Sunday, January 20, 2008

On my poetry.

i wrote this a while back..its inspired by the females around the world. About how they create and inspire but with the passage of time they all grow old, life gets in the way,and all tht creativity is forgotten, and erased, and never truly acknowledged.

On my poetry.

So Let your faces shine with my light.
I am, But a firefly.
I'll vanish before dawn's early glow.
At whose very steps the Darkness scatters.
I am, But a two-day jewel.
All Glow and Shimmer, yet in the end,
I too will join the lonely box of Stones.
For far superior are those, those Age and Time;
The tiniest speckle of my fire will erase.
Until even I will question the existence,
Of that Something,
I so treasured.

So be pleased with these works of art,
These Luckless Masterpieces.
No marble halls or glittering galleries will be their abode.
They too will fade away,
with the dust of the world.
Hold this dear now,
Cherish and Treasure.
Moonlight peeps in for only a few special moments.
The rest is dark Night.

Tonight at noon.

one of the most awkward, and most entertaining poems ive read. It's all Contradiciton and nonsense, followed by a superb ending that clears up everything that preceded it.
By Adrian Henri..


Adrian Henri

Tonight at noon
Supermarkets will advertise 3p extra on everything
Tonight at noon
Children from happy families will be sent to live in a home
Elephants will tell each other human jokes
America will declare peace on Russia
World War I generals will sell poppies on the street on November 11th
The first daffodils of autumn will appear
When the leaves fall upwards to the trees

Tonight at noon
Pigeons will hunt cats through city backyards
Hitler will tell us to fight on the beaches and on the landing

A tunnel full of water will be built under Liverpool
Pigs will be sighted flying in formation over Woolton
And Nelson will not only get his eye back but his arm as well
White Americans will demonstrate for equal rights
In front of the Black house
And the monster has just created Dr. Frankenstein

Girls in bikinis are moonbathing
Folksongs are being sung by real folk
Art galleries are closed to people over 21
Poets get their poems in the Top 20
There's jobs for everybody and nobody wants them
In back alleys everywhere teenage lovers are kissing in broad

In forgotten graveyards everywhere the dead will quietly bury the

You will tell me you love me
Tonight at noon

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Nature's Massacre

for the victims of the Pakistani earthquake, 8th Oct 2006.
Rest in Peace.

In the crushing embrace of the debris
I suffer
From a premature rigor mortis.
I try
But my vocal chords deny
The desperate appeal to respond.
Parched lips move
To maybe defy
The deafening silence.
Limbs strewn
Like tiny grotesque corpses
My struggle proceeds

Through the lattice
Of thatched roof and stones
I see
Moonlight stepping in
Into our mass graveyard.
My head throbs
With too much pressure to cope.
Amidst the nauseous delirium
I suck in
The stench of dried blood and decay.
And pray

Thursday, January 17, 2008


first poem i wrote after coming to Canada. a little over the top with the sappiness but oh well.

They say its the best place in the world
But it means nothing to me
It ain't my home, that ain't my beach
'Cuz special they can never be.

It lacks the things, the tiny joys,
Things that made me Whole,
Mi heart ain't here, it strays to where
I found peace in mi soul..


a highly emo poem i wrote when feeling detached and disconnected from evrything. Oh, another big reason was major bout of homesickness and nostalgia at the time too.

Wear my cloak
feel this Dark
this Void

Yes ,there's Light
Glowing dustmites
Apprehensive, Distant

I watch it
Indifferent, behind
My thick glass Wall

Misted over and over
By wet, shaky


This was was written by an extraordinarily talented friend of mine, Dorothy Quimora. It's by far the most amazing love poetry i've read in a very long time.

I am nothing but an ordinary stone statue

Whom you endlessly try to coat with melted pure gold

(I may not be completely tangible without you

For your arms protect me from all hazards I behold)

I am not quite blessed with anything but living breath

That I attempt to bring the best out of and survive

(Yet you are there to take away those objects I dread)

Even if often unrequited, for me you strive)

I am composed of flaws, and faults, and imperfections

Splashed with tears and decked with pain, enough of which to bleed

(A stereotype of the world and all its nations

Although you do know that, you never seem to take heed)

I am a speck of dust in the face of universe

What the skies refer to as a vernacular scene

(I do not understand, you chose to be doomed and cursed

It is I you love; me with which your life shall begin

Growing up.

i think nearly all poets have atleast once touched upon the subject of growing up. This one's about a friend and me. It's about trying to hang onto being a kid, and about letting go.

ur a stranger- emo and lame
but we're both stuck in a terrible game.
toughing it out; pretending we're fine
behind the curtains, we're hanging by a line
wound round our necks, it chokes but we
laugh and just talk about cookies
and pretzels, and silly things
we put aside our misgivings
and laugh it off, and act cool
ur the drama, im the fool
and once our silly rants are done,
turn back to reality, our masquerades begun
our smiles erased, return to hell
and crawl back inside our shell.


inspired by the thousands of people who turned up to run for the Terry Fox run. wish they'd show the enthusiasm for other issues. (excuse the bitterness.)

their lives are pivoted round blurs of
monotonous trends, monotony of friends,
the mall their
inflamer, their extinguisher,
and of all these
unsubstantial lives,
a single day spent running
for terry fox
fulfills their
debt to humanity.
miraculously makes them