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God has enabled you to live long
Up to the rare  age of ninety years
Not as a blessing to you whatsoever
But as a curse of Knowledge,
For you to realize the evils you did
During your reign of terror,
when you were Kenya's  president .

You misruled Kenya for twenty four years
Clinging to power like **** on lion *****,
You plunged the country into abyss of poverty,
You established torture chambers
And gave priority to prisons,
Special branch police and detention  camps,
You planted tribalism with passion
Favouring your Kalenjin tribes,
Inspiring them with the spirit of sadism,
That fuelled assassination and public fear,
Daniel Moi your ninety years are birthdays,
Of nothing else but tyranny and dictatorship.

You walked with government money in your bag,
You used tax payers money to cement corruption
You often behaved as a duffer, but a rigging expert,
You suffocated all government organs,
For you to remain a strong man of power
Your  horsemen were villains of villains,
To make you think that one tribe is special enough,
To enjoy political favour in their maximum stupidity,
You condemned Kenya to linger amid despair and mire
With your useless Nyayo philosophy,
That was self-suspicious and derisive to reason,
Making Universities submissive to KANU,
Your Political part that was a mere terror wing,
Chaired by Ezekiel Barangetuny the illiterate,
Who called Karl Marx as Karo Mariko,
He thought that presidential dialogue is food,
Expensive food sold by Kikuyus in Nairobi Hotel,
Your chief aim was to suffocate education,
Campaigning for villages polytechnics,
While you are  a heavyweight torturer of Dons
You; Moi , your name is a curse and public earache.

Daniel Branch of Warwick bemoans you dearly,
in his oeuvre of Hope and Despair for Kenyan people,
He often cites;You shot Robert Ouko the first Bullet,
In the head before you plugged out his eyes,
You ignored his cry for forgiveness and mercy,
Then you dumped his cadaver in the Ahero forest,
For it to be eaten by hyenas, black ants and scorpions

It is epical knowledge  among Kenyans,
But at most the people of Trans Nzoia and Bungoma
That when Masinde Muliro died in the plane
The King's Horseman was around, in the plane
Wielding ammonium gun in his pocket.

Charles Rubia and Matiba Kenneth were unlucky,
They both went mad while in the torture chamber,
Koigi wa Wamwere aged while in Kamiti  prison,
Raila Odinga lost his daer testicles while detained,
You punctured his left eye, he always mobs dears,
Every minute and second, and i am sure you Moi
You can't regret and feel for him, if he was your son?
Your horsemen thoroughly flogged Wangare Mathai
the Nobel Laureate,she won the Prize for nothing,
Other than her successful staving of  the pains
From the ferocious whips by your Kalenjin police,
You jailed and jailed people in Kamiti and Manyan
As if your were possessed by the devil of imprisoning
Or may  be you were possessed, were you ?

You fuelled the tribal clashes in Molo,
You motivated Sabaoits to **** the Bukusu,
You chased teachers of Kisii,Luhyia and Luo tribes
From your village of Baringo,where people starve
for no other reason that was genuine and patriotic
But out of your urge of ethnic sadism.

you made us to sing lame poems;
Jogoo !  Nyayo!Jogoo !  Nyayo!
Jogoo !  Nyayo!Jogoo !  Nyayo!
Jogoo !  Nyayo!Jogoo !  Nyayo!
think about , what were we saying?

You owe apology to the people of Kenya
and all others in the diaspora,
For  the stark misrule and reign of tyranny
You perpetrated on them for two decades,
Your ninety years of life are not a blessing,
But God's timing for you to contrite
To repent and repent  your heinous sins,
I personally wish you not  happy birth day
But humanity wants you  to apologize ,
To those  unhappy families and communities
That you detained and killed their kins.
Advise to Daniel Moi on his 90th birth day
SassyJ Apr 2016
The rattle is shaken and life becomes unfixed
Torrential rains cascades downwards on ancient bricks
These stunning moments have been rediscovered
In wonder all is flustered in awe as the state of silence honks
Love creeps out of tune in time, the unsureness of cold feet
The voice fades, the toned whispers continually erased
Stormed and soaked, stilled and stalked by a heart that stole my dream
Drenched in uncertainty, non-favouring multitudes won't let me be
These flutters flattens and deflated, I stroll and I will not run
The floating fun fares vanishes, the morning bird furnishes
The time capsule evaporated, unstripped and frozen

