Poetry: P-O-E-T-R-Y!


It all begins with a hunger
A decision to feed longer
And then you decide, of food, the type,
Of ingredients, and fruits that are ripe.

And then you shop for devices,
Oops, i meant for spices,
For an ensemble,one satisfactory,
Not the outcome of putty.

Cut, steam , simmer, cream
Write, edit, rewrite,trim.
Stir, drain, serve
Recite the words to those who ‘starve ‘

Poetry is like cooking;
A good taste makes for good eating.
A bad taste upsets your customer
And makes your business suffer.

Nothing else matters
When our hearts and heads commune
Allowing our fingers to cum, hmm
At the very climax of our hearts banters

Let your imagination come out into the ether
Tell tales of how you survived the weather
Dip into the abyss of your heart
And pull out your soul into the earth

All things dark and beautiful
All shades of white and black
All things grim and wonderful
Are birthed from the poetry sac

Take me into your soul
Feed me from your own bowl
Let us cry into the past and dance away the symphonies
Let us laugh about lost tomorrows and carve out lasting memories

For a finger-licking piece
Marinate your lines in peace
Over a period of time
Ensure to sprinkle some rhyme

Careful the flames with which you cook
Too much words give a paltry look
Salt to taste, your image and theme
For poetry is like a team

Balanced, it gives off victories taste
So take your time to write with no haste
Muse does come with her own aroma
A sweet taste that fills any arena

To poetry; fill my nose with the air your lust lost
Let me breathe the joys your peace greet
Weigh my pose with scales mercy costs
Let me write of words that do sound sweet

You have been chosen to sit beside me
What’s with you and setting me free?
Dipping your feet in the same slippers
telling this ground that you are a keeper.

Oh don’t even begin to bring clouds to my rain,
for hailstorm only knows the breeze of my pain.
Fine rhyme, wet kind
In mind, do find.

Horse of the sacred order of the miles
Reach out your hooves to shut the crocodiles.
Use four steep stories to build a page,
then sit with the applause and count my age.

Name me, I beg you disdain us
Call night, please remain a cuss
Full of grace of holy sane
Hold my brain in the blood with stain.

I am the sum total
Of the pain of my people
The anguish stomached
In the womb of a nation

The poems I write
Are pain killers
I take them in doses
And overdose
Numbing the pain
That may never go away


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