.
However, there is a locked room up there
with an iron door that can't be opened.
It has all your bad dreams in it.
It is hell.
Some say the devil locks the door
from the inside.
Some say the angels lock it from the outside.
The people inside have no water
and are never allowed to touch.
They crack like macadam.
They are mute.
They do not cry help
except inside
where their hearts are covered with grubs.
I would like to unlock that door,
turn the rusty key
and hold each fallen one in my arms
but I cannot, I cannot.
I can only sit here on earth
at my place at the table.
2.6k
My dear, do you want to know
why this stream shall never cease to flow
why this countenance shall know no smile
why in vain you realease torent of bile
for eternity shall my face tarry behind the sun
and ever shall be till this ugly scenario run
cut off from every string joint to my mind
to recall no more that gruesome day
Limbeh turned a cadavar awaiting decay
how my heart tremble while my tongue relates
the incident that turned an early widow late
the night before, cried a owl across at nightfall
grandpa beheld and discerned the mysterious call
tapped he my shoulder and opened his phangs
look beyond the pregnant night in labour pangs
waiting to birth a child as mysterious as the cry
Ekumbo! May i live not to witness that melancholic night(he sighed)
a thing unheard of in Aweh beyond countless centuries
worth plunging a kingdom into an endless misery
frightened, departed me with my ribs to my cradle to fall
holdin his words to await he upon whom the lot shall fall
so as the pregnant night did flipped
departed then this poor widow to her field
to gather bread for her fatherless kids
then in agony their lips they bit
as their eyes rained in torrent
and their sobs grew even fervent
when the fatal tiding was unleashed
a thing which feared hearts and andrenaline released
how she bent beneath a dry iroko gathering yam
in her distant and lonely farm
a branch uphigh cracked
turned she to see the source of the crack
behold a log fell on her skull
pouring out what was left of her brain- all
keeling rightward, she fell as her spirit transcended a plane beyond
a place so gray, so blund
now poor orphans, as poppies to be shared
departed they to various kins to be rared
and daily this dirge about her goes
as villagers their drum beat and lyre blow
forget not the story of the unfortunate widow
who for the door, took the window
and drank not from the spring of old age
nor for her maternal labour achieved a wage
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC
Your beauty is a mystery,
The ęwa that the sun can not
Withstand,
Your smiles that scholars
Can not fathom.
Ajoke, the aręwa of our village,
I had known you since you came Of Age.
Adesina the only heir to the Oba,
The Queen said he hasn't be sleeping since
He saw at the yam festival.
Balogun, the warrior of our village,
Promised the King 300 victories to have you,
Ayankola the prominent drummer,
That performs at the village square,
His 'konga' gives vulnerability to hips,
He wonders what have become of yours,
Odewale, the best village Hunter,
He has sent his wives packing to have you.
Alamu, the village woodcarver,
That carved even Oduduwa,
He has no clue how to carve your beauty.
Bashiru, the son of omowumi,
The palmwine tapper,
His is ready so supply 300 kegs to have you.
Olaniyi, the biggest village farmer,
With plenty of barns, is ready to
Give all this for your beauty.
Ajoke Ashake you are the goddess
Of beauty!
The beauty bird sing for,
That attraction men speak of,
The smiles poets write of,
Your beauty is a mystery!
