Rippled Valou

By Adeyeri Jerry Wordsmith....

Strength like the Clawed Warrior
Drilled in fortified valour
Power- to them it belong
... Focus- a make up they adore
Even the gods dare them not
Not in a sine messione of combats...
Defilers of fate they are-men of more
Ne'er hazed by tradition or norm
Yet so stoic they abide
As in valour they tame storms
And on vision they take rides
Heroes- so they are named!
And men clap- and women chatter...

From tempests they make wines
Even from deafening hollers they make beats
Fears and woes they haunt
Amidst ados, they brew strength to battle
As shields well raised make plates of meats
Even skulls of impossibility- a skin for wine it stands
With metals of bravery,
Brains of failure they smash
Never so light of determination they swing
To voice desire and forge in pace they sting
On the very muse of winning they gaze
As they ride on wings of victory
Even as Kings nod at their valiance
Fathers ponder- Mothers all wonder...

Men will sing, all will see
Toddlers 'll dream, Aged 'll tell
The tales of Greatness by Heroes carved
And crowns worn and hanged in time
Yet, spaces 'll abound for more
That have charms to explore the traits
Possessed by all, but seen by few
Afterall, all wish the mark
But Heroes see its scars
We yet sing of their fame for long
The tunes? Never filled without ours lyrics
For our valour can be rythmed likewise
And our fame can dazzle in ripples
If we can but thrive just more....

A MAD DAY

By Cario Sanders...

This day is mad
The sun is out by 3 a.m
Look, the sky is orange
Damn, this day is mad
... Somebody talk to these drooping palm branches
To rise and prepare for the day's fierce wars
Forgetting yesterday
But no, this day is mad
Crawling infants hod and carry crawling ageds
To creches and kindergatens
I wonder what's happening
I think this day is mad
Lunatics are driving automobiles
Across mad urbaan neighbourhoods
Car horns blaring, sirens wailing
Of couse, this day is mad
The warden is a ragamuffin
Wearing a scary fiery weird rasta hairdo
With torn sagging faded jeans
And he says he's got alotta swagger
Obviously, this day is mad
When cats are flying and rats are riding horses
When the forest is dense and the squirrel boasts
"I am the king of them all"
You should know this day isn;t funny
It is mad

With Thought By Rasheed 'Sagesection' Bello

• Thud! Tap! Screech!
  
  lands hope
  
  Metallic blood tastes good i think,
  
  as my heart enters my mouth,
  
  From the heights of despair I think,
  
  as I watch falling hope.
  
  
  
  Silence! Hum! Silence!
  
  This feeling oppresses
  
  Quiet walls close in
  
  suffocating me
  
  why this claustrophobia,
  
  when I stand atop a cliff?
  
  
  
  Boom!- Blows reason
  
  but insanity- ah! sweet oblivion-
  
  is slow to creep in
  
  perhaps there is hope yet
  
  lying at the cliff's bottom,
  
  perhaps
  
  I will jump I think
  
  thought, think again,
  
  flicker, flicker
  
  then the leap
  
  
  
  Am I dead?- Silence again
  
  Less oppressive, perhaps even friendly
  
  where is hope?
  
  was there really any?
  
  No! I think
  
  I never even left the cliff's face
  
  But I did not fall, though I leaped
  
  "You leaped, Yes!, then started to fly",
  
  the silence answers me quietly
  
  Yes! that must be it
  
  
  
  Woosh, Swish, Whirl!
  
  I fly to hope
  
  Hope is the goal, with it comes life
  
  I fly to hope on new wings
  
  the map is skectched underneath feathers
  
  beneath the wings
  
  I will die if I land short of on hope
  
  so I fly to hope, though I cannot read the map
  
  

HEROES UNSUNG by Chris Fabeku Lucid

   I sit awhile to use my loaf
brooding life's fuzzy vice
of those to whom it brought reproach
and whose reward it had denied.

The story it never told of men
that now in grave repose
who live'd a live impaire'd
by the dishonour fate bestowe'd.

The patriotic soldier,who at war
gave his life for freedom
and knew not what it meant
to enjoy the peace for which he fought.

The people b'hind the man
who today has gain'd repute.
The effort of that woman
that watch'd him grow from cradle.

The Cerynian stranger on calvary road
that,from the country sojourn'd in;
was force'd to bear the cross
and made to carry it b'hind the Lord.

How is it that they be many,
but we have come to sing of none?
They held common forebearances,
yet their identity we glean not.

Examplars abound in endless list
of men who strove in laud-ful feats.
The simple act of great bravery
of these heroes,we never sing.

COPYRIGHT©2011,CHRIS.F.LUCID

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