Ohh, how I wished to plant and harvest inspiration
Wake up with a renewed breath of air, the flowing river
Of the days when the gloom masked, I hated what life had become
How could humanity be so self centred and selfish?
I looked for silence and the banging never ceased
The masses rushed, never to let me be, they snatched my freedom
I inhaled the hope of the freeness and longed for the racing momentums

How so?
That over time the weather collapsed to coldness, the darkness marbled
A nag of the songbirds, as I escaped in the ****** ozone layer
A disconnect of the mind, body and soul; when I saw my spirit sail
A snail sailing on its own course and journey slowly but steady
Reflections and visions of the timeline of growth and fertility
A heart of one, the soul of all, the mind of many, a tongue in sums
The chandelier hanged on a ceiling, high, holding the flickering bulbs
A condense of energy, the modelled nature of a prognostic intervention
A laughter and synergy rests in the symphony of the unsung melodies
Pauline Morris Jun 2016
Can you hear them whispering
There inside my brain
Can you hear them tinkering
Trying to shake lose what is sane
Can you hear them Clamouring
There inside my mind
Can you hear them favouring
With sadness all they find
Can you hear them plotting
There inside my cranium
Can you hear them knotting
All my thoughts till thier alien
Can you hear them screaming
There inside my brain
Can you hear them scheming
They are driving me insane


The voices here inside my skull
Are always chattering, never a lull
They are bent on my destruction
At first it was a sweet seduction
Now it's a roaring wave
Trying my head to cave
I can hear them as plain as day
Can you hear them what they say
Those voices in my head
All them yelling, one thing said
They only want me dead
Dominique Dec 2018
One inhalation of the sky
To separate the murky sea
And reassure you as you cry
The clouds still hover by your knee.

Two puffs of moonlight left behind
As products of the midnight rose
Then let your sorrow be refined
As angels let their weak wings close.

Three champagne bubbles of a laugh
A courtesy sent by a friend
A flash of lightning in the dark
Like vaulting over to the end.

Step four is harder than the rest
As it depends on nature's strain
Abandon sunshine on your quest
And wallow in torrential rain.

And halfway there it's number five
And rhythm marks a saddened truth
A little song to drown alive
A beacon in such inky youth.

A devil's dance at number six
Invest in favouring your greed
Some crime electrifies the mix
Prioritise things you don't need.

At seven let yourself break free
And choke in sympathetic arms
Unscrew the lock and break the key
Because your friends contain some calm.

Except, at eight you'll be alone
Reciting old quotes that apply
And spending hours on your phone
Relating till your eyes are dry

At number nine then, here it is
The scent of fear that smells like grace
You tune your blood to lightly fizz
And brush the tears from off your face

Ten gashes end the whole ordeal
Of shortened breath and shaking hands
Though sunsets bleed the way you feel
No one else will understand

It's not a choice, it's a command.

Now your mind is stressing less
You've cured the chaos with a mess.
(Please don't follow number 10)
God in the great *assembly stands          Bagnadath-el
Of Kings and lordly States,
Among the gods* on both his hands.                        Bekerev.
He judges and debates.
How long will ye *pervert the right                      
Tishphetu
With judgment false and wrong                              gnavel.
Favouring the wicked by your might,
Who thence grow bold and strong?
Regard the weak and fatherless                       *Shiphtu-dal.
Dispatch the poor mans cause,
And raise the man in deep distress
By *
just and equal Lawes.                              Hatzdiku.
Defend the poor and desolate,
And rescue from the hands
Of wicked men the low estate
Of him that help demands.
They know not nor will understand,
In darkness they walk on,
The Earths foundations all are *mov’d                     *Jimmotu.
And *out of order gon.
I said that ye were Gods, yea all
The Sons of God most high
But ye shall die like men, and fall
As other Princes die.
Rise God, *judge thou the earth in might,
This wicked earth *redress,                               *Shiphta.
For thou art he who shalt by right
The Nations all possess.
Pauline Morris May 2016
Can you hear them whispering
There inside my brain
Can you hear them tinkering
Trying to shake lose what is sane
Can you hear them Clamouring
There inside my mind
Can you hear them favouring
With sadness all they find
Can you hear them plotting
There inside my cranium
Can you hear them knotting
All my thoughts till thier alien
Can you hear them screaming
There inside my brain
Can you hear them scheming
They are driving me insane


