Blog Archives

Fledgling or not -here I come

Today my thoughts confound me.

Bombard

Hijacked emotions detonated into a familar war zone.

The survivors feel mixed up for another mistaken identity

passport confiscated by newfound enemies.

A glimpse

the letter

E
motion

this queue finally advances

25 letters fated to the gates of uncertainty.

A survivor is stuck in the middle -it’s me -a headless body with a hidden agenda

Skin flushed assimilates bloody shadow a crimson hue mane of the unflinchers –
pale, skeletal, naked, destitute, some even of their robbed of own teeth

a pile-up -bodies all shook
adorned by a hand, ankle, A cold shoulder, one fair nipple, a flaccid penis

Perhaps your inner idealist
can resurrect these lives distorted by final moments -a conscious full of shame.

No dignity

No burial for those of faith

Souls denied a peaceful resting place.

The faithless blasted out mid breathe energy kinesthetic Life mid beat -legged it

A desperate plight -scientific proof hearts can beat or flee.

My body under constant surveillance

The scourge of self-scrutiny

Double doubt implants enhance all traces of unwanted memories

Should I hide my body

my identity?

The very essence of my being?

Caught unawares

emotions -use tic tactics

Thoughts use unrestrained strategies.

Haunched knees

propped up by bare feet

conditioned to protect my diasporic body

Roughly re-examine all once held beliefs.

Displaced her head!

how contrary I would have said

pure insanity I willingly would share.

If I don’t have any thought

or an opinion I’ve sought out myself.

I’ll become a diminutive

No person will ever see me

No person will hear my roar.

This voice will become non-existent -all my declarations are torn from the books of history
uninformed therefore never spoken nor unwritten

My right is to live and be!

My right is to feed peacefully

not between flippant mercenaries abiding by wall division protocol that I can’t see.

body displacement

head

disconnected to set a prenup engagement

How is it I feel the pressure of the tummy bloat after the soldiers who gloat

Finally relieved

of their lack of familiarity?

No sense die-hard before a sensation penetrates the first bloom of intimacy

They forget how hard they push

enter the orifice

Where I learned how to formulate words.

All I have is words and sound.

They take liberties- jabs & jeers are the echo chamber to my inner core.

Rotting

Bed rest

Bedsores,

These are the spoils of war.

Degraded

Defaced

Disgraced

My Emotions are absolute in their conviction

My sentence – A Disempowered daily mantra

I am to be their common whore.

a concubine filled up on spew, chunks of bile flotsam

traces keep me chronically ill.

Medical treatment denied because I’ve forgotten how to express my will

The West states I’m worth it !

the East send out a search party

Direction?

Possibly

on wise mind hill

There is no privacy.

My body is presented against my will

These clothes cover up the tight jeans that have become my only woe

Self-growth without a choice in how I present my self

I can’t

I have.

Scratch these newly formed scabs for I have lost my flair

writing words to recover

self-oppression lost out in the talent show of acquired skills

Recovery is heartbreaking.

Hoochie flavoured scent
sniff out trouble keeps me imprisoned

I look up -the window is clear still

Or perhaps my beliefs are outdated.

Murder with intent

disarm these emotions

strangers with a familiar stance

Physical appearance is my only strength?

How Naive a woman can be

One strip away from freedom

I claim a culture of sound

unification

Dance a tango inner peace with an outward serenity.

matching outfits

Silk lined hemmed skirts

embroidered letters spell out a movement of hope.

I’m one dancer

I’m one dissident

My possessions:
Passion

a fledgeling feather

& ink well
will deliver

A pregnant pause followed by a ward filled with the birth of more words

sentences will start to show

the labour of courage pushed out in its full placenta -reborn – free feathered fledgelings take flight

-A yoke is sky born

These are my words -maybe she wrote/ be happy or die trying.

Pulp Estate

The best way to get through rough times is to be creative.   It’s not Saturday and I’m feeling non-conformist. I guess its kind of my way. Haven’t done much this weekend — except nursing bruises, swellings, scrapes and downright painful blisters on the mouth. I’m fuming. The lows of last week found me beaten […]

Pulp Estate

Squwark sounds byte

https://youtu.be/9Gc4QTqslN4

 

Shake it

… shake it baby

prompting

This

Behaviour.

Uptempo Keys

unsilence the drama

a

hip-pity

a happy Russian Soviet bass choir impersona

caricature

I can’t rap

But I do

got flow

70% water — can’t make this shit up…

Scientists don’t discriminate-

Updated stream filled in

by today’s  quantified current

His-

the premier

First and foremost a muse of note —

scale down the scratch post

lude blues.

Look

Above

common clouds count in beats

search for a pulse in

Metropolis  Metronome

Vinylise –

no more inches to add to her form

other than to

intro- apple -genuisly feed

a podcast

 worthy for  wonderlands flowers to perform ?

‘mo brain mo crane’

Fly to the East

Sigh to the West

side with the South

Hustle with the true north.

Whatever get’s these words out

If this  riff sounds willowy

Shucks,Throw in a hillbilly

 Sound squwarks

Splat!

doo wee

doo wop

Guess what?

ain’t apologising for being an invader of my own  rythmic space.

R. iveting

I.nsightful

P.ost

ha ha when you cha cha.

It’s dead.

‘it’s gone,Gym’

Giblets strutting down this street.

Shake a tail feather to those with the Harmonised Harlem shufflers feet.

Footwork.

Intro

Outro

vitro –

Dutch flowers

chiming the bell

toll

Modest mouse  slam beatbox a  scat cat.

improvise the blues in fluent meow-skies —

Stop.

Hammer time

Tell her where she lost the plot?

The living aint easy

life hint

Where is she at?

doing the wriggle worm , 8 years young

thinking ,

maybe I’m a kid ‘— kidders rights to think

‘maybe I am shit hot.’

Impervious to the nonsense .

Tolerate her apparent nonchalance.

wind down tempo

No more Scratching ideas  shape throw your hands in the air

Hit, publish —

have no shame telling people move on to another cloud

Your content is your own  style and flair.

Sometimes you gotta groove the ghetto to let up some get up and get some get go.