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Poetry May 28, 2015

first_imgMy DaughterBy Matenneh-Rose L. DunbarMy Beautiful ChildAt birth you glitteredAs passerby hastenedAt the sound of creationFor a gem so lustrousSeeing you grow upWoos every imageryThe calmness about youFriendly swag definedEyes of a white doveImmaculate iris beyondThis twisted cacophonyTwigs of gold rainbowCurves warmly to youBlossom as the cheerySnow filled luster puffLike a palm by streamsRich green fine womanCreamy like the moonYour rarity enchantsEmerald and grandioseFanning for mostly joyThirty years a delightMy Beautiful Child I Am That Man!By Varney L.S. GeanI am that brown-eyed gentlemanEarly bird on the sprint to workBe it the hospital or that tall edificeThe plumbing shop or some factoryThe pint-sized market stall or the bankGovernment building or on the farmI am that somebodyI am that fatherI am that husbandThat uncle that brotherWho throughout the day I must acutely toilEndeavoring for the finest to make happyIn the blazing sun or horrendous floodUnflinching as one aim bears to mindI am that fellow that will never pauseStrong in my deeds my concepts my wordsTruthful and tender to all who meander my pathEbola! Where did you come from?By Varney L.S. GeanOn a surprising dawn you sprang forth upon usOn the daily news your strange name rang forthOur hearts bleed since your unforeseen arrivalOur time spent just to bid you a swift bon voyageOnly the wittiest of us perceived you beforehandEbola! Where did you come from?Our lives no longer those pleasant stories nowadaysOur happiness sink as sorrow dwells around us dailyOur state no longer gain once great friends we hadOur moments lost in utter frustration and suspenseOnly the smartest of us knew everything beforehandEbola! Where did you come from?Ode to my jailerBy Lekpele M. NyamalonCheer up! Son of a monsterI love you though-Your specialty is tortureSchooled to beat and bruiseYou made me a gladiatorI feel the pains curving on my backFrom the whips of your cartridgeYou made me a warriorI hear the barking of your voiceRoaring like a strangled lionHungry for my bloodYou jeered at my tearsThey made me a soldierYou tried to dump my soulBut, you shot my ego in the skyI can walk on broken glassCuz my heart is stiff like the back of steelI’m no more a crying prisonerMocked by his captorDriven to deathI’m now a storytellerMolded by youJust call me SackieBy Lekpele M. NyamalonWhen I say my nameDon’t ask me where I come fromTake it and goIt’s my nameMy grandmother said soShe raised me in the airOn the day of the ceremonyAnd whispered it-smilingI’m not from spaceOr mars, or the ArcticI’m a warm blooded mammalMy name is my tagCall it or move onI’m SackieToo hard for you?Get an ice and chillCuz, I’m SackieJust call me thatNeed a shorter form?Just call me SackieShare this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)last_img

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