The voices here inside my skull
Are always chattering, never a lull
They are bent on my destruction
At first it was a sweet seduction
Now it's a roaring wave
Trying my head to cave
I can hear them as plain as day
Can you hear them what they say
Those voices in my head
All them yelling, one thing said
They only want me dead
J B Moore Nov 2016
Tonight is the night, be it All Hallows' Eve
One filled with fright most refuse to believe,
For deep amongst the shadows, silently lurking,
'Tis a terrifying creature, his jagged teeth smirking.

Thou hast all heard of demons, and hast battled thine ghouls
Whilst this terrible beast watcheth with hunger and drools.
It's spittle, like acid, can burn through thine flesh
Making thee so much easier to digest.

No name shalt be found for a creature so foul
That gobbles up goblins, and ogres disembowels.
Dost thou think that thine lanterns shall frighten it hence?
Oh foolish man, it shall consume the light thence.

It standeth hunched over, twelve feet in height;
Stalking thou, watching thou, waiting for night.
It cometh from deep within the forest, as the moon wanes
His fur smelleth of death, his claws favouring pain.

He shan't be stopped ere his hunt is over
Yet he only hunts the thirty-first of October
Take ye heed, then, and hear the warning of the raven
For this beast is coming, and from him there is but one haven.

He preyeth upon the weakest, and the one full of fear
So stand fast, take courage and in another likeness appear
Put on a mask, as treacherous as can be
Conceal what layeth within, do not let him see

Or else you shall be taken, beaten and devoured
For this beast prefers to torture just to see thee cower.
So please, take heed to this warning and believe;
Thou art only safe if thee wearest a mask on All Hallows' Eve.

11/3/16
MissNeona Sep 2014
We started out being cheap,
but being impoverished eventually saved us...

It became a fad,
almost everything did.
Whoever had money,
would spend things to make themselves more connected to the singularity,
more tapped in.
We were all suffering from information addiction,
looking for our next fix.

Likes were a thing of the past,
we didn't just want digital affirmation anymore,
we needed to feel more powerful.

Of course this was just something we created in our mind because we saw others gaining this perceived 'power',
of course if you can,
in your mind,
research,
copy,
paste,
spellcheck
- everything a computer could do,
you would seem more capable of a human,

but in reality,
once you left your mind's energy up for just processing power,
you were nothing more than a machine...
some of us let our minds go entirely,
favouring searches and what is already known to fill in the blanks for our own exploratory research.

Mods weren't cheap.

But so many people were willing to pay for convenience.

- mods help us think,
they can schedule our lives.

- certain ones are just cognitive enhancers,
basically a microcomputer that knows which electrical impulses to fire in your brain for improved cognitive functions,
muscle controls or even releases of certain chemicals (serotonin)

- Others are just things like ocular mods (contact screens)

- Viruses are terrifying.

- New wave of humans who choose to be 'fed' - near braindead. Enabled to know made unknowing,
allowed to follow,
sometimes the struggle is necessary.

Reporter
main character either snaps back into reality or
overpower systems with willpower
she sees past the hiccups of self
and knows how to command the bots

break it down, robot girl,
make the demons dance for you,
unendurable, long and exhausting
are the pains
presumptuous in their plenty
such are these pernicious pains
that swarm in a slivering hiss
upon dark and lurking shadows
aesthetically applauding themselves
as they push here and there
in their wounding commentary
of painful narrative
agonising enough to reduce
the soul to debilitating bouts
of disagreeably damaging experience
with startling exaggerations
that produce disgraceful extortions
upon mind and body
squandering unbearable isolations
fragmenting the cracks
in a delicate structure of personality
uprooting it from a sanctified paradise
providing instead a monstrous, shameful loathing
that makes one choose to become another
other than those unthinking
other than this misery of anguish
other than this pain
deliberately to provoke an anger
the other with ingratiating timidity
or rebellious defiance
favouring a rejection of
all resentful obligations
all that is distasteful
all that is not worth carrying out
such as with a contempt
that allows one to escape into an emptiness
of the ridiculous and the impossible
through thoughts to an absurdity of beliefs
through the deserted streets
the neighbourhoods of the lie
pass the filthy inadequacies
of obscene caresses
where one is mocked
by exquisitely satisfying ******
of vicious pains
pains that control behaviour
freedom of movement
time and space
who appear at corners of the mouth
where lurk sarcastic secrets
now I know in these horrors and torments
that  time has stopped in all dimensions
eternity has ceased
Jacqe Booth Feb 2010
He' a furtive
sneaky quiet boy
scraps of stories at his tongue
Small slips of strings
waiting to be pulled
Undone;
He is nothing without his lies.

