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 Jun 2014
Nikoline
when you feel as
useless
as a white crayon

all you have
to do
is to find
that someone

who prefers
black paper
 Jun 2014
mads
Lately, I've been disassembled,
Rest assured... in shambles.
And my minds been sliding
About the tasteless hardwood floors,
Collecting delicacies unknown to sadnesses.
It's been a while since I've tried to drown,
But I think on the corner of the kitchen
And lounge-room floors,
My mind found something
Worth living for...
How ever subconscious it may remain.
Down and out for the long run.
 Jun 2014
Tate Morgan
A rich man's son inherits want
with no desire to work hands bare
Gives the job to another man
to look out from his easy chair

A poor man's son inherits grace
born of toil and sweat of his brow
He adjudged of hard earned merit
pushes on what body will allow

The rich man's son inherits greed
with what malice it may entail
Thinking others beneath his station
for lack of character he does ail

The poor man's son inherits kindness
which with all others level stands
Then asks the outcast bless his door
to share the fruit of his two hands

Heir to what is the rich man's son
tender flesh that fears the cold
To the poor never gives his time
nor dare he wear a garment old

Inheriting, it seems to me
what no good man would wish to be

Heir to what is the poor man's son
strong muscles and pounding heart
Chipped of a marble character
beloved by all he touched in part

Inheriting, it seems to me
what all good men would wish to be

Tate
This is one of three poems I have converted to a new all video format well worth the look at what I feel is the future of our art.
Original all video version
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/1355765/
It isn't that rich people are per-say bad. Nor that poor people are good. It is the human condition that sets up society by stature. And counts wealth by monetary gain. Money is never happiness. Yet we are told all the time that it is. Look around you. See the multitudes rushing to amass their fortunes. And for what. Women who followed Gloria Steinem's ideals that you can have it all are miserable. Why? Because you can't have it all. You can't spend a life climbing the corporate ladder. Waiting to reach some plateau in your late 30s and then start a family. Children are not easy to raise. So why does money seem to make so many crazy and so many unhappy? Because money can't hold a hand. Money can't read a child's bedtime story. And money cannot make memories that last a lifetime. Shared life does that. Family does that. Descendants are the answer to selflessness. I cannot forget the look of a child's face who waited for dad to come pick him up when we were children. Only to hear again and again dad was too busy to come get him.The dreams of happiness preached on wall street are the lies that will not live forever neither will we. The smiles of children stamped in the mint of memory are the coin of the realm of happiness!
Tate
 Jun 2014
Joshua Haines
I cut myself on the future
I thought of kissing your picture
I detached myself from
lullabies and sorry eyes
only to realize:

I want to make love to you in November,
just before the empty of December.
Where snow blankets
and suffocating leaf-beds
aren't the only dreams
to fall asleep in our heads.

I could hear your voice trip
as my hands started to drip
around your hips and thighs-
You could tranquilize
with your lips and byes.

You look so sleepy-headed
Many words I have threaded
to weave a dream
desperately
but you prefer my
reality.
 Jun 2014
K Balachandran
The blue song bird
mellifluous singer admired
for her songs that melt
even hearts of rock,
riding the crust
of the adoring wind,
swoop,
            down,
                    down,
                              down
wit­hout a thought
suddenly alights,
heroically tries to sit,
on a high tension power line;
yet another of her
impromptu acts like before,
she labors to convince everyone
in a shrill chirping sound
that dangerously she lives
taking life in her own hands.

East wind, her companion tells
she is mistaken; he tries to push
her away from the lethal wire
on which death awaits with its dark hum

"young and wayward bird
you tell me you learn so quickly
from your mistakes, alright
from now and the moment next
lies an unknown chasm
in a jiffy if you decide to fathom it
no time is left for unlearning what it teaches
and reverse your journey
to the winter land  of darkness
from where no migratory bird has ever come back"
The bird so deaf to wind's words,
still hovers above the wire
the wind in warning hums a sad tune aloud.
 May 2014
Rebel Heart
Roses are Red,
Violets are Blue,
Some poems rhyme,
But this one doesn't!
Not everything in life is perfect-you gotta learn to deal with it.
 May 2014
Paula Lee
FLY ME TO THE SKY SPARROW
WITH YOUR GOLDEN GILDED WINGS
LET'S WALTZ UPON THE CLOUDS
AS OUR HEAVENLY ANGEL SINGS
A SONG SO SWEET AND PURE
EVERY NOTE PLAYED A SYMPHONY
LET"S TWIRL AMONG THE STARS MY FRIEND
TO MUSIC JUST FOR YOU AND ME
LET"S TAKE A TURN AROUND HEAVENS' BALLROOM
FOR NOW, LEAVING SADNESS AND SORROWS BEHIND
JUST DANCING TO THE MUSIC
NOTHING BUT THE DANCE ON OUR MINDS
AND AS THE MUSIC STOPS
AND YOU GIVE YOUR COURTLY BOW
I CURTSY LOW TO YOU MY FRIEND
NOT KNOWING HOW TO THANK YOU NOW!
FLY ME TO THE SKY SPARROW
TO DANCE ONE WALTZ WITH YOU
WITH YOUR GOLDEN GILDED WINGS
YOU HAVE MADE A DREAM COME TRUE!
I ALWAYS WANTED TO WALTZ
THANK YOU FOR THE DANCE!
 May 2014
Louise
I just died in your words tonight
and began to slowly fall
In a state of semi consciousness
among soft words, I felt so small

This scenario didn't frighten me
for death it would be the perfect place
I'd give myself to your words
and the soft curves I would trace

I'd caress them with my finger tips
they'd be the last thing I would feel
So gently like they're fragile things
my breath,  they'll eventually steal

