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I want to create a thread of poems. Anyone interested in joining in? #Poetry #Poem #poetrycommunity #Friday #SpokenWord #artists
Self Pity.

A dusty path,
But there are cleaner routes,
Yet, you chose to be soiled with earth,
Standing mocked before elites,
Your confidence muffled by a swathe of flies,
Your nose piling up unused water that dripped down your jaw.

You chose to be robbed of choice.

The mother of errors,
Always unknown,
Muddling right in a wrongful way,
Pointing evil in an unstoppable direction,
It never meant harm,
But brings blood to the table,
How did it nestle all alone?
Waving to no-one in motion?
That woman.

She came prepared,
The pounding in her chest raising dust from the earth,
Fledgling a concocted bust of rapid renaissance,
Denying fire it's air.

There is no ease in her baking pot,
Her body beats men to a sorry state.
You have found nothing.

The air you breathe is rented,
Uhuru is mystery in an absurd performance,
Try a needle on your skin,
This journey begins from within,
You should know,
How to find your head once buried in a castle in the air.
These ones.

Lagos, fuelled by misfortune,
A horror show of heat and singing demons,
A cruel search for dirty currency.
Sandwiched on a northern toast,
Infringed by a dream for a epicenter.
Abuja, efflorescence run by a facade,
Slapping into half-baked essence.

A rhetoric,
One big, meaningless question for nothing gentle,
Sitting on a pile of metal.

A fading gold,
Drowned by emptiness,
Longing for a culture that no longer exists.

Tired and wrinkled,
Battered by the old, northern wave.
The Woke World.

Fleeced by a passing time,
Their darkened hearts powered by ambiguity,
They eat today and bury tomorrow,
In haste to merry with consequences.

I found a bum with an iPhone,
A plate waiting under.
African leaders.

Mounting a pulpit of feathers,
Spitting fire,
Legs chained to the golden stool,
Hands clicking away, at eternal pictures.
Look what we found...
A beautiful speech from a toothless mouth.

Tell me, again,
Hey, let's make children tonight,
Our sheet is covered with oil and sweat,
Let our souls blast through the furnaces of lust,
So, open widely to the heresies of the moment,
I want to commence,
How much is pampers again?
( alarm rings)
My Wife.

This woman I share the same plot with,
I can't promise much, not on the microphone,
But inside our iridescent bedroom, you know,
These things I speak of,
If God's speed permits,
The long, tireless drive I promised through the heart of Mona Lisa would be.
I would plant kisses on your face in Macau,
Massage your back under the glitz of Miami's sun,
Laughter harnessing us on a familiar Dubai spot,
Before having a splash in the Bahamas.

Let me complete this somewhere in Japan...with our little Queen.
Let those who breathe #Poetry gather here.

To words that can't talk, let's give them a voice,
To hearts that can't speak, let's share their thoughts, written on this visible wall.

#PoetryInMotion #Haiku #Sonnet #SpokenWord #Poets #Arts
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