Sitting there
with a smile
tattooed
imbued
lips stitched
with invisible thread,
not misread
more unwritten.

He sits smitten
by his undisclosed.
He sits savouring,
favouring the silent stealth
of hidden words.
His privacy is coded, arcane,
It sustains his urge
to keep his as his,
a little something
for his soul, his
alone to feed on.
His alone to feel.
Some time ago one went on a little trip*
To check out the internet poetry landscape
What one saw remained in the mind's tape
A movie reel which had a compelling grip
Poet's comments were of such cliquish old rock
Like being an exclusive remarking club
Outsider verses left out of their hub
The scenery verily stunned one with much shock
One so wishes one had not gone away
A dream of venturing did disenchant
The roads lead to (an in house favouring)
After sighting the terrain's mode of sway
Taking a journey one may well recant
*These vistas weren't enjoyable savouring
You see Rodney was a shy person  where everybody wants to play with him and this made his parents happy thinking Rodney has friends, you see Rodney was sharing his toys he got for his birthday with them and they gave away the item their family were giving him for
Birthdays and Christmas and
Then Rodney thought I have friends mate I Have friends
And then one guy said this shy dude is not like us and the next day he stole his lunch money and when Rodney stared at him
Thinking why aren't you nice like me but Jr. Didn't say that though and then he ignored his signals and went away to tell everyone to tease him but not in the normal run of the mill family way no, the way we will tease him is we will make him feel like he one of us and this will make his father jitter and cause a little situation between him and his father mainly being about protection and Rodney was thinking why has dad changed his way of acting I am making friends at school
They all hated what that big dude did to me but Rodney's dad said don't be a fool Rodney
Don't be a god forsaken fool
They are taking advantage of your shyness and Rodney thought his mates would like him better if he teased his father and hoping his father is wrong about his worries about the other young people but
As Rodney went to school he met Jacob who was really weird because he was getting to know him but the way he clutched his teeth saying be cool be cool but then when the group walked past and teased Rodney and Jacob urged them on saying yeah dudes and then he said to Rodney be cool
I realise those young dudes are big and tough but in this day and age we can't fight them off
But Jacob only said that to Rodney because Jacob wanted those teasing bullies to like him
And Rodney was just a bad smell who should ******* but Jacob said he was cool and made Rodney think he was cool
And then Jacob said be cool and went off to play with the bullies ya know teasing all the geeks and nerds and the autistic people who love to fight
Each other and Rodney went to the library to read and study for his test and he saw Jacob but he looked tough as if he didn't want to give Rodney the time of day and this made Rodney scared of Jacob but there was a soft spot just in case Jacob said be cool, you see Rodney was wondering why Jacob said be cool and the teachers who seem to Rodney's eyes were favouring the bullies and this made Rodney appear to be too shy to express himself and this started a long line of teasing for Rodney and unknown to Rodney the teasing was organised by Jacob because Jacob was jealous because he never went to Rodney's birthday parties and the kids were reaching into Rodney's back pocket to get his wallet and they put drawing pins on his chair and one guy named Peter stuck a drawing pin in his *** because you see Rodney only really opened up to certain people and also Peter Stoke the poster from his TV guide wrecking the entire book and Jacob said I don't want to go to Rodney 's house anyway and Rodney was very scared and started to jitter and his smart manly sticking up for himself thing was turning to voices saying your not a man
You are too Woosey to be a man and Rodney hated this
Because he played sports and he listened to cool music and he teased his parents what more do you want me to do
And Jacob said yeah In a real
Smart *** kind of a way and Rodney started to become scared of people and the only way to beat this scared feeling
He had to try and be like Jacob
Because Rodney was unaware
That Jacob was organising that these bullies just teased Rodney and some dudes said
You are just getting teased Rodney you see you are not getting mucked with you are not a cool kid you are not as cool as your brother and you are not famous because we are teasing you differently to the others Woosey and you are not like Jacob either ok
So, Rodney
Get teased mate
And this made Rodney's father really worried because he really loved Rodney but he was surprised Rodney was acting like such a fool and Jacob
Was sitting in his lounge room watching TV saying I feel really good about myself because I told everyone to tease Rodney and they did and then Jacob said to Rodney
I am a real family person Rodney and you are a hooligan
But really Rodney was getting tired of Jacob and the other kids teasing him at school
But Jacob didn't care and said
Mr shy person Rodney I am not your daddy I am not your cotton picking daddy so don't try and come to me for protection because I will do it again
Just do your homework
Play your computer game and
Don't **** with us ok and Rodney was very upset and took some of his raiders socks and ******* a boy who looked like Jacob  and said you will suffer forever and Jacob and
One school mate laughed at Rodney and Rodney saw that and Jacob tried to cover it up
By trying to pretend like he ****** cares and then this guy who nicked his lunch money said don't be shy mate just go out and be like us be like us be like us and Rodney said don't say mate his name is Rodney
You see Rodney isn't a fucken man and then Rodney's father was starting to give up on helping his son and Rodney wanted to get on with his life
But he became scared that those bullies are going to force a slowdown and Jacobs voice was planted in his head to tease him
I fly not on wings of folly
Nor in self deceit
Destroying my person
I hover not on smeared words
Of Vulturous mission
Nor on Kiteous skill on mother hen
I swaive  on wings of truth
Surging through the horizon
Souring high above the orbit.

