The way it is-

The way it is-

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Somedays,
I wish I could take,
A year-
Off.
To read,
Write,
Recite
Poetry.

But-
I’ve got bills
To replace,
A degree,
To attain
(Not for my pleasure of course),
I’ve got mama
To make proud of,
I dare not
Disappoint.

And me-
Who cares about-
Me.

That’s the way,
The world works,
Always have,
Always will-
I learnt.

Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!

Love & Poetry

Love & Poetry

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You tell me it’s all fiction,
the poetry you write,
That reality is far fetched,
From the land your muse resides,

The so called “love” you’d written,
Are words without much heart,
And I wonder if you think back,
To the ring on your finger.

You’d ask of my opinion,
And of course I’d say it’s great,
But I wonder, don’t you think our love,
Is worth words on a page.

So I read through every single page,
With pulse at a heightened pace,
And wonder will this be the day,
Our love inspires poetry.

Writer’s Quote: Charles Bukowski

Writer’s Quote: Charles Bukowski

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Hello again, to another Writer’s Wednesday where I share some of my favourite poems with you guys written by other authors. If you’ve been following my blog for a while now, you’d know I read a lot of Charles Bukowski’s works. I love them and I admire the realism in them, the lack of conformity with classical poetic style and the harsh truths he throws in every now and then. He is one poet who says things as they are with little sugar coating.

Below is a poem from one of his poetry books, Love is a dog from hell. I feel it reflects the situation of this world in recent times, even though this was written decades ago.My favourite lines from the entire poem are these:
the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

And that is just the truth.

Charles Bukowski- Love Is a Dog from Hell

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock.

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners.

it hasn’t told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

watering a plant.”

L- Life after dusk

L- Life after dusk

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She grew up with laughter,
At the dinner table,
Holding hands across the street,
Kind of parents-
She was that kid with pink ribbons,
Daddy’s doll;

He was that kid- a replica of
hand me downs,
Wiping mama’s tears and cleaning
After papa’s mess,
He was that kid with barely average
On every test;

Life after dusk brought women-
Drowned in assortments;
Men elated for the peace at home.
Kids cradled- by soft hands
who’ve not experienced,
The touch of labour,
neither it’s sweat.

Life after dusk brought on a stench,
The kids knew too well;
An image they wish-
They could forget.

Life after dusk is different-
In every household,
Some build sweet memories,
Some dim the lights
Of Children, and their innocence.

And I wonder-

And I wonder-

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And I wonder,
If the seas,
Ever wish,
They could be me,
Free to wander,
Farther than the shore,
Unattached to the moon,
And it’s pull at dusk,

And I wonder,
If the moon at times,
Gazed at me in awe,
Dreaming up
a life
Without binds to the sun,
Free to live and shine,
Without needing a source.

And I wonder,
If the women across,
Sullen eyed,
With faces white,
Ever wonder,
What life would be like
Without a child to cater for,
Free to live and travel,
At the whim of desire.

And I wonder,
If the slates were cleaned,
And the freedom was of my choice,
Would I choose to be bound,
To be needed and need,
Would I choose my life
Or theirs..

Not a writer-

Not a writer-

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To the one who reads my poems and praises them behind my back. I heard all about you today. No names were mentioned, but, it had to be you. We haven’t spoken in forever, we used to talk everyday, remember?  I hear you want to know how, I’m sorry but there Is no how… I just read and write. I know, it might not make much sense to you, it doesn’t make much sense to me either. I’m not a writer… I just write.

You made my day, and through this blabbering, that’s all I really want to say. I know you didn’t say it to my face, maybe you couldn’t. Why? Is a question for another day. For now, all I have to say is thank you.

You may not read this… I hope you do.

Only a moment-

Only a moment-

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And I know
You’re a disaster,
Waiting to occur;
A volcano,
Waiting to erupt;
But for a brief moment
I give in to delusions-
Hoping maybe,
It’ll be roses
‘Stead of molten;
And you’ll be my charming
‘Stead of the reality
I know, you are.

