…
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Complicated as brushing maybe.Parting hairs was the least of their worries.Unleavened bread will be buttered with sunken stories. Told by the ancestors, drumming pasts slumber and sleep.Rumbling giants speaking into the deep.Plumbing through youthful cries, burdens no mans able to gutter. Oh inner guide, please do not stutter,plain speech, I beseech you utter.
Today’s device assonance,form is poetry prose I tried with using (U sound ) The meaning is related to a dream I had of the drum sound in my sleep. Happy Writing…
This Poem received a lot of positive feedback so Thank you for all the likes and comments ..I’m feeling the love
From One Artist to Another thank you all ,blogging World means so much…
For https://mutafariqkhayalat.wordpress.com/ who invited me to do this .I’m not good at these kinds of things such as:links and tech savvy stuff.. Thank you
When I grow up I’ll fly…
with silver cufflinks
chained to the free
engaged for their own sacred prosperity.
When I grow up no need for money man against man
One toward the penny the other toward the land
Rigid cold,freezing
Broken legs ,so learned to fly
Taking to the bitter dirt
I moved sluggishly on my stubby joints
Parting the mud between
the soul and body
when I grow up
I’ll fly ….
Thanks everyone the most comments on this poem.I’ll Fly, so much love…
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Poetry PotLuck: I Love Lucille Clifton Homage to her Hips even though I am small frame I see my hips as magic too, and her words lift me… the power in a woman… Her Poem moves me to have that Self love talk in the Mirror hey “My life loves me”…
Homage to My Hips
BY LUCILLE CLIFTON
these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they don’t fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don’t like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!
Lucille Clifton, “homage to my hips” from Good Woman. Copyright © 1987 by Lucille Clifton. Reprinted with the permission of Curtis Brown, Ltd. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179615
Naw,naw naw.
Don’t go crying down my kitchen sink.
Shadow-calling God in Make believe.
Somewhere past the moon squares.
Where men are made of snow.
Fiery rains a comin,
Ya can’t fix stupid, everywhere you go.
Poetry Writing Challenge Fog-Today’s form, the elegy ,poetic device Metaphor
Her name was Queenie
I watched her,
swallow down her babies,
then I thought
A mother who consumes her young
Watch out,
Life is Crazy…
true story when I was a kid, My dog must have been sick or maybe the puppies…
Poetry challenge to write about an animal
Can it Be?
Borrowed Love.
And she ain’t dead.
Inside my head.
Stupidly sitting.
.
On highways left side.
But she can’t spare, her own socks full of sorrows,
all because,
she borrowed love.
Day 2,Journey
Mystical Well
side bones,
Brought me here,
like jazz and blues
I dig in high waters…
Dear clutter, it’s been swell. Living underneath the piles of flimsy wash-cloths and moldy shelves.
I’ve tried, and you’ve lied, about the mess nobody makes.It takes courage to thoroughly clean,
Beneath basements and baseboards.
Look what we’ve become!
Shabby and raggedy,always nagging bout the times when you was as fine as oatmeal.
Please.
I’m not asking.Still my space..
Krissy Mosley Ministries 