Skip to main content

SHE-VOICE

Arrest not your tongue and lips
Resist not the wise voice of the gowns, skirts and hips.
From man, you were formed by Him to stand
To cross-taste your floggings and each expression strand;
For such men who such words, they kill, their hands
In doom they put and their bodies they find in sands.
Julius, great, emperor, so sound and tall
Into his sound canal was stuck the feminine call
Beware I say! Of council! Of thy friend!
But to heed the dressers’ voice, he refused to tend
And at the back, his grave in blood was dug
Brutus, towards his cup-shearer became the bug.
Oh, such a great empire disappears like vapour
Division and concord-slaughter began to pour.
Oh pain, he left the womb, in crying and in tears
Her then-still husband, dead now, but she…, left in fears.
Arrest not thy tongue and lips
Resist not the wise voice of the gowns, skirts and hips.
MIDE BENEDICT

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

TIED TO FREEDOM by Mide Benedict

Don’t hold me down L ike I’m in some cave Just like a bird flies Where nothing breathes light Through a hidden dark sky L ike an existence lost in inexistence, Locked up in a bottle     T hat only lives every day in an every minute coffin Tightened with an unbreakable cover.    Free me I said, but you brought me this! What freedom is more painful than   Eye balls without sights; faith without work like To walk on a spot;                    Mountains tied to your legs   While eyes go dark                    As you walk unmoving: In a place surrounded by light;            What a freedom! Image from : http://theadventurehandbook.com

God and The Snail: Poetry For Some One Lost Soul

Sometimes it feels Like all is done, That this life of ours Is caught in deadly thorns: From where we cry for help in a land Where to have ears is a great taboo! But in all these... we remember...

WHO DOES THIS BELONG TO? By MIDÉ BENEDICT

This is for those Who see life as an unfair land, Where growth is fairly found only On luck's fragile and ferocious tree: It is for those whose eyes only See reality as a coin Always tossed to uncertainty: For those who see misery As an inescapable ditch, Never to be seen when its mouth agars, Never to be escaped when its venom runs, But to be delivered like a slave for a ritual, Thrown like a cotyledon into dry soil, To germinate failure like a blocked well, Hoping to salvage a droughty throat. For those whose first name is lucky, Whose last name is uncertainty And middle name misery, Know that which you know not that The poison in your tongue is The wine your life drinks; It drinks on and on till stupor calls for death And stupidity dresses its grave Like a young man before a mirror, Staring unthinkingly at his face, Till he sees greyness in his eyes. This is for those who see eye to eye With the words on this slate. Image by Midé Benedict