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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Thursday, 29 May 2014

Fallen soldier

They say soldiers are chosen by God.

When she first held her ink filled gun,
she realised what was destined to be done,
she knew the reason why caged bird chipped,
and it equated to its wings being clipped.

Seeking freedom she sailed over many scripts,
unsure if her words would spite one to choke her in her sleep,
Yet still, held onto her pen, and with it too wrote of deaths pit;
"Death where is thy sting?" In it she now lays stung and asleep.

Soldiers are loyal captives, captains to their God given duty,
destined to emancipate and be emancipated through sacrifice.

R.I.P Maya Angelou, the pen surely is mightier than the sword.

Tuesday, 13 May 2014

Dear Allah,

He's killing me softly!

For guidance I seek your knowledge,
yet fear I might get lost in this voyage.
I trust in you and your voice,
I might not hear it make a sound,
ayeh it does astound me,
when I hear it recited out loud.

Like Mohammed Ali,
I'll carry my match sticks with me.
to remind me of the flames,
that I could dwindle down into
if I fail to win these earth games.

My opponent makes it harder,
his game reminds me that this life;
is no simple ship to sail.
His beckoning temptations;
ask me to tag onto his tail,
yet from his path I seek Holy bail.

The strings of music attract me,
I seek to make a living of their beauty.
yet the tales of the past forbid me.
and I seek not to go against Ye,
nor the Prophet that preached to we.

The preaching seems so distorted,
yet on this new path I am devoted;
to enfeeble my desires and reach your empire.
Still though, I am lost like a child,
crawling to you in this sticky bile,
poured over earth with his quirky style.

for he continues to tempt me,
my eyes now gather sin for me.
but in your silhouette from enlightening psalms
I'll blind them and keep them tamed.
so I can look down and keep from shame;

Like a blind man in this game.
Yet he too, could have thoughts;
so cruel and demeaning.
thus putting me in a dark cage-
impure- weak and misguided;
victim to choice short of forbearance.

He's killing me softly,
aiding my death and giving my heart misery.
ayeh seated on the ground humbled,
I'll read your word and keep bound,
to the ground that makes me and takes me.

Saturday, 10 May 2014


All I want is to go to heaven,

Ayeh I don't have enough coins for the slot,
if only a spot could be bought.

I'd be the first buyer,
of course they'd be many bids

Although, I'd wake up early just to catch that worm,
stand in line and hope to be sucked into the portal.


Still I save coins in my little piggy box,
hoping no takes them and that charity is not a hoax

Hoping to save enough to give out to needy
hoping that it gives me clarity and enables me entry. .

you see I sought religious knowledge;
some things you just don't get from college.


I need ways to take off heavens lid.
partially equipped, I still feel so stupid.

I know right from wrong;
my soul can tell them apart.

But my wrongs tear me apart!
and my good doesn't feel hefty.

So I wonder..

will I be able to lift that lid.
If only I could speak to God,

I'd have thae answer, alas the answers in my mind are a cancer;
whispers so devilish I falter in dis-ease as they spread with ease

So I am lost like a cat meandering as I purr,
Wondering far,struggling just to keep up to par.


So lost I often forget the truth..
I forget that simple pain of an aching tooth,

Is nothing close to the flames of the uncouth,
And that to act all vain can get me into those flames.

I am just one call away from cerecloth.
after which I find out where I'll stay not only for a while

Ayeh, forever..

All I want is to go to heaven,

Yet born into this world so susceptible to sin,
I fear and feel weary in my lack of leverage.

Ken.(speaks out)

"They say Barbie's the one for me,
ayeh that's only in life that's HD.

Could we possibly be a perfect pair
all because we are slim and rare?

She, tight and knit in a top showing some cleave.
I, ripped and fit in skinny jeans with my balls trying to breath...


Now every male is trying to be like me,
yet I am trapped in a body where my soul can't be..


I wish I could help you wipe your sweat,
pep talk your mind from things that make you fret.


Ohh this high definition life,
It can drive you mad like your wife!

Yet I am only papier mache;
there's very little I can say.

Yet everyday,
I am a sales man...

I sell a fake life to a man..

How grand!

My sins are many,
and to different hearts they vary.

I give you desire for money,
to buy my leather pants and jeans so skinny.

I make you chase the sweet life,
looking for Barbie, my sweet skinny honey..

Your friends deem you chubby,
I make you uncomfortable in your skin.

Now life is full of irony, I'm sorry,

For as you seek a diet to get skinny,
many die because they are hungry."
Check out Ken for the prelude poem 


Boys are being told
how to look.
All lean and mean,
like G.I. Joe machines.

How to feel,
like good is bad.
What is real,
yet perfection is a state of mind..

There- there,
wipe those beads of sweat.

You are handsome,
you are strong,
you need to know,
that Ken is wrong!

You are special,
Don’t let anyone-
your physique.

You might be skinny,
you might be fat,
heck! You might like
to wear rags,

Just don’t let anyone
change your mind.

For you are,
as you are meant to be.

Hang man

What would lead a man
to tie rope round his neck,
kick chair out-
from beneath his feet
to dangle in mid-air,
legs violently kicking
as he struggles for breathe,
'fore succumbing-
to thrashing death?

Could it be he loathes life
for grinding him to pieces?
Or is it that he feels too short,
He'd rather dangle his short legs
in mid-air till his snort of air?

Insecurity is no security,
It’s like a guard with a gun feeling fear-
he might as well shoot himself!

life is too short,
to worry about hard times,
things we can't change,
and other things of the sort,
which eventually float away like boats