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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Sunday, 29 June 2014

Moon and her friends

Moon is beautiful and often bright,
night is wild and often plight.
and it's friends are such delight, 
they intoxicate us then they smite, 

Drunk as skunks, we're weary lots
so all her friends they start to hoax
swoop our minds and keep them locked
on idle thoughts and naughty talk. 

Bra strapped for a day.

Bra strapped for a day

From mars into Venus,
I'd be sent into her womb,
to germinate then curl up
warm and cosy in her belly,

She'd feed me,
I'd kick her,
they'd touch me,
ayeh, like an artefact;
I'd be sealed in.

As I pray to be born and breed,
into a wealthy family with bread.
that way I'd be assured of beauty.
Do you oft see the wealthy hideous?

When her balloon pops,
and gives breath to life,
I'll roll out like yarn,
ready to take on the world,

fill it with tearless squeals,
comic gaga's and gugu's
tears of joy and sorrow,
and falls giving me bubu's,

When I fully mature,
and speak without fear,
when they understand me,
and can finally bare me,

I'd have no time to waste,
in this fast world full of tests,
and I'd grow a load on my chest,
'least it'd be packed to attract,

I'd have beautiful hair,
plate it in tuts and swas,
bate and test boys with it-
to see who'd dare to care.

My father would spoil me,
buy me jewels and fuel,
high heels to please rotten me,
and I'd still treat him cruel.

I wouldn't be mama's favourite,
but heck! I'd be daddy's little girl.
She would complain about my ways,
having forgotten about her days.

I'd be sent off to college,
to lollygag through a system-
where I'd throw sin in my bin-
when college stud takes a win.

Out and finally into the jungle
living a perpetually contrite life,
I'd carry on in constant strife.
it's human nature so I'd tussle

Unluckily; my ambition would be challenged
they'd have lied to me about making my way,
til it dawns that I'm grown and I've got bills to pay.
Luckily; I'd be "Inherently beautiful."

So some cursed fellow with money
would make his way to call me honey.
When I'm content and bored-
by his nagging yet charming efforts.

I'd let him in, and-
when he "comes,"
we'd move to Rome;
and find a home.

We'd be madly in love,
so we'd throw away the gloves,
I'd do my dance like a star,
keep him from straying far.

And with hot melting pot,
I'd cast a spell onto his tummy,
watching it to keep him yummy,
till my time comes to be a mummy.

Then he'd know why he's cursed!
I'd throw tantrum after tantrum,
he'd have to bare morning sickness,
and pamper me like a baby.

When the children make there way,
and labour pains have come to an end.
wedding bells will be our trumpet,
the kids our hell, yet also our heaven.

I'd have stopped trying to keep him around,
It'd be his choice to stay or play around,
for by then I'd be trying to make ends meet,
trying to keep my family with a plate of meat.

Of course he'd be buying it;
it's African nature; feminist displeasure;
Nevertheless, I'd be cooking-
it'd be my outright pleasure.

Then when all is said and done,
and God thinks I'v had my run,
the night and it's pale moon,
will come along to end my day,

Give me bliss and comfort
by unhooking me from life's tight straps.

Mr big D***

Mr big D***

They now call him Mr big D***,
 "schlong" now please their tongues;
yet he no longer resembles,
the statues assembled;
out in Rome of earnest men
that worked with their tiny pens.
Men that toiled in raised dust.
depicted as brave and ripped to bone.

So the bitches seek Mr big D***,
to get them home but not too quick.
So he moves from home to home,
and pleases ladies with his bone,
as if he were some kind of god,
yet he acts stray like a dog..
entertaining short lived gratification, .
to satisfy insatiable desire.

love is a form of communication
that has to be studied diligently,
in order for couples to find satisfaction.
Sexual prowess as an requires mastery,
when attained it aids relationships
ailing due to lack of patience,
on their journey of love making.
lack of patience blurs our thinking.
we start to find quick solutions,
for us to attain short term gratification

He says, she says

Everyone believes their input
is always more than the other.
Especially after the tree,
that once held them-
comes falling down.

Then their trunk of love,
that once held them together
lies on the floor,
somehow still useful,
Ayeh; hopeless.

"I cared more,"
"No! I cared more."
"You gave me so much shit,"
"Do you know how much you put me through?
I am glad we're through, crazy, I still love you."

"You never cared!"
"Look whose talking!
Not once did you say to me,
honey, your look beautiful."

"Hah! If only you'd make up just for me,
then veil yourself all the way home,
running to come and show me. But noo,
It reaches here after thousands of eyes have lusted,
appreciated, and still you want my compliment."

"These men don't know how much we put in,
they think loving them is easy."

"Gosh! these women drive me crazy!
They keep saying we're lazy..
Yet we; take out the trash,
go off to work,
go out buy the groceries,
take the kids to school."

"Did you raise them?" they ask.
Then he says-she says becomes a trend.
It's all amazing yet overwhelming,
we never really appreciate each other.
like the world out there isn't hard enough.

Can't we all just look closer,
and appreciate the good and bad,
for they're all life teachers.

                 .   .   .

Stoned to death

Stoned to death.

"People are sick!"
Mama said after reading some drama.

They's many ways to die,
alone in your sleep as you lie,
after over dozing on sleeping pills
driven by sorrow over tons of bills

Or on the train tracks,
when you're feeling out of luck-
like no one's got your back.
so you jump into death's sack.

Or by the bullet of a rebels gun,
shot to your back you as you run,
far from a so called "servant of God"
deeming your ways ill before the Lord.

