The poor writer’s “big” feast.
Let’s roll out the table
Burst open the kitchen
And serve the tea
This writer has had enough
Days of struggling for inspiration
But there was no rain.
And despite his hard work,
The ground still remained barren –
A perpetual desert-ed piece of white paper
Lying on the writer’s table,
Devoid of any ink.
Days of trying to express
What little drops of inspiration
Splashed his way.
Whilst showers flooded
Those farmers could hardly gather
All the harvest bounties.
See the many followers
Sitting at their festivals.
Even days these rich farmers give no food,
They all still get wine and drunk
And discuss the ingenuity of insanity.
After all, a king’s ragged chair
Is still seen as a throne to others!
I could just throw a writer’s tantrum
And decide to ignore all,
Settle for another more profitable occupation.
Or plant crops which cost little effort
But ain’t worth much either.
Ha! Yes. Something like a vegetable
Seasoned with some spices
Which really lack true nutritive value!
Or I could just be a subsistent farmer
Who grows crops barely enough
To satisfy friends who come visiting,
And they end up in almost-meaningless talks
So neither the farmer nor visitors
Feels bad for a visit
That could not quite give them what they needed,
Till the visitors start making excuses
For not showing up again.
Who dares blame them?!
Or maybe I should just be a seller –
A reviewer/critic who assesses
And re-presents others products.
That way I can get to distribute some food
To my visitors,
And I un-enviously advertise others’ products
Whilst not being guilty of theft or plagiarism.
Well, give some credit to thieves even.
Cloning others’ crops ain’t exactly easy too!
Oh! Of course, I still visit them rich folks.
We can’t be enemies or even literarivals
But today, I just want to sulk
And serve bland tea
To anyone who happens to visit,
Hoping they don’t think me desperate
And they are in the mood to talk,
Not just tick a “like” as a review.
After all, it still takes a real farmer
To grow even bland tea!!!
Hope the visitor/reader is savvy enough to know if this piece is really about farming, or writing. Please check the title again. Just in case.
*Literarivals -rivals in the world of writing/writers.
Everyday I wake up newborn
Walking out into life’s street
Everywhere a wolf and a thorn
Yet no covering for my feet
I learn to fall
And get a prick here
To experience it all
I also get a wolf-bite there
I chew on the grit and shit
Then re-present to the helpless
Those who are not fit
Being found gut-less
Who stumbled naked into earth
Ill-prepared for this jungle-land
And remained so since birth
So they can in turn understand
I have to teach them how:
-Not to expect thanks for every kind deed
-Not to repay evil for evil or be kind to only friends
-And karma is not the highest or only law
-Not to expect happy faces everywhere
-Not to expect things always go as planned
-Not to expect writing poetry always makes sense
-Not to be discouraged by all the above
-Not to expect life will always be complicated
-Not to rely on themselves apart from their Maker
Uninitiated into gangs out there
I have to do these as a child
And though wolf-thugs instill fear
I have my Maker as a guide
Let’s put time to sleep
We are tired of being stood up
Tomorrow will come
A day we haven’t fret over
Could we have
How much does WORRY go for
In the market these days
I can’t afford it
I have barely enough
To afford a simple life
A life that doesn’t even belong to me
Yet I live it somehow
A life taken out on a loan
Please, put those fires out
Before they burn the terms of agreement
And all I will have is quit notice
Drafted in form of a suicide note
Because life’s troubles came knocking
And I had nothing to show them
So douse the flames –
The passion to give in to all my basest instincts
The danger of many philosophies out there
The desire to do just as I wish every time
Remember I am a loan not a mint
Not even the bureau whose job it is to worry
Enjoy all the Life-Giver affords me
Live according to the agreed terms
Posted in free verse, journal, life
Tagged blogging, carefree, God, loan, mortality, simple, thoughts, worries, Writing
Only once in a whole day
Does the dawn catch me lazily asleep
Never more than once a day
Do I have the privilege of breakfast
As rarely as once a day
Does the rising sun soothe my soul
And just once in a whole day
Do I have to toil under a fiery sun
Only once throughout the whole day
Does the poor afford a scanty lunch
Believe me it’s once a day
Do I enjoy a liberating evening stroll
And only once in my day
Does resting after work make sense
Never as oft as twice in any day
Do I smell a good supper
And just that one time in the day
Does the night speak sleep to me
…Okay, let’s go rogue now!
Most of the day do I cry for the frailty of humanity
Most of the day do I pull through with hope
Most of the day do I feel the poverty of wallets and souls around
Most of the day do I eat and drink anything I desire
Most of the day do I wear a straight face
Most of the day do I feel happy and contented
Most of the day does my mind actively work
Most of the day I am mostly the man I ought to be
Most of the day none of those that happen once a day happen
Posted in free verse, journal, life
Tagged blogging, day, humanity, joys, night, normal, poverty, thoughts, Writing
Thanks to http://www.realityinprogress.wordpress.com for this award nomination. I like what she did with her triple nominations. I also have two awards slung back. Maybe I should also do a double overdue award piece.
You can count on a feeling of adventure from her sites. Her imagination is-and hence, writings are -heavily laden and boldly tainted with the colours of adventure. Like she is a poet of wanderlust. If it were possible, we’d name her matron saint of wanderlusty poets. And she does this in non-voluminous poems/pieces. Who said the witch’s broom had to be long and huge or decorated with engines and wings!
To the questions;
♥ What is your favourite kitchen? Why?
I don’t have a favourite kitchen. I probably should have a customized cuisine because I love to experiment a lot. I also lean slightly towards pastries and pescetarianism.
♥ What you hate the most about people?
Assuming it actually means that, and not what people I hate most, I’d say a proud/haughty/arrogant attitude.
♥ Where would you travel first, if the money won’t matter?
Hmmm….. Big one. Can I resist standing before a huge, terrifying and steepy mountain? Can I not love being one with the depth of the ocean, with all those exotic marine life forms? Why won’t I wanna sleep on the thick jungle floor -the lighting condition at daytime, the humidity and smell of the air, or the animals great and small?
Arrrrrgh!!!!!!!!! I’ll just painfully settle for jung…..
Why would I miss those tall architectural masterpieces, or a flight over the sandy desert dunes, or the rich sight that humanity affords at its epicurean moments in Las Vegas for instance.
I give up!
♥ What is your favourite part of day? Why?
The night when the world is asleep, except for some of us -me, nocturnal animals and inspiration.
♥ Where would you like to live? (anywhere)
A very quiet place equally accessible to a jungle, a river, a long quiet road, and a bustling metropolis. Unrealistic much!
♥ What is one of the funniest things you have ever done?
Ha! I guess the most appropriate is being myself. My mind picks scraps of humour off the most serious, mundane or crazy things/scenarios.
♥ Which movie is better than the book?
Hope the blogosphere will not vomit me if I say I generally prefer a well-directed movie to its book.
♥ What is your favorite song? Why?
Tough one. Let me settle for Audrey Assad’s “The House You Are Building”.
♥ What is the first thing on your bucket list?
If I ever seriously thought up one!
♥ Who is your favorite actor/actress? (name a movie too)
Ha! Hmmm! Let me go for Simon Baker who portrayed Patrick Jane in The Mentalist.
Phew! Nomination time. I am to nominate other deserving bloggers in no particular order (of merit):