The stream (all workshops)
You're a bitch babe
Sucking me dry
Believe me honey not in good way.
bitter regret and bile seeps from your pores.
When we first met you were a vibrant
Temptress a dusky beauty,
Now your are miserable old hag
Humourless and aged
Has old Booze Hound really been that bad?
Now this pretty little ditty is over
I turn over in bed and you have gone
I miss you and your dulcet tones
You old crone
There is this rage that dwells inside of me,
clawing me, stabbing me, threatening to
rip me open and make me bleed my red anger out.
I try so hard to fight it and I work so hard to
deny it, but too often it rears its monster
head and makes my tongue lash out.
I strike with poisonous words and cut with
razor lips, spilling tears and breaking trust.
I didn’t realize being nice would be this tough.
The glamour for change
The face of uncertainty
The search for a messiah
Warranted by our sorry state
Tilted will of people in battle
With self-proclaimed patriots
Craving for glory and power
Phantom bubbles of leadership
First African American
Our erstwhile Goodluck
The people began to wonder
Insecurity and job lost
Loosing homes
Leading to occupy cities
Questions are many
Answers are few
falling
ideals
in their beauty
poetry sliding
across the mind
like damp snowflakes
on wet eyelids
cast yourself
on your city shadows
your black temple doorways
the lilting sway
hold my arm
and in your room
you bathe in lights
that speak
and wander
in hurt visions
everylasting
hunger for little
and regard more
how you love the
gaunt saints you
follow in soup kitchen
gathering
your glass repository
resins musks
and ointments
When you first hear those fateful words
It hits you like a thunderbolt
Although totally expected
The blood still drains from your face
You sit, disbelieving, shocked, numb
Not quite able to take it in
You ask the usual questions
How long have I got, will it hurt
Is there nothing that can be done
But you know, way down, deep inside
This is it, the end is in sight
The day you dreaded is finally here
That rock and roll lifestyle of old
Has come back to bite your backside
So you ask the only question
i guess
i'm never gonna sleep tonight
never gonna get it right
lost me in the sound of my only escape
and the
bass is getting louder
treble take me higher
singing myself wings maybe i'll fly away
(chorus)
and i'd beg
for someone to follow
would my life get any easier?
no i'll never be like her
but how?
they said just talk it out
how do you expect our ways to change
when he can't even look at me
This is how long an old man feels,
This is how long he awaits your smile.
Each moment locked away
In some distant and perished file.
Cold mornings creep,
Break of dawns crisp and slick
Finding me cold in bed
I wonder if one moment can
Extend my sleep.
Forever and a day fallen,
Ghosts visit
Family plagues,
Dreams allow,
Sorrow lives,
In solitude I confine.
Live and breathe
Heartbroken I scream
Ancient arisen
Seeking a paper heart,
A heart he simply chooses not to forget.
Anger Loosed
open a vein
miss the artery
too much anger
for precise accuracy
too much rage
to be confined
to a single page
hatred in red
overpowers the sight
enrages the decision
clouds the vision
purple frustration
inflames the soul
hands around your neck
taking control
I find you in contempt
your crime is your arrogance
spilling acrimony
into my sea of calming latitudes
Thanks for your maiden read…. it’s an honour
Do read some more
And
You will come to know,
How poetry does flow,
Like a river it twists and turns,
It never ever returns
And
In the garbage bin of time,
Mostly all place poetry of mine.
How to refine,
Not many define,
But the ego in me thinks,
I am bloody fine,
The nectar which oozes
From the divine
Such is poetry of mine.
Narcissist me
On the way to the beheading, I fell off the wagon
and disappeared into the angry throng.
Well, there you are, the plight of a poet
in one sentence if not another.
But poetry will never leave me alone for long,
the temptation is always here--
in my waking
fingertips, for I have been accused of sleeping too long.
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