Or by the hands of the people
casting you high like a steeple,
nailing you to hang on top of a cross,
yet your death brings them great loss

Or by the power of the law,
hanging over reasons you don't know,
could be you fought righteously against it,
to save the hopeless stuck within it.

Or by loves great cause,
where you overlooked all flaws,
eloped and forgot about laws,
then got penalised into death's claws.

Punished and buried in stones to death,
thrown by those who gave you breath.

I found my mother sighing after watching news,
so we started to talk about what she had seen,
So this piece was inspired by the news headline,
A man and his lady had eloped; however,
under the sharia law they became outcasts,
for their act and were stoned to death.
It's a sad world sometimes...
a song that often makes me ponder on this situation
is Jailer by Asa... check it out,

Also check out the poem mother knows best,
All of these are conversations had with my mother

Prom queen

You bent on knee,
gave your all to me.
I thought it fiction,
then it turned into;
a single cast sitcom.

The sand glass flipped-
after I made a fool of you-
as if your tooth was chipped..
I presumed false identity,
then my time came to pay indemnity.

Yet when I set my eyes upon you,
my blood crescendos-
to a sexual innuendo,
where my brain clocks out
and is thrown out the window.

Our game of thrones
was won by he; unknighted.
I, king took throne despite.

Yet besides me;
one I did not pick to be queen.

I chose you as queen,
despite the chosen one
dressed slightly obscene,

Albeit, you my monarch
now rule me over.

I could bend on both knees,
ayeh, I seek not to worship thee.
and the fact that you first bent knee,
makes me unworthy of your knighting;

To serve as king to your love.

Petals of joy

Petals of joy.

Rays of sunlight partially blind me-
from seeing what I a meant to see,

A fairly moss filled step holds me, 
as palm leaves sway and whisper,

A form of silence encompasses me,
words chipped by birds surround me.

Words I do not understand, ayeh; 
they somehow give me comfort.

Amid my serene surrounding; echoes, 
echoes of an irritating buzzing stereo,

Biasing joy larking in my atmosphere...

Below beauty of a rose petalled plant,
always lay rotting remnants of its petals. 

Mother knows best. (The white sweater)

After washing her clothes,
the question of hanging-
came into clause.

Out the kitchen door,
was the line on which we hung,
below which by the corner-

the drain pipe led to a manhole,
neglected and full to bream,
in need of immediate cleaning.

It smelt foul like rot.
we were used to it's sting
and it's foul looking stream.

she cursed and complained,
I tried to explain but all in vain,
until she had us clean it out.

for the other option wasn't suiting,
so I had to help her do the cleaning,
so she'd hang on the only option fitting.

After the day had sailed away,
it was time to pick them up,
I took them off except the dump sweater,
which I left to chance hoping it'd dry.

"Will it rain tonight?" mother asked.
"No chance!" I said.
"Ayeh naboineh ebireh.."
(but I saw the dark clouds)

I tried to gamble with chance,
chance showed me I had no chance,
the rain came trickling from nowhere,
just like mothers instincts foretold.

I quickly opened the door,
and there it was(the white sweater),
laying on the ground we had cleaned earlier,..

If you haven't read stoned to death & Dear mother,
These are simple poems dedicated to my lovely mother.

The innocent beauty of evil

When evil smiles to lure you,
you can lose your panties-
hand them over willingly,
and tell it to come back soon.
When Evil over powers you, It's pantie dropping time! lol

Food to harm and heal your soul

It's so easy to forget how-
addicted most of us are to music.

Here's how to check your relapse;

Who let the dogs out...
Who run the world...
Oops I...
What goes around...

Music is food to the soul, true.
Ayeh if you consume too much,
It could harm you unknowingly.
Silence is peace to the soul,
find some alone quiet time.

A rainbow of the deluge

Down comes rain,
amassing us with blessing,
reigning over us with hope,
yet alas destroying crop.

A gun could save a life,
yet also injure another.
So as the rain shoots-
insanely through the sky,

It carries blessing,
sent from heaven as tears;
tears filled with joy and sorrow,
abreast lightning and thunder.

After which, a rainbow of hope,
glows towards a pot of gold.
guarded by butterflies,
and little elf in green.

Proving that grass-
is surely greener on the other side,
and that despite our faults,
there's always a chance for reform.

"I love you, but I hate your sinful ways." GOD

Breaking my thirst

I'll sink my jaws in sand,
so it can absorb the urges-
that cause me to drool like a dog,
pant like a hyena and if this fails,

I shall seek an oasis in desert.
read me clear; not anymore; 
a mirage of hopeless dreams;
ayeh, a pond of deserted water.

And in this elixir,
I shall dip myself like seed,
and sprout anew like cactus,
with thorn like epidermis.

And I shall have no need to quench lust. 

Season greetings

We often float away.
sailing on different waves,
unsure of oncoming tides,
carried by strong currents-
affecting us in our lives,
or in the lives of others...


As I sail this seasonal sea,
I am filled with immense joy, 
when a fellow sailor says "ahoy"
for the seas are filled with ploy.
So it's comforting, it feels like -
I've seen sun raise over water,
or survived a night's rough tide

Holy matrimony

Your eyes besiege my every thought.
Hence I write this as due testimony,
'fore the morning blessing goes away,
and leaves me with no worm in hand.

Your eyes besiege me my every thought.
My forty days of fast might be sending pay; 
ayeh, I'm head over heel so who am I to say,
yet I give not grass its glistening morning dew?
I can only believe and patiently like mantis,
prey over you like gator with jaws of love,
wide open awaiting as you're contemplating,
entry into our sanctuary of holy matrimony..