As I lay in bed resting my youth,
I hear the walls crackling around,
Escaped seconds are profound,
Mark Twain saved me a minute;
My rooms falls on the yard,
Nearby the trees bruits growing,
The hard wind beats by milliards,
Mark Twain our houses are alike,
Should a flood descend on land…
I’ve been prepared for … an ocean,
My house shall be my ship!
RAY BLAZE
Instagram is @cwveranderungpoetry
“On the Way to Work” Collection
They flitted and flirted,
Here and there,
up in the air.
Lovers they are, friends forever.
He follows her. She just goes where she may
Oh, how fun is this game they play.
Life is! Love is!
How fleeting is the moment.
Daedalus loved his son with the wisdom of keeping from going too high.
Did no one love this lover with the wisdom of keeping from going too low?
Low over the roadway they swoop.
She rises again. He begins to follow.
Against the angled glass he hits.
Is Icarus reborn?
Straight up in the air her lover rises.
And as feathers fall from his wings,
to Earth he descends.
The sweetness of death completes his journey.
I wonder what Daedalus did over his broken son?
When my mother died, my father became a lost puppy dog.
Fifty-three years of marriage supplanted with a new love, fifty-three weeks yet to have passed.
So fleeting is life, the warmth of summer, the love of the beloved.
She perched on a branch and chirped for a moment.
He lay lifeless in the road, what remaining feathers fluttering as other cars pressed onward.
Then she was gone, on her way to discover…
another lover.
the world is full
of steel and steel men
steel songs and the loss of real silence
so bound up in a steely silence
we are.
— Rosie Roche, February 2020
Emergency! Emergency! Emergency!
the media says stay alert, don’t panic
but Wuhan is in heartbreak
across the ocean in tremble of the outbreak
panic beats in the travellers heart
the earth has swallowed a lot, for how long?
Am going through the analytic
the report says it is spreading
my body shakes like a leaf
in fright of Tom Frieden words “Pandemic”
don’t blame nothing of me
my world imports everything except pure water
How many will be lost before you are gone
you are traced back to your source
be gone, sure you will be gone
but wuhan shall never forget COVID-19
Alert! in response to preparedness
shuttered, you have shuttered wuhan
live animal in wet market mixed with wildlife
in close contact spill over and jump
I am afraid if you spread more than measures
the consequence will hit hard on me
the cities are in a state of depression
countries are disturbed characterised by
experiencing watchful
Emenike Anayo Anderson.
If only i had, not even one bad habit,
I could have claimed my life as legit;
As i mention, keep its track,
In no way is it a personal attack.
Hurt me once, twice or thrice,
I will not transform into an ice;
I would rather offer you forgiveness,
Even after, you repeatedly create a mess.
I will love you more than you deserve,
Blissfully adoring your facial curve;
When you hurt me, tears well up in my eyes,
Then i feel like, it was a useless sacrifice.
There is this one thing, i just can’t do,
The act of pretending and ignoring too;
Initially i might dislike you for hurting me,
Disturbed by your act, i shall never be.
Everytime, being nice to others,
Is when goodness feels like a curse;
You will be taken for granted,
That is when, quite a few people are enchanted.
-Sheenam Eliza Kujur
A beautiful small cottage lay in the middle of a forest and was surrounded by
streams,
Smoke coming out of the chimney, and surrounded by tall trees,
When wind blew across, it would open the windows and bang the doors creating a
loud noise,
Inside the cottage was a cosy fire place where one could sit around,
An old couch with a centre table and some old books lying around,
The cottage had some paintings and the walls had some weathering,
A beautiful vase with fresh flowers gave an aroma away,
One could also smell a cauldron of fresh soup ready cooking away,
At one corner there was a wooden rocking chair and an old lady sat there,
She was knitting a sweater and humming a tune, she got up and left the room,
Took her walking stick and went to her store room,
She used a key to unlock a box, she opened it with excitement
Out came an old diary which had her thoughts,
With a bookmark in the middle, she lays her eyes on a picture of a young man
Tears fall across her cheek for its her son that she never meets,
She closes the diary and leaves, and resumes her normal day as it is….
My chest cooed like a dove
Cardio-vascular
Expression of love
Genre; Haiku. Disability. Impairment.
We have too many homeless Americans
Roaming the streets eating out of garbage cans.
Stable people think THEY can be better than panhandlers.
Do you do ANYTHING to help them live by your standards?
As most comments made, “They can get a job!”
Only one to rob if there is no handout.
Don’t you have to have identification to be a part of our civilization?
To get that, do you not need an address of a residence?
How do you better yourself without having this?
Seems the teams of our Government should be smart enough to cover it.
Grasped me to believe this cycle they conceived to leave them hungry, homeless, naked and grieved.
So we can TITHE and pay others bills and dues
Or we can choose to be hands on, projecting these clues.
Breaking news… Good people come in homeless form too.
One thing that strikes me as funny is how people think God recognizes money.
Money is the root of all evil BUT… In God we trust.
For this is a must if you want to eat.
I was raised to believe we are all equal
If nothing changes soon, beware of the sequel.
Carrion stalker
Death watcher
No one else would take your place
The most debased of your winged brothers
As you pick at rotting meat that no others would approach
It is you who accompanies that most feared fate of all living beings
And for that you are ignored and shunned
By other birds, as well as man.
Birdwatchers seek nuthatch, swallow and martin
but not you.
They may acknowledge your existence
With an uneasy nod
But the stink of death surrounds you
And the fear of it holds sway.
Yet God has seen fit to recompense you for your ostracized existence
I gaze up in the sky and watch as you seem to float on the slipstream
The lightest breeze seems to be enough to support your broad wings
Which hardly beat as you circle and swoop and dip
A black kite that plumbs the vault of the heavens,
The most serene of all the winged spirits.
Although I have seen you gather at your carrion repasts
And once came upon one of your hidden roosts,
Most often I see you in your high reverie
And watch in admiration.
How magnificent it must feel to glide upon the winds
No engine, nor artificiality to compensate for the unnatural pursuit of flight
As men with great effort use to imitate the act.
What Nature has provided comes naturally to you
A flight of effortless tranquility
That in its grace surpasses all other feathered creatures.
A fitting reward my friend
For a life spent feasting upon the dead.
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