To her who never noticed me
But her name protest to leave my lips.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
poisoned well of the antichrist littered with ground cover
picking out ****** flecks of gravel
blacktop kneeskin
patience pieces of scattered space time
to go back to the future of continuity
lack of genius ingenuity
and the suckling of the pig entourage
riding in a flat top hatchback
cadillac of the daily grind
upperclassman japan onii-chan
brother in arms from anotha motha
hug from afar colliding with crackpot theory
terrible fantasia cooling bricks in soggy sun
swallowed his pride with a glass of self-worth
and these ***** don't cook like they used to
I don't look like I used to
warped veil of camouflage chameleon leather
with a ****** level of automobile salesman
tried to get closer to god
ground him up, picked out the stems
twisted him into thin paper
touched flame to his finger tip and a son of Adam was born
gum shoe gaze
or the emptiness felt at the end of reasonable doubt
correctional text messaging system
sent from hoarse corpses
tenderly poignant in their ****** coffins
will think for food
cries from an outdated MENSA
over ***** and under-appreciated
siting on hunched shoulders to get a better look
to be a martian in a plain port
wharf warehouse whaling boat
red tide in a Shanghai **********
floodgates made of bitter premise
that last bit of purple yam
**** Okonkwo
Things Fall Apart fell apart due to faded highschool ambitions and bloodshot eyes
cruel like the shade of off-cerulean
champagne fizz tickles at the soft meat of his tarnished throat
and silver tongue
as the matchstick framework
so fragile in comparison
fizzles out on drenched sidewalk
while cigarette ash floats by
like gray gnats
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
Coming home from the mass,
body stretches became endless
no hurried showers were done
some returned to bed, everything
was on a slow pace....but then,
kitchen aromas roused sluggish senses,
revealed garlic and onion sauteing,
beef stewing, stuffed fish grilling,
even the smell of parched soil, being
sprinkled with water...became fragrant...
all rushed to the table...for lunch...
..............................................
dessert, was a choice...nothing...or,
slices of pie..fresh strawberries dipped
in condensed milk...peanuts, sour
chips, or salty tortillas, with salsa,
all these, over loud talks...whispers,
wholesome family conversations,
where endings are ever unpredictable
...............................................
each Sunday carries a different mood
...with cups of tea, or coffee, when
discussions are serious, long, hushed...
most times, they're a tall glass of sundae,
with shaved ice, sago, sweetened yam,
or, beans, milk, and sugar........
decisions made, and agreed upon
are the multi colored toppings,
pretty much like syrup.....or ice cream...
...................................................
seven days.....with different names...
each family member brings in a new shade
we do our best, to start, and end each day
................with pleasant airs
.................especially on Sundays,
......when families gather together...
..................................................
Sally
Copyright March 26, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 9:02 PM UTC
Lotus clouds oversee a Popsicle stick roadway,
between us only dirt that, like jellyfish, echoed away
A refugee of the Imperial Court once hid in the Zhongnan.
He survived in silk rags, and would ode The Way
Moss-haired men watch Magnavox in windows,
the evangelical salesman begging them not to toad away.
Across the street, near the top floor, a freshly-ex-student
sits at his desk in an IRS building, told five hours ago to code away
A face, topped with hot pink, brandishes her crop in a field
of signs, screaming at Wall Street's old way.
A yam of a man, braving his new home in the hills,
freedom from obligation, finds a stream to wash the woad away.
Along a country road, a man with a sandpaper'd
face counts his money, having just sold whey
Lotus clouds oversee a Popsicle stick roadway,
between us only a past that, like jellyfish, echoed a way
Twenty one years have given me many names.
Call me Kyle, or the others I've borrowed away.
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
The clouds are racing over my head
I am still woozy just getting up from my bed
My dad and brother are roasting yam
Under the Frangipani tree close to the farm
I stagger to where they are
Father stirs the yam ensuring it doesn't become char
My sister emerges from inside
With a knife and plate by her side
There, we divide the morning meal
Everyone eating a fair share to their fill
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 8:53 AM UTC
The tortoise has began
To sniff aloud impatiently,
Causing the *** full of
Palm-wine to burst into flames,
But the bat can only
Think of himself as a bird,
Let the yam tendril
Grow rapidly in this season,
For this matey idea
Engenders glowing nightmares,
Now know this,
The sacrifices of palm-wine
Cannot be substituted with water,
For your departure has caused
Me to sleep with the magic owl,
Oh yes, hear the sparrow
Singing your conventional song,
Listen dear, listen!