In the end I'd lay down quietly
beside each loving phrase
just closing my eyes so softly
holding your words until the light fades
I was listening to the radio and a song from the 80s came on
'I just died in your arms tonight'
That song gets me every time.
 May 2014
Tate Morgan
My first love I gave devotion
in that curious wonderful way
Always searching her for Heaven
while we two spent our days at play

________
To my second love went strength
rock of the heart to be broke in two
So less like the many
so much more like the few

________
To my third I gave my all
bundled and tied within a ring
Breathing the very air of her soul
to me she was everything

________
My first love gave me sight
opening the eye's of man to see
Promising me the world
showing what a woman could be

________
My second gave me arms of love
that on cold nights held on tight
Promising to love me forever
squeezing with all their might

________
But oh it was my third love
that set my mind free
Who crafted a selfless character
then gave my soul to me

Tate
Who can say with any certainty just which way in life is the correct path? It has been my contention and then my conviction, that one is best served by following the heart. It sometimes leads us to pain or the highway to hell such as the road that claimed one of our best and brightest Janis Joplin. After failing twice before to find my own place in life I asked myself. Which is worse to give your all and ultimately fail, or to never truly risk anything? For me the answer lies somewhere within the failure of truth to teach us the value of the real treasures in our lives. Taking stock in ourselves and our own self-worth and given enough time and a bit of luck it will take us to the place where we learn the meaning of love, that place we inevitably call Home!
Failure is only present in he who refuses to risk his pride in the effort.
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/1064634/
 May 2014
Jack
I stood at the crossroads, staring at
directions collected to confuse me
Seeking a shadow that was not my own
Finding street signs pointing past my dreams,
where my new life might lead
and with closed eyes I moved forward

Heard the *** holes laughing
Paused for a passing thought
Felt the sun on my shoulders
Sang a song in my mind without words

Then walked towards the future (let the potholes laugh)
My head held high…one step at a time

Alone…I think not,
as faces appear on the horizon, and they are smiling,
waving me on…challenging me to the tape
Reminding me that the finish line…
is just the beginning
Dedicated to my good friend Paula Lee.
 May 2014
Jack
~

You ask is it fresh, is what fresh I say

The air that I feel on this warm summer day

That soft blowing breeze, which flows past my face

Invisible flight, no color, no trace



But there is no taste, no texture, no feel

If I say it is fresh, would you think I’m for real?

Surely you would, why would I lie

Fresher than fresh, direct from the sky



Just made this morning, a few minutes ago

How fresh do you need it, just let me know

I’ve got plenty in stock; in fact it’s on sale

Marked down today, you just can not fail



The price is just right, affordably so

Enjoy it right here or get it to go

Hundreds of uses, I'll bring them to light

For sailing a boat or flying a kite



For waving a flag or messing your hair

Nothing is better than fresh blowing air

Makes tumbleweeds move on their dry arid trip

Causes discarded paper to roll and to flip



Moves bright colored pinwheels to happily spin

Turns clothes on the line inside out, outside in

And open a window, you’ll see what I mean

That musty old room will smell new, crystal clean



And birds love it too, it helps them to fly

It dries up the streets if some rain passes by

It can come from the north, the west or the east

Or even the south if I dare say the least



It can be cold, chilled to the bone

Or hot as the sun, up there all alone

Blowing softly or hard, hardly blowing at all

Throughout summer and spring and winter and fall



There’s fresh air by day and fresh air by night

Whatever you choose is sure to be right

You’ve so many choices, other places to go

Before you decide, I just want you to know



My air is the best, that’s what I’ve been told

Just look at the sign, over one billion sold

So buy it from me, you won’t have a care

Is it fresh, you may ask...it’s the freshest fresh air
 May 2014
Qweyku
As you attempt to pour more political doctrine down my throat
I check the change in my pocket
for
the laxative I‘ll have to buy
from my legal drug dealer

REALLY!?!

Did you not know that your words are;

indigestible,

incorrigible

&  

wholly corruptible?

How do you manage
to
politically caress your own eardrums
reach
through your sinuses,
tickling
the lining of your
esophagus
and yet,
make me cough?!

Your response to truth is truly painful,
you feel it in your chest,
your ***** heaves and razes
you have a fit gesticulating policies
flipping birds that won’t fly

It’s too late!

Mr "I went to Oxford so I must have the plan"
Mr Self-Interest man
Mr  Ivy-league, Whitehouse, Whitehall...."Cambridge was better",
Mr  I can do all things that superman can.
Mr  “If we win the elections next year”...

Man

Take your leave,
your term is over,
School is out
&  
the old boys no longer love you.

Time!
to
run for
cover,
under the
colour,
of
your favoured
currency umbrella.

But

If you’re African  
"it's okay"  
you can stay a little while longer
and bequeath the throne
to your brothers', sisters', uncles', sons' junior brother!

Turn it into a dy-nasty

Bring on board;

Kwadjo,
Mary,
Abena,
Kwesi,
Uncle Nepa,
Sista Tism
&
Aunt Ivy.

Ah-Geee!!!

This nonsense is highly unpalatable
I’m past the word puke
my bile sack is empty
because your drunkenness is spreading

&  

y o u’r e

s t i l l

b l o w i n g

m e

f u m e s!



Your democracy
has made your Guinea-Pigs
demi crazy,
has captured this poets’ goat
Slaughtered it
&*
mandated this verbal frenzy

Enough!

Of this alcoholic experiment
I’m not drinking anymore,
I’ve cried blood!
and now *"my eyes are red"

Looking forward
to being 'tee-totally' sober,
while
U


c o n t e m p l a t e

t h i s  

v e r s e

o f

p o e t i c,

p o l i t i c a l,

M U R D E R.



**© Qwey.ku
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