I fly across weathers:
Through the sun
Through the rain
High in clouds above the winds
Finding my strength on will
Favouring my cause on trust
Trusting my vision with precisions.
Like the eagle to the eaglet
I spread my wings of love
Conquering Tribes, Nations,
Continents, Race,Religion and Heights.
Thus i fly to reign.
SG Holter Mar 2017
The huge bird tattoo on her  
Back burns like lazers when
Her skin gets warm,

And I, a human radiator
Favouring a sub-zero bedroom
And thin covers not to

Burn an imprint of myself upon
The sheets,
Massage heavy lotion onto her

Cringing canvas, occasionally
Kissing that phoenix rising from
The ashes of her history of

Colder lovers.
Rhianecdote Apr 2015
Nostalgia or Noosetalgia?
Cause it chokes me in it
To recall a world where I existed
Without a limit

Crawl around a place
Inside my head
I can't escape
Unsure if that faded memory
Is real or fake
And did I make it

Did I make it?
For here I am
In a present
I'm unable to open up
Tied down by a past
Too much spoken of

And Will I make it?
To a future where there is no limit
Break the bad habit
Take the leap
Snap the rope
Or end up choked by it?

Pulled back by the past
A rose tinted hue
Blood shot eyes
Of asphyxiation
Fixated on a south facing view

Sunny
Its funny how warmth can be found
In something long dead
Neglecting life
Favouring the thoughts in your head

Gotta Be careful when you
Tread this path
Cause memory lane
Will be all that remains
Nostalgia can last

Fed it will grow
Your time is its payment
And before you know it
Your presents your past
You passed up your present
For your Past and your Future?

What Future?
*All you ever hoped for or looked to was the Past
If you live in the past the payment is always the present and ultimately your future, so let that **** go!

Nostalgias not always a bad thing but for me it needs to be kept in check cause it mostly seems to be a reflection of me not appreciating or being happy in my present.
I long for the touch, warmth of your skin. I yearn for my own. A prized possession more than diamonds and gold.
Cover it with the sky’s eyes. In my mind’s eye, a wonderland painted with chaos in stripes of coloured confusion in all its distorted beauty.
Come with me to my wonderland. Be my fairy-tale.

To the twinge and twinkle of the stars we’ll sway our bodies together in harmonious defeat.
Light up my dark with your smile.
Fill my heart with your innocence.
Paint my walls with the honey dipped harps hidden in your voice.
Soften this sedative of insanity with your love. Dancing in the night. Space filled with emptiness.