Listen and quicken the precious
Beads on your convex hips,
So that my heavy heart
Can behold her boisterousness,
Even though good beads
Do not speak in public,
Indeed, the machete has
Fallen on the wrong victim,
For I left the chicken undisguised,
And the ravenous hawk
Took an instinctive care of it,
***** dear, *****
***** all your pain
Into the thirsty calabash,
For I have evinced
A strong desire to be
Reconciled with your love,
So, let our imperturbable love
Unfold as the implacable day unfolds,
Obaahemaa Nyarkowaa,
The mother of my heart,
Please forgive my dumb insolence,
For I acted out of love.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
So many doors
tightly closed
the need for more clothing and food
can't be kept out
it's a small hamlet
by the river
when a man stamps his foot
the whole village wobbles
a slap from a woman
and the whole village is flooded with tears
a cough in the dark
reveals bricks of secrets
two old stone mills
like an old couple who
have worn out their lives
wind leaks through four walls
a candle light dim and faint
not a synonym for romance and cozy
but luxury
when they can't afford kerosene
they eat, wash, get in the blankets
before the candlelight goes out
remainder of the light is only
for the maternal needlework
a curve creek
clear and lucid
when catching fish and mud-skippers
they become as happy as the water
joyful shrieks waft
in the smoke from the cooking stove
these scenes which can only be
returned to if time regressed are
very much alive in memory
they just didn't grow with me
many years later the warren
became a rustic retreat
days of the dirt and soil
became a wandering cloud
the stubborn local sounds
suddenly emerge from baseless thoughts
the mushed corn
the yam gruel
carrots and cabbage
feeding the dream
the mountains, the water, the people
the kindly kampung
the birthmark
of that era.
Nov 24, 2022
Nov 24, 2022 at 5:15 AM UTC
'What happens to bad poets
when they die?'
'Aye, tis a good question,'
says the sotted brute
wavin his hand
whilst spittle flyin
with most syllables
'I yam told bad poets
stew in alphabet soup
and get eaten by
old grannies for
all eternity'
'I eard that one
but seems a waste
of good soup'
'Aye, and why de grannies
get involved it's a
misog misog
a ting against
women I'll bet'
'Well then, what might
you think?'
says the innkeeper
to the quiet sod
at the end of the bar
'Eh..I should think
they'd go with the good ones
cuz I'll be ******
if I can tell the difference'
'Aye' says all 'aye'
©2012 Lyn
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 8:51 AM UTC
a giant orange rolls over the horizon
propped up by the skeleton of a titan
dripping citrus flesh o'er the land
as it's adversary ascends the briny depths
a colossal sushi roll, avocado and yam tempura
the battle of the senses begins
the apocalypse never looked so delicious
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
Semitemos efil t'nia straight-
forward, os uoy yam deen ot
egnahc ruoy evitcepsrep.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 5:20 AM UTC
A Turkey that dashed from the kitchen
But there was a good reason
A holiday bird that no one should eat
Turkey’s unite as we need to retreat
Why be plucked like we are a duck
Turkeys run wild as we are running amuck
The idea of the hatchet aiming for the Turkey neck
Why should a Turkey just let
As Gloria Gaynor song that comes to mind with a different version, “A Turkey shall survive”
We are determined to be alive
Gobble your fork for some other meat
Yet its Thanksgiving and please have a seat
As we gather together it won’t be Turkey meat
Since the pig wants to be a ham
The am will be eating a yam
This is the time to give thanks
Reflect on the past, present and future
Thanks to the Pilgrims in making their way
This is a remembrance on this day
As the Pilgrims and the Indians united together
The world shares thanks like no other
But this Thanksgiving will be a feast of another
That Turkey is still on the run
I guess the Thanksgiving dinner will not be fun
As far as my story goes, I am done.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
I am not meant to be, where I yam, what I yam
Unless life like spinach, is meant to be canned,
A failure by all reports, I have no retort,
Not one, n o response, my previous successes
lead me to believe, that "what have you done
lately" does not deceive, fills the beast, technology,
That leads me to my breaking point,
Rogue wave, out of the deep blue see,
If I were a martyr, that might be true,
But I am nothing more, than a man
with a love for words and I play with
sounds, really adore what they do;
with my mind,
with my heart,
preventing stagnation,
of my imagination.
Ah, the breaking point
not the tip of a coast,
where land ends,
and bends open water
to new possibilities.
We all have at least one
In our life, in our career, in our day
Weakness, faint of heart,... No Way,
Even the oceans, and their waves,
As those waves come to shore,
On breakwater's and beaches
Break! but do not dull the ocean's roar.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC