The stream (all workshops)
After my morning's dawn surprise
the shadows whispered my name, aloud;
my mind had no way to process
because my memories began to crowd.
Then, I became as one of them
replaying over in my head,
all of the ones that brought me joy
but, the sad ones stayed instead;
and as I floated ever upward
my view increased ten fold,
I saw all my friends, and family
and they all appeared so old.
I saw no spectrum of colors
at the end of every day,
there was nothing but dark shadows
all different shades of grey.
There was a deafening silence
that eerily vacuumed up air,
there existed not one lullaby
with a sweet melody, so fair.
I knew only of pure sorrow
my smile would not deploy,
I wrestled with my heartaches
as there was no word for, joy.
But, all that changed forever
when I saw inside your eyes,
my sadness turned to retribution
and my smile I can't disguise!
Born on a dead and lonely planet
She opens her eyes to witness a stark new day.
All she has is her mother's grave.
Aftermath of apocalypse
will her world re-populate?
Walks the earth imagination working
where did the human race go?
Will they return, or is she destined
go mad on this godforsaken world?
Echoes From a human voice reverberate.
But it is only a recording,
a masculine tone she can not fathom.
The words he speaks, afford some solace.
I'm trying to have an intimate discussion
but the bastard keeps repeating himself
and I just know I'm going to be late.
"Haven't you learned anything?" the wind
seems to say, patting me on the shoulder
so that I turn around and wonder who.
Now, i don't know which way to go for the
rest of this poem, and I'll be damned if a horned
owl can penetrate my deepest concern.
Wee hours of the morning, I writhe as I write
My soul is tortured, and I'm drawing blanks
There is something here in the deepest of night
Will my muse appear, if I drop and give thanks?
Black shadow of perspective, hidden from me
I know you lurk there in the back
I stand on tip-toe, trying to see
Looking through a small jagged crack
I hear whispers of presence, I know you are there
There is horror in this unsleeping room
The empty halls don't lead anywhere
I stumble, flail away to my doom
I held back waters, raging sea
for days, building inside me
words of contempment
spewed from your lips
weakened my resources
Days of sandbagging
building leveys
protect you from my wrath
gave way to alcohol
touching my lips
Now sea bursted
leaving no stone unturn
your city lay bare
eyes of those watching on
hoped I would just shut up
Tone down outrage?
soften blows to your ego?, but
what about my integrity
trampled down
left mangled
The future is unwritten, only time will tell.
The only certain event in this chapter book we call our lives are the goodbyes.
We struggle to find that one special thing in our lives, that one thing we'd do anything to hold on to.
We'd fight for die for just to keep it safe and hold on forever.
But in the end you have to let go and say your goodbyes.
Goodbye to your love ones.
Goodbye to your hopes and dreams.
Goodbye to those wishes you been wishing since 13.
The sound of sweet peace will never come so quickly, but defeat lingers in the air.
Death shows me no mercy, he laughs as I fall and beg, he doesn't care.
My screams in the night are drowned out by the wind, as I beg for forgiveness for all that I have done.
But however, I do not beg death or the one greater, I beg forgiveness from you.
I am nothing just another waste of space among the rest.
I am nothing special just another scar upon flesh.
I have accomplished nothing as if I learned nothing from the past.
The oracle predicted, not long ago
That an unusual change will come
To the great house of Akwa Owo
When a minor will be made a king
We found it hard to accept as true
Due to convoluted conditional ties
And unfeasible demands of the gods
The struggle for the crown came hard
Between the three big clannish lords
Who felt it was their bequest to rule
From southern seas to desert north
Leaving the vassals to find their holes
A hindrance of some sort, thus created
For the aspiring ethnic minorities
White down
so high
and yet so lowly, soft,
your flecks of light
where brown turf darkens
damp,
so innocently growing
'spite the weather,
torn clouds,
against the blue or grey,
beside you green of moss
stone, heather,
grasses, hay,
not lauded
given honours like the rose
but there the mountain knows
your sweet repose.
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