Two single souls favouring the stars in melodic motion.
Spinning in the heavens spotlight.
The passion of a thousand burning suns hidden between them.
My escape from madness.

But like a rose; prominent in beauty and tenderness, it withers away.
Crumbling at the hands of immortality.
A symphonic sigh clawed from her sentiment dried lips.

From ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

Life did not live on in wonderland.

No escape from my wonderland

                        © Raffi
worthy of impedance  over time.
cause of this   space is to
   deliver me sleep-shaped. exit lights harbor
   sounds of the coming into just when you are
   born and raised, held completely
         against light    favouring  the source.

undenied, the demand   of   this
     assemble.    in any given climate, moderate
       but will not touch ground.  frothing elsewhere
    true  life, once again this   machine: in between
  labor     and     rest  is   the impossible.  to reach
     for a certain ****** midair. height is  palpable
  and will   rinse   flesh anew, how  urgent
      before i decompose   into   blue shear
         in   sky   face to  face   with   the
   all-too-immediate    rasp    of   ground  pulling
      together,  cast into   the  unloved  water
         breaking    apart   like  mesh   unwanted.

he   is  over   space   and this   is
     to    measure   warmth,   when execution
  is    the     verge  of  undoing.  so  barely-living
    and   claiming  it   so,   the   cause  of this
      performance
           is    to  free    the body |  
    making  past the  divide, careless and  almost faced
      beyond   a forthcoming   of  rescue:
    have escaped, have gone   and   already here.
(20 minute poetry)
Fortune favours the fortunate,
forget about it favouring the brave,
we are slaves to the knaves and the
queen,
king of spades.

The brave fade fast and no fortunes can last
as the dealer throws a pack in the shoe.

What
is nothing new and why it was something to do don't deter and chemin de fer for a fee
cannot make a gambler
or set a man free.

I remain the scab on the night sky,
the pauper that begs you and
you pass me by.

The moon be my fortune
the stars be my trove.

