Critiques and Revision
(3/5/2014 1:24:00 PM)
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Books full of brick blocks of text,
Full of inscrutable sentences,
Full of jumbled letters, numbers, figures.
Words cascade into my mind,
Held for a moment of intense concentration,
Then seeping, leaking, escaping.
Eyes blurry with forced focus,
Steel shutters clamping them together,
Onto swollen purple pillows.
Why isn’t it going in?
You’re not ready.
You’re going to fail.
Inhale, rip, exhale.
(3/3/2014 5:05:00 PM)
I've stumbled upon this place
and have chosen to show my face
My words shoot out with haste
with a sweet n sour taste
I talk of peace no waste
with no hate to debate
i love life and cant wait
to see whats beyond the gate
life has me saying
this worlds so amazing
from the songs that keep playing
to the love im incased in
heres where im placed in
I've tried to keep my soul pure
using positivity for the cure
though life sometimes a blur
ill get through it I'm sure
We all have the power
to stand up not cower
stand tall not cower
our minds can open as if a flower
raining down goodness as if a shower.
this poem has gone in motion with the words im showin
not realy any skeleton to hold in
no reigns here, no veins clear
just flowin freely with no fear
(3/1/2014 11:20:00 AM)
Listen to the day breaking silently
Dawn is the coming of the day mercily
Morning grace the Earth with flair
In peace, awakening souls without fear
Gracious must he be who brings morning
For from heaven a book came down not falling
Day is a gift of life
Stolen by the night in vie
That yesterday can be yesterday;
Such is the blessing of life
Day by day
Let me hold a hand
Let me hope in the land
As long as the beloved's name is cherished
For bountiful blessings; I feel no need
To unending blessings; I pay no heed
Forgive me, my lord
I swear that-
From you, Morning is gracious enough
From you, Morning is forgiveness enough
And when the day breaks in time
Divine mercy is promised in time.
(2/26/2014 5:42:00 PM)
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a keyboard and bleed.”
- Ernest Hemingway (edited)
The Honest hypocrite & the Bag with All the Food
There is a strange calmness in the dark,
I don't feel peace.
I feel nothing.
Groping for a path in this eerie nothingness,
I reach out,
Tumble all over and rise again.
Actually, I was just staying still,
I said it all to appear a stronger person.
Ahead there is light,
I don’t want to go there.
I have become accustomed of the dark,
Doing nothing, just staying still,
Like dead bodies, less dead.
Life is very taxing,
You have to walk around to get somewhere,
And, I was a careless person,
I couldn't walk a yard without falling.
So, I have a lot of cuts and stitches on me.
Did you know, I have fought a lion and came out alive?
In oblivion, there is serenity.
That and the fact that I am a lazy person,
Keep me in the cave.
“But, you can’t spend your life in a cave?”
The rational-me argues.
“Well cave is a part of this earth with free oxygen,
And I have got a bag with all the food.”
That’s how you convince rationales.
You say intelligent stuff that mustn't make sense.
The rational me now wants a slice of pizza. (Huh)
The only inconvenience I have is that,
I can’t read “The fountainhead”
(I really love this book,
but I haven’t read it till now.)
So, now I want light to read the book.
No, I don’t want light around me,
But I want light to read.
I may have fought a lion,
But, I am afraid of the bats,
Are there any?
Yes, even we hypocrites are afraid.
There are no bats, but a group of fireflies.
I remember being called one,
and calling someone.
Memories of home compel me to go out.
“Atta boy. It’s tranquil here.”
The rational-me tries to convince.
The rational me really likes pizza.
“You won’t have to give an exam,
you won’t have to worry about ambitions,
No society, no responsibility, no work.
Here it will be me and you,
Just two honest hypocrites.
Outside there is a world of them,
And they are not even honest.”
I think accusing people of hypocrisy is hypocrisy itself.
The argument sticks with me.
In fact, I’m just too lazy to move.
But, arguments can’t stop memories,
I remember faces midst the dark,
I remember my promise,
Of becoming a comet for everyone I love,
Just to make them smile when it’s dark,
Maybe that was just me being pretentious.
But, isn't a promise a promise?
The wounds which I show off like tattoos,
Promise to bleed if I move out,
Because, they are wounds,
and, everybody loves the possibility of not having to move again.
But, I seem to have overestimated my hypocrisy.
I don’t know how,
But that seems to be the case.
People who aren't even there,
Push me to move out.
Their smiles are the master,
And I am the genie,
I have got no choice but to say,
“Your wish is my command.”
My personal big bag of ambitions,
is also screaming at me,
Inside of it, are my passions and dreams.
They say “We hate being the calling of a hypocrite,
But in the end, we are your calling.
