Poetry: What is that smell? | R2BsL

She spilled the clouds on the big blue sky
and removed the sun from in between her legs.
She sailed from the string holding night to light
carelessly caroused her throat before her peers.
Whenever she saw them looking at her nipples
she would giggle them until their mountains shook.
I read these tales and still did not stutter
I hit my chest like a black King Kong.
I swore I would bring her tears to touch this Earth
when I sunk a wooden boat in white waters.
I prepared a fist from the gods of my ancestors
It would swing blow jobs on a padded benched-bed.
Came the day I was to be in the history books
As a victor of old, the big “untamable” snake.
When she opened the doors to the Rivers she owned
Some sort of wave didn’t agree with the wind,
she took a deep breath and looked at my heart.
I couldn’t hide the tree waving at the clouds.
Then her sweet oceanic voice shortly asked – What’s that smell?
I couldn’t answer at all, I couldn’t say what it was.

Ruddapoet

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Through my nose today I will speak
Speak of the bearable and unbearable
I will speak of its beauty and ugliness
My tongue will be too loose to speak of
that which the eyes cannot see.

Her beauty gladdens the heart’s heart
She dresses in beautiful colors
Her coats are made of bright colors
She’s light skinned and very pleasant to the nose
That makes it flip its edges like wings.

The other is her opposite
She dresses in dark colors and dine
with flies on carcasses and unpleasant to the
Nose that makes it take cover.
Her Beauty lies in the dark with no bright lights.

Bang-wan.

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Behind walls to a neighbor’s fence
lived a man who served his ancestral court
with wits as bright as the sun’s son
Divinely called to fit his gods throne.

Recognized miles away by integrity,
a hope beacon to humanity,
an exception before conception;
He alone the mandate to rule suite.

Greed away flee from his mentioned name,
society yelled his retirement date
Mothers cried to his good by speech,
Colleagues dry their tears in his empty booth.

Many years crowned him a hero
Until a store to his name cracked
With plenty of dollars rescued
It ain’t corruption? What’s that smell?

Bamvi

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Is that the smell of hips cracking open to reveal this nation?
Is that the smell of burnt memories forgotten on paper?
Is that the taste of desire when tears sour to recognize?
The hands of forgiveness stretches to our hearts
Is that the smell of lies falling on the heads of abandoned concrete?
Broken promises taste like glass.
This smell is how they seduced November
That smell, is two hands soaked in a passion they hate to remember!

Leon