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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Thursday, 21 January 2016

Promiscuous Desire

Promiscuous Desire

The gazelle in your chest,
runs fast from the predator;
the jungle lion, til' tis
hunt down n' battered-
with heavy paw and claw,
blood on the floor-
skips beats and weeps-
the mighty one feasts.

I have felt its power,
I have felt its prowess,
its finesse and stealth.
I have succumbed to it;
as it incinerates, and-
penetrates with precision-
like a motored chainsaw,
dicing through each cell,
speeding in streaming blood,
from the heart to the body,
busting open the brain,
having delighted and reveled;
in sexual extravaganza.

Resistance is a mental riot shield.
For the sober, it's made of iron,
able to resist over time.
Once battered by soft touch,
it melts due to heat produced.

Once it's fuelled by the poison,
that gasses the human ego,
to be bold and emphatic,
its  paper thin armour-
is infiltrated by a mere circle;
of a finger over a goblet.

Till strange silk soft skin,
is washing over rough hide,
and satisfaction is derived.

When truth is revealed,
or deviously attained-
distrust awakens...
And the gazelle of your lover,
injured by broken  promises-
turned into dire miscarriages,
often returns for vengeance.

Sunday, 17 January 2016

Last words

Out of no where you came like a snowflake.
my eyes in agape exclaimed amazement,
as if I watched the Messiah trickle down-
from the clouds that haze out heaven.

Your snow white appeal appeased my taste,
so my taste buds at ease rose to attention;
aware of your consuming presence ...
Tis at this point where I went wrong!

I allowed you to touch me but you shoved,
and I fell, nay! I dropped and got bruised-
by excessive butterflies and goosebumps;
that overwhelmed my heart and skin.

Hope and faith got the best of me...
They moved our love mountain in my mind,
until reality sent an avalanche of misery,
and once again I fell but to rest in pieces.

I'd burry the hatchet, ayeh;
you axed and threw me into a casket,
left me for dead without a eulogy;
surely, how will I close my own casket?

Had I known you were like the season,
I wouldn't have given my all to you...
I hope one day as seasons do, you come back
and at least lay a wreath where I lay.

for my epitaph reads "Awaiting closure"

Friday, 15 January 2016

Catastrophic nostalgic

Catastrophic nostalgic

I burned our Polaroids 'cause am annoyed.
They are nothing but hurtful memories.
Even if joyous to my mind they leave me void.
So in need of filling I try talking to God,
but it seems I keep rambling to myself,
yet to no end you're hanging out in my brain.
You've been everywhere except with me,
at the back of my mind buzzing like a bee,
at the front of it too cause it's clear to see,
you left misery on the frown of my face;
I am now a dramatic open book,
in which you were cast in the past,
so I stay up all night busy reminiscing.
I try to sleep but have insomnia,
I hate to sleep for I have a phobia,
I fear to be alone in the bed were we laid-
so instead, I sit here nostalgic.

Like a bottle brush leaf off of its tree,
staring at the ground
as my mind unspools our history.

You'd be sipping on some tea,
as I make jokes of strange things,
that make your chest bubble-
because of your hearty laugh.

I'd be staring at you like an owl;
as if you owe me a cunning smile,
yet it's just that you drive me wild-
every time I ogle at your beauty.

Or maybe my head would be on your thigh,
softer than feather pillow,
warmer than bear fur,
and I'd be there in silence muted by bliss.

Ayeh, without warning you had to leave...

I'm hoping somewhere out in heaven,
there's a place for me by your side.
We sailed many tides in trying times,
fell to the depth of the sea and drowned,
but always woke up in the sand by shore.

You were callous to my inhumane ways,
I strayed like a dog,  my mind was callow,
but I gave you my word and strove,
to keep my libido on its four paws,
so when I'd walk out our door, It'd stay!

That issue wasn't your trust in me,
the issue was death in our midst,
it stalked you every night-
like a dark knight baring black roses,
to hand over to you if you fell for it.

Alas you did and like disease-
to my heart it brought burden,
for no matter how many roses,
I picked for you from my garden,
that pricked my fragile hands,
and made me catcall in pain;
you left! You left a rotting heart...

And the thought of this all,
as you sit before me now,
drives me out of my mind,
and makes me pray and wish
that when death "actually" comes,
running against our clocks
that tick and tock in finality-
they stop at the same time...

Thursday, 14 January 2016

Carry me

Carry me, carry me, carry me,
do not leave me behind,
I am immobile on my own;
a train without tracks,
a boat with no sea,
I am choreographed with you in my heart and mind,
to script the pages of my life,
and the lives of those around me
that my mere eyes cannot see without you.
You are my muse, my demeanour;
an elaboration of craft in fact-
the breath that is my soul,
blown into me when God gave me the kiss of life.

Carry me, carry me, carry me.
not on your back, no!
From there I will fall.,
for even if you wrapped cloth around me,
and carried me like an African mummy,
I'd break your back and you'd let me be,
so place me in your sea and let your tides guide me,
let them rise and fall with me after all;
the winds are a reminder of God and they are our guidance...
Just don't leave me for dead by the shore,
I am like a fish and you are water; my elixir.
So consume me like the Bermuda,
till they ask if ill come back but ill be home;
in Atlantis where imagination is the air that I breath.

Carry me, carry me, carry me!
For I am like a child,
someone or something will adopt me,
and forever I will be lost.