The brief moment-
Was all it took,
To smear your molten,
And burn wounds;
But honey,
It was only a moment-
It hurt,
It burns,
I’ll survive.
You deluded
Me with words;
But you can be charming
For only so long,
Before reality,
Deals you
An unwelcoming knock.
I won’t stick around
To soothe or numb;
I hoped you were charming,
I was wrong…

My top 9 Talents you won’t want!

My top 9 Talents you won’t want!

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After reading JoyRoses Monday post on top 9 talents you won’t want, I got motivated to write down mine. I mean, it’s about time we embrace wholeheartedly our quirks. So here goes:

1) I have a predisposition to breaking things including cups, plates, buckets and my latest, our glass dining table which after paying 100 dollars for repair, my brain sent a message to my body to settle down a bit.

2) I can forget like it is nobody’s business. I went to the supermarket a few days ago and when I got to the counter (with all of my goodies) and It was time to pay, I opened my purse and realized I left my money at home. It was not a funny scene.

3) My brain (yes I’m blaming it again) doesn’t interpret sarcasm. You could say a sarcastic comment to me and in all seriousness, I’ld ask you to kindly elaborate.

4) The only animal that doesn’t petrify me is probably a goldfish and that too because I don’t have to touch it. I dislocated my hip-joint while running away from a cockroach which in my defense (okay, I have no defense here!).

5) I am an embarrassingly morbid procrastinator. I would pay anyone to take this talent (if I may call it that). P.s If you have any tips on getting rid of it, I’m all ears. Tried the to-do list method, didn’t work.

6) periods! Yup, it’s been a while since it’s made an appearance on my posts. One of my biggest talent is getting my period at the most inappropriate time. Like while wearing a white skirt outside, or In the middle of lectures… The list goes on.

7) I am worrible at reading in-between the lines. Dear future husband, in case you are reading this. Don’t tell me things like- you make my heart have irregular ventricular contractions. Seriously.

8) I have a talent of catching the flu. As long as I make contact with someone who has the flu, chances are I am going to get sick too. It doesn’t help there are over 100 serotypes. Which means if I get infected and resistant to one strain, there are 99 others waiting.

9) I once drew what I thought was a beautiful replica of the Nigerian map for my geography class and I was told it looked like a yam. That’s how good my drawing is.

…..and that’s it. My top nine talents you won’t want (which may or may not indicate that there are more). Now it is your turn, what are your top nine talents that we won’t want. I would love to nominate everyone reading this to share their top 9, come on guys, let’s embrace our quirks.

Behind a mask-

Behind a mask-

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She was…
The mirror
Of self destruction;
An epitome of imperfection;
To him… She was-
A rainbow
In a stormy weather;
An oasis
In a desert.

To her… He was-
The world
On carefree shoulders;
A reminder
Of all she wasn’t.
He was…
A time bomb
Hiding in plain view;
Tormented
Masked and caped up.

She grew…
She Learnt-
To embrace her
broken pieces;
And tear up
To show emotions;
She lived.
He grew…
Still hiding
From his reflection;
Pretending
He was all but broken;
He didn’t….

Mask over tears

Mask over tears

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The moist in her eyes,
Told a different story,
The grin on her lips-
A perfect disguise.
The sass in her walk,
As she strode the hallways;
A perfect cover-
She hid all her life.

Now where was the girl,
Who wept till morning;
Afraid of the silence,
That comes on with dusk.
When dawn goes to day,
So does her real self-
A blinding spotlight
The pretense begins.

A mask over tears-
appealing to the universe;
At the cost of herself-
And on the story goes.
Yet a loophole it has,
If you were to look deeper;
A broken girl you’ll find-
A bird awaiting to fly.
If only we did look deeper-
Past the facade, past the smile.

The above image courtesy of The dynamic turnaround