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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Friday, 25 November 2016

Conscious minds

The power of a conscious mind,
can carry you to the pearly gates,
god #Conjolted
We have the power to make a change 
and back to earth just in time,
to save people before Jesus comes back.

Ignorance is the mother of serenity,
yet it can also get you locked in chains,
walking to your grave in a single file-
singing kumbaya because it sounds pop,
and everyone is singing along so what the hell?

Clarity is yolk out a cracked shell,
hatched open by the knowledgeable,
having wandered into the unknown.
It lets you stand alone at the top of a mountain,
and then forces you to soar limitless skies.

Modesty is knowing the difference-
between clarity and ignorance.
Knowing the two makes you conscious,
so carry forth with your knowledge,
and save the world, cut Jesus some slack!

Sunday, 20 November 2016

Under the umbrella

I'm under the umbrella tree
hoping the marabou stock won't flee
off the ground and hop onto my hope,
shake the soaked leaves atop,
and drench me in drips and drops-
that delve in my emotions shop
and leave me milquetoast.

Kaloli diri tuuma,
kaloli diri tuuma.
Diri tuuma meh da wuuba,
dah wubah meh da buluka...

'Cause the thunder is alarming,
as if warning of tragedies coming,
yet I have no ark to embark-
to steer me past lightning,
that "oh my days" is frightening!

Its has started raining,
my hair has droplets,
the leaves are glossy,
bark is bathed,
and I anew; hopeful...

Life has been hopeless
or precisely deciduous
and like leaves on trees,
people always leave
after storming a heart.

Ayeh as we grow and mature,
we realise that moments-
lived and left are courses;
points for one to learn
to turn over a new leaf...

Often under umbrellas,
we hide and confide our-
buffaloberry emotions;
sweet delicacies feasted on
by tragic memories,

that prey and scavenge,
on our decaying matters-
like marabou stock,
watching out on tree tops
for what's left of once fresh delicacy.

I'm under the umbrella tree,
hoping the marabou stock won't flee
off the ground and hop onto my hope,
shake the soaked leaves on top
and drench me in drips and drops
that delve in my emotions shop
and leave me milquetoast.

Kaloli diri tuuma,
kaloli diri tuuma.
diri tuuma meh  da wubah
dah wubah meh  da buluka...

It is now drizzling,
and like a sinking boat-
my shoes are soaked.
Roads now have gullies,
and drizzles drip and drop...

Love, life, family,
friends, and businesses-
are all like rain...
they come and go,
and Leave us soaked like leaves.

Soaked in emotions
and when shook by scavengers
our memories are re-lived,
sometimes in tears,
and drip drop they flop
like leaves shook
by marabou stock
after rains stop..

The world wide web

Lately it seems like a norm,
for us to be reaching out to the world,
through tweets, posts, statuses, and images.
We upload our emotions to be downloaded,
then hope for a second that they'll be heeded,
ayeh the world is hearing not listening,
it's looking but it's not exactly seeing,
and we bank our big hearts and minds,
on an illusive deal that gives us momentary thrills.

Most of us seem to be finding comfort
in the millions of quotes and information-
some of which are misleading.
Most no longer believe in self,
they replicate the multitudes of expressions,
that speak to them in the moment,
so what has been viewed and not sieved
prescribes a way for us to live,
that to some individuals is "perfect life."
So most enact these illusive realities,
yet the circumstances in amorphous reality
become complicated to execute and manage.

Paranoia has reached the top of its peak,
we're sober yet addicted looped into the 'www.'
This is because we are now used to voyeurs-
on our social networks besides those people-
that took it upon themselves to keep tags on us all.
So now everyone is feeling naked and afraid.
Afraid to trust, afraid to be honest, afraid to be loyal.

The subjects are now timid and brainwashed,
the soldiers lost loyalty for they know the truth
the regining supreme royalty as always is greedy,
the clerics lost faith and have joined miscreants,
it's now an eye for an eye, for an eye, for an eye,
until we all one day turn blind.

War witches

Wednesday, 16 November 2016

A light bulb.

A light bulb.

There is a difference between,
love nurtured by money,
and love nurtured by survival.
It's simple and well known...
Lovers of the latter
cannot survive without money,
Lovers of the former
can survive without money. 

Tuesday, 1 November 2016

Self Crucifixion

Self Crucifixion    

We often crucify ourselves and sacrifice our wisdom and self-esteem,
then get terrified to express our true selves and survive.
Why kill yourself yet you can believe in yourself and thrive?