Today I felt like going through some of my old pieces, see what lay there buried in the deep dark and forgotten dusty memories, and I happened upon a poem I wrote 3-4 years ago. It had been one of my favorites back then, and reading over it today, it’s become a favorite again.
I thought I’d share it with you. Some of you may have read it years ago, but for others, it’s a buried treasure I thought I’d share, this rear day I feel like celebrating some of my pieces, starting with this humble piece, ‘Poem, Yours’.
My love of writing was what inspired it, and I hope somewhere, your own passions starts talking g to you as you read it.
I give you….
Your voice speaks
With written words
Off tea-coloured pages
Visions, images –splashed
In spreading black ink
Your quill turns
With the slightest whiff
That the scribes are true
Freshness of verse engulfs
And dawn-colour steals across
The neon-blue heavens
Like a lover, your laughter floats out
Through the fibrous tangles
Reaching my longing ears
And I hear…
The paragraph that holds life
Sprinkled here and there
The words of love
You are the very poem
You compose in the twilight
You are my favourite creation.
And I read…
The words, the
Feeling behind the piece…
I read you.
Do not go gentle into that good night,rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go quiet without a fight,
rage, rage against the dying of a life.
Do not go silent into the morrow,
rage, rage against the passing of the time.
Do not go discreet with the passing hours,
rage, rage against the careful plight.
Do not go simple into this life,
rage, rage for the quest alike.
Do not go gentle my friend,
go in a frenzy your own way.
(Inspired and propelled by Dylan Thomas’ poetry).
Cry, cry you may.
The words fall on deaf ears.
Noise filters not through haze.
Life, it has but been waste.
Time matters, as long as displayed;
Msgs, txts, the numerous #hastags!
Friends aplenty on the wide world of web.
Yet, very few know what it takes;
to go through day by day.
Life in motion is only motion,
seemlessley going nowhere.
Lols, Lmaos and TGIFs
bring back Thursdays.
But wait… Who brings back this moment? This place? This…something.
You don’t care. Another selfie communicates.
Me, mine, my. How’s my face? status update.
OMG, wtf. Society has abbreviated
in every which way.
So do TC.
Memories fade like the winter chills
a radiating heat that steals the resolve
of even the hardiest villains seen.
Can I tell you a story?A floppy, flimsy story.
Of a fairy who mopped,
the carrot-topped hill.
Dirt, dirt, so much it is.
Yet the dirt only shifted,
Can I tell you a story?
A silly kind of story.
Of a jinn in its bottle
swarming eagerly the opening.
Waiting patiently for an exit
yet held all the magic of the world.
Can I tell you a tale?
A bearded tale of gentry
who bid adieu to his lady
too cowardly to sing
I go as far as the eye goes
I sow as much as the seed grows
I water till the last drop of sea flows
I reap only what the Earth knows.
I, such a word that is hardly a word,
but a solitary letter.
I, I know as much as you will teach me.
This world, it grows as much as I seek.
Not one answer, not one creed.
But many, marching to some distant beat.
I am human.
I am me.
I am cencorsed only by me.
I go as far as the mind grows,
doors flung open, waiting.
I go. So man goes.