Skip to main content

Featured Poem: Vanity At The Door - by Martins Deep

Featured Poem: Vanity At The Door - by Martins Deep 

You can hear the market noise

And in the very midst detect that voice.
Stories available are all a tragedy.
At the door knocks Vanity.



A guest unbidden is at the door
Beckoning the victim of want to venture.
"Go away!" You bark at it
And curse him with no regret.



He's passing by your block again
His rich perfume heralds him
The beast within
That barked yesterday is going lame.



Your needs attends you
Weeping in your empty teacup
You sip and spew
And vow to keep your door locked up.



Life turns out to be a guitar on one string
And circumstances have changed the lyric of all that you sing.
Midnight and you are nursing a wailing stomach
Ears intently poised to hear the guest's knock.



You unlock the bolt and let the door ajar.
He turns a friend that was a stranger.
You kiss his brow and apologize
But man is here for business. He tells you the price.



There is no going back. You've got wheat, oil and silver
Your eyes wide open, you can now see
You should have waited in hunger
And hummed on "best beer is for the thirsty."



Your joy is taken and Vanity cares not a little.
Your peace is wrested with cold hands.
Frustration ends it with whispers most subtle
and calls the crowd proudly saying  "there the fool hangs"



Vanity breaks not through the door
Nor steals through the window.
Its wares are beauteous when one is poor

And unwise to wait a little longer in hope.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...

Poemify | Haiku Writing

A haiku ( pronounced high-koo ) is short three-line poem that uses sensory language to capture a feeling or image. Haiku poetry was originally developed by Japanese poets. They are often inspired by nature, a moment of beauty, or poignant experience. Before I dive deep, I'd love to say this: I believe some of us here know what haiku is and what 'rules' there be that guide haiku writing. That's beautiful. We are here to learn, unlearn and relearn. So, I'd rather you keep your knowledge aside and learn something new today. Alright? Okay, let's walk over Jericho. Haiku is a Japanese verse in three lines. Line one has 5 syllables, line 2 has 7 syllables and line three has 5 syllables. Haiku is a mood poem and it doesn't use any metaphors or similes. Usually when haiku is taught, poets are only given the restriction of the number of lines and syllables. However, for good haiku poetry, more explanation needs to be given. This lecture is for poets who are willing...

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....