And so I rove
I'm a river
a rover,
two aces up my sleeve two
times over and that's four
of a kind and I find in the
end I don't mind
if I do.
Broken heart
Favouring loneliness
stumbled upon paper and coffee
rewriting the story of forever !!
©shadeofalonelygirl
Duncan Brown May 2018
The small gods of mediocrity worship me
In glimmering shades of opaque vanity
And a quantity of quietly suspended sanity
For believing in me is me deceiving in thee
Cos’ nothing exists inside an empty mirror
Everything is but a shallow showy business
An’ vanity’s the perfect anaesthetic to criticism
It has a certain cachet of symmetrical insecurity
Which protects one from the whips and scorns
Of the too, too solid clever clogging creatures
And their insistence upon a useless authenticity
And several types of other irredemptive features
If thickness was a virtue they’d be geniuses
As things stand they’re an average ordinary
Overburdened by the extremes of modernity
And the necessity to dwell in the sin of originality
No such burden afflicts this untempered soul
A pickpocket in heaven is a smart career move
There are so many treasures in eternal garments
Looking better on me than any famous other
They may have originality but I possess the sin
Tailored to perfection of a finely cut deception
Wrapped in the vestments of deceitful beauty
So befitting on this prince of thieving vanity                                            .
If you have been where I have always been
You could’ve written the Faerie Queen
And several iniquitous verses in between
The fame and fortune of writing anything
It’s a difficult business being someone else
At least on paper and preferably in private
An’ don’t you just love an innocent abroad
Loneliness is always my singular attraction
And sadness isn’t without capricious merit
They’re the essential requirements of being
A phantom haunting in the raiment of deceit
I could shake the scene but only for an hour
Why does everybody know that second-rater
Or some warbling barbed wire singer-songer?
The blowing wind of his twice solid injustice
Denies me my princely literary inheritance
I’ve got more Faust than a beggar’s banquet
I could be them, but they could never be me
So who is the real genius at the literary feast?
That’s the question that they refuse to answer
I’m the prince of all the borrowed tomorrows
And the silver-buckled trampling of history
Who are they compared to me, the thief of faces
A genius at my very own seditious practices?
Skylarks, nightingales and ****** red roses
There’s no purchase there for a born deceiver
Pirouetting upon the landscape of deception
My ancient trade, a slave to modern ambition
And isn’t wealth so comfortably in fashion
Filthy lucre for filthy booker is my very passion
A flattering self obsession can be so expensive
Plundering souls to satisfy a scribbling ego costs
Much more than your average literary bargain
Writing’s cheap and writers are even cheaper
That’s why I became this born-again deceiver
Transient fame and eternal blame’s my passion
Who cares about fifteen minutes of ignominy?
I’ll do it all tomorrow in another stolen name
Addiction thrives by being exposed to shame
Any fool can pen their play or scribe a novel
The romantics always scribble in their hovel
Whilst the past is a very lonely day tomorrow
And written failures drown in present sorrow
But my notoriety is a timeless endless furrow
Ploughed and planted in each passing season
Harvesting the festival of my sweetened treason
And I’m compelled to a very summer’s day
An’ winter springing another written disguise
Favouring my fortune by a winning surprise
Beggaring the belief of a charitable donation
To the swollen coffin of my self infatuation  
Ferreting in the trashcans of the famous
For those half-forgotten reject slips
Nothings too worn or useless for my audience
Even less for my insatiable appetite
To be appreciated as a literary genius
Even if it lasts for only fifteen minutes
In the company of an utterly innocent audience
I’m neither proud nor even vain glorious
It’s just part of my addictive insouciance
I just love that moment in my significance
When I can be seen as someone not average
Not much to ask and even less to deliver
It doesn’t take a genius to be just clever
That’s a joy that I can always joyfully deliver
Twice on Saturday provided one’s a matinee
I will venture on this shadowy way forever
Harming no one except a ripped off author
They should be grateful for the plunder
After all it is a kind of literary flattery
I have standards in my taste for literature
I’d never rob your average written writer
If they’ve mugged themselves, why bother?
A long lost great or an undiscovered genius
Is more my taste and appreciated flavour
New wine is fine but truth is there to be told
I’ll drink anything especially if it can be sold
To any old innocently paying punter
Desperation travels in the company of deceit
And much of it is right up my street
Not quite the boulevards of the ancients
And there I go along the road of the living
Avoiding life’s cul-de-sac dead end
A place to spend a life seriously avoiding
Even if it means inhabiting other people’s clothing
The wearing and the tearing is a riot
An’ God won’t send me to Hades for borrowing
The silken garments of the truly wonderful
But he sure as hell gets mad if I copyright it.
Sin Dec 2015
Diamond tears
Fall upon rusty grounds
The golden stairway
Now stained with time
No silver moon
To light up the way
It's crashed and burned
In a crazy blackened haze

Pearls and ruby's
Scattered along the broken dream
Of what tomorrow
Might, could have been
Replaced with tin
Dull and scuffed

No pavement of royal gems
No raining emerald drops
Just wasted time and fortune
Niether favouring the bold
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2024
[Dove]
/dAv/
(countable, politics) A person favouring conciliation
and negotiation rather than conflict

Spare no fortune to the worth of
these words- pay attention to details
for the bullseye of love, as a dash and dart
Falling in love, as there are many falling feelings
…brace yourself when the bombs start.

Embrace your frightened eyes; holding
onto the sights of your whole world burning
Choked up on your own words, as when an addict
swallows their cigarette- the smoke that's churning

As I’m in a hell designed by the torture to my eyes
the sight of you gone from my life- after the roles we
played from my thoughts; acts of my mind
My love, there’s no need to tremble and hide, like a bird
that had its nest burnt over. Nestle in my love, and I’ll
wash you so pure with my words- setting you free as a dove

We don’t need to negotiated our love;
making love in peace with a piece of my mind
The old grand medina,
Once famed for its great beauty,
With bustling alleyways packed with
common folk and thick smoke
Furnished with eclectic selections
Of vibrantly ranging djellabas
And glimmering lanterns,
Possessing the utmost variety,
And I, favouring a sultry red.

In this bracing climate,
I stroll pass a provincial area,
Witnessing the penury which lies
amongst dilapidated riads,
Surrounded by decaying sidewalks,
Forming the shape of deprecation
Across my face.

However, the most harrowing of all,
Is the plenitude of the crippled,
Deprived of everything but meagre rations,
And a penny to spare.
Pondering over the question:
Does anyone truly care?

— The End —