And, If we don’t get real,
We will be fine.
You, on the other hand...
So, in the end, despite not liking it,
I have to move out.
I have got calls to answer,
I have got wishes to fulfill,
I have got to go back in the murky world,
And work till I sweat, even if I’m lazy.
Love sure makes you do terrible things.
People make you go through terrible times.
Mark my words; they’ll make you try when you want to give up.
The wounds, true to their promise,
Start to bleed,
But I smile when I bleed
and, I feel stronger,
despite my wounds or maybe because of them.
Or may be, I am just pretending to be stronger,
But it feels the same.
The wounds are happy for me,
and they bleed even harder.
Because sadly, that’s the only thing wounds can do.
(2/24/2014 1:40:00 AM)
It was real here
Of that am triple sure
It’s still in me
Vindicated with a warm heart
Maybe it’s wearproof
I wonder if it was the same on the other side
Was it real too
Or it was just to make me feel good
Was it love or just lies, or even worse, lust
Was there real chemistry between us
Currently, its love in motion
It will never get finished
I won’t be able 2 sing it
Like the unsung song
Its uncompleted chemistry
By Isaac Banda
(2/23/2014 6:59:00 PM)
Shaken to the core
Just now, up there, along the ridge
where the sylvan way is worn.
I wrestled with a stranger.
You can see my clothes are torn.
He did not let me pass nor
to my mannered bow accede.
We wrestled for my very life,
this other man and me.
Exhausted in the physical
we stood apart awhile.
Tell me who you are, I said.
He only looked to me and smiled.
Alone again I found myself.
my pain was not for naught,
for in my head I heard this said
“Today with God you fought.”
Okeme James Jerome
(2/22/2014 11:29:00 AM)
WHO IS RESPONSIBLE?
The dishes piled up unwashed,
Kitchen floor messy,
And cobwebs decorating the ceiling.
Who is responsible?
Taps left running
Water racing to the soakaway
Bath tub soapy and slippery.
The mirrors displaying blur images
Not leaving out the stained sink with paste.
Who is responsible?
Beds have become boutiques
Pillows turned foot stools
Dirty clothes pleading for the
Coming of the laundry man.
Rodents dwell in the caves people call shoes.
Who is responsible?
Nowhere to sit in the sitting room
The chairs are asleep
The couch dusty,
Rugs and carpets sandy
Flowers and grasses gone wild
Who is responsible?
Not me! No! Not me!
Everyone cry, not me!
“It is not my duty to do that”
Some will lament
So, who is responsible?
“I’ve got no time for such obligations”
Others will say
Let no one wait for anyone
Because everyone is responsible.
© Okeme Jerome
(2/19/2014 11:36:00 PM)
| Read 1 reply
The Small Things in Life
It's the little things in life that matter the most
Those things stay with your heart very close
It can brighten a frown to a smile
And make someone's day worth whiled
It doesn't matter if you're receiving or giving
It makes your life worth a living
These small acts of kindness keeps the world go round
Gods in the sky and were all on the ground
He can't do it all
So we need to step up, even if it's something small
So the next time you see a chance to help out
Don't forget, this is what life is all about
Helping each other find the way
In this life we live every day
It can be hard
But we all need a good card
So when our days are slowly coming to a stop
We can make it to that mountaintopReplies for this message:
(2/15/2014 9:55:00 PM)
Safe for now….
The writer finished the book;
Now comes the hard part;
First the scrutiny by the experts –
the priest, the bishop and the mulla.
Then the special reading before
the CPB (committee for prevention of blasphemy) .
Before going to the ultimate test by
the CPO (committee for prevention of obscenity) .
After that would be submission before local magistrate,
To be certified that it would not hurt
She was fortunate.
Her publisher would handle all that for her, but
the hard part was signing of the agreement
obliging her to withdraw and the pulp the book,
the work of a lifetime,
if anyone at any time complained of
wounded religious sentiment.
Just thinking of it made her sweat.
With a start, she opened her eyes,
Realizing with relief;
All of it was just a dream!
At least for now….
A Michaelle Yarbrough
(2/13/2014 9:21:00 PM)
A Level Of Misconception
Does a man turn away from right and good
Brought to the fact of humility not being able to provide
Children crying day and night denied everyday necessities
A lack of pride in being a man among men
Perceived lazy by a society that never has been hungry
Does man lack character, ethics, and moral stability
On dark cold chilling nights with no shelter or stillness
Caught up in a fight for mere wake in the morning survival
Things never perceived when childhood dreams were dreamed
When does enough become enough for you and I
How many go postal events or deaths in the streets
For the norm not to be normal in the sight of us all
Suffered long enough to bring suffering to an end
The level of misconception considered deeply