Category Archives: poetry

THE MAGI-CIANS 2: SHOWDOWN

Trick or treat

Dance to the beat

Coz we got you neat

Oh you sly Herod got the heat

And now totally unsettled on your seat

(source: unknown)

_____________________________________________

Sat on your throne feeling neat

Any wagging tongues your guards beat

You called the shots and dictated the beat

You get angry and the innocent feel the heat

You give the orders and it all becomes a bloody treat

 

Well now feel my beat

I’m gonna give it to you neat

I turn on my words like the heat

From my kitchen comes a nuclear treat

Coz I’m a righteous gangster from heaven’s seat

 

All we got in life are a treat

Handed to us all in our seat

We can’t control life’s every beat

Not to speak of our every heart’s beat

Who survives when life brings on the white heat

 

Whether we work under the heat

Or play games each lounging on his seat

Fate is a cunning illness none can fully treat

Though we alter some events at life’s complex treat

There’s much in this party that doesn’t dance to all our beat

 

So whilst on your sadistic seat

Feeling like a god so fly and neat

The magicians heard a different beat

And did not stagger at the sight of your heat

But rocked side to side at the Chef-God’s treat

 

And now Herod feel the heat under your seat

As you just got beat at your own grand treat

Coz the Chef-God’s heat cooked you neat

Giving you a treat to his version of heat

Time to feel my beat crash your seat

_________________________________________________

Matthew 2:1-13 contains a summary of how Herod’s attempt at killing God’s son was totally foiled.

 

Narrator: “Hollup magi, I’m coming. Herod’s goose is cooked! Let’s go see those gods of the 21st century feeling like they own the universe and all of existence. We need to remind them they didn’t conceive, incubate and give birth to themselves. Now that they all grown up and making a few bucks and academic degrees, they be barking up and down the streets with doggy philosophies and belching with goaty pride!”

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Where it ends

(source: seriouseats.com)

On the day I was born

You saw me

My heart like granulated sugar

Little drops of innocent sweetness

The kind so pure

Everyone wants a feel and fill of

Including the ants

Who really have nothing to offer in return

They come asking for ‘some sugar’

Even they know what’s sweet

 

I became smart in my own ways

Learning my share of lessons from life

I took pride in the great pyramid I built

Heart now hard like cubed sugar

I swore anyone who wanted a taste would sweat

You were there warning me

A little drop of water could mar me

I am not invincible yet

 

Life told me I hadn’t seen the start

The worst began to take a shot at me

I tried, God you must know that

You know I could only withstand the heat for so long

They told me the heat was good

They told me the most painful lessons

Would bring out the better in me

Behold my heart a golden syrup finally

 

But I fall short

I ain’t no honey

I still attract ants

Water still dilutes me

I am tougher than a cube

But I bend under pressure still

 

There is no way to complete this story

There is nothing within me

That could turn this tale into a fairy one

The only way is to remove myself from this story

Change the writer

Who appears obsessed with the various states of matter of sugar

Maybe for a writer who’d paint me as dust

 

At least, there’d be hope for a diamond in my end.

 

*flaccid smile*

 

 

Prose or poetry

image

I can never amount to that
Like those who shamelessly
Tirelessly aspire to glory
They seek novelty among the regular

I don’t coordinate that long
My thoughts are unfaithful
Shamefully capricious
I try to write a good story
Like a famed novelist
But I don’t get a page through

Novelists are manipulative and dubious
They live for masks
They conjure strings of words
But you never see the start or end
They say it is fiction
But we know it is gossip
They say they write about human lives
But we know they write eulogies to themselves

I am as plain as you read me
See my lines
Full of little short words
That don’t even aspire to the ceiling
Look at them broken apart
I can never seem to write sentences
Long enough to fill the screen
Even when I have ideas that long
I never seem able to write a full line
I always fall short
I always walk within my mortal limits
I’m no demigod like novelists
And other citizens of the Writing Kingdom
I’m an outcast
A dribbler
A scribbler
A conman

Look one last time at my lines
The next not logically linked to the previous
I am humble
I am broken
My thoughts are as fragmented as they appear
Disjointed as my lines
Verbose and circumstantial
My imagination loose and childish
Floating like a kite in lightning
Immature
Dented
Crippled
My scattered lines betray my mortality
Seeming close to paradise
But never quite making it for the life of me
Left trudging near the edge
Wandering
Wasting
Unsatisfactory
Incomplete

P.S. Hope the reader knows this is not a poem.

THE OUTCAST: constipated thoughts of a lonely writer

The lonesome one -totally at peace with himself or numb with loneliness...

The lonesome one -totally at peace with himself or numb with loneliness…

HA! A night without rain again
Leaving me without gain
Outcast thought without pain
As he strolled on the lane

Been ages passing in stages
Living out on life’s fringes
So long it no longer itches
That he can’t always get his wishes

Sun or moon may not shine today
People may stay or stray
Outcast will still sing and pray
Even when it’s Trouble’s day of play

Apparently completely self-satisfied; totally unminding of the world around him and the crazy writer taking his picture.

Apparently completely self-satisfied; totally unminding of the world around him and the crazy writer taking his picture.

Don’t you hiss and hate
He has enough on his plate
You envy his undisturbed state
But don’t see when he’s desperate

Take another look please
See what ruffles his peace
See how he became this
What made him a nutpiece

BACKGROUND: Times I deliberately choose to stroll back from work. This night, I just felt like screaming out and audio-recording my next poem to later find ways of putting the words into writing. I can’t exactly make a song of it because of my scary voice. I found myself talking out loud about this character of my next poem -the Outcast. Need I say passers-by may have thought me mad!

The Outcast doesn’t quite give much care for some of our norms and values. He lives as though he were dead and not part of us. He is somewhat detached from the world we know. We are slightly pissed when he doesn’t show the aggression or passion we expect in some everyday issues. We can’t always expect him to take sides with us. He doesn’t hurt or insult us, and he is mostly calm and composed -maybe a little TOO peaceful/happy, and so we see him as impractical, odd or loose-nutted.

We never realise he has huge issues he is battling with. His concerns for some other thing completely absorb him. His obsession with another life has affected the way he treats this one.

Well then, we do well to call him mad, yes?

As you may have guessed, I didn’t say exactly he was obsessed with because that’s out of my pen, but I know HOW EASY IT IS TO BECOME SOMETHING/ONE ELSE AND YOU ARE NOT EVEN AWARE OF IT!)

Song of our season together

image

I woke up next to you
Golden sun rays shining from your face
Warm my smile
Your hands all over me
Wantingly, wantonly
As though you didn’t think it was too early for foreplay
Meanwhile it was only my cheeks you touched
Today is gonna be a good day I thought
I could get used to everyday being like this

I am not taking off my smile
The light is warm
The atmosphere is romantic
And music is in the air
Talking with you as you possessively hold my arm
As though you didn’t want me to stray from your side at dinner
Meanwhile we were only strolling to work
I am gonna enjoy work today I thought
I could get used to everyday being like this

I am not taking the bus tonight
I am looking forward to crying
Tears of pure ecstasy on my cheeks
As I let you hold me on the way
After you kidnapped the whole world around me
Leaving me alone with you in this vast space
Where nothing else matters
No abyss no ground no other heartbeat
Except mine…

(Back to reality)
As I cry in the lonely memories of you
For you were long gone from my life
And I can only hope to sleep fitfully tonight
And wake up tomorrow
All in memories of you
Like I did this morning
Whilst lying on my bed ALONE

Tears

Anyone

Please?