TWO TIRED VERSES: POETRY

THIS BODY

Is this skin wrapped in its warts and wrinkles,
The shell of my soul and the shadow of my spirit?
Is this my shade from the sun
The cause of my fall to sin?
My tears have fallen to water the humus
With the dust of my heart,
To birth a different me;

---

Yet you want to paint pictures of one palette,
Draw straight lines from east to west; north to south?
You want to stand firm on the mountain of your beliefs;
Yet you crumble, you fail, you fall
And there's no succour.
Hold me close, you whisper but
Shadows have gripped me tight;
Old pain hidden between the ribs of the moon's silver light.

---

You see they lynched me beside the steeple
And a clergyman farted in the crowd.
You must understand that they cursed and spat on me at the mosque
But the imam’s head was bowed in sleep.

---

Come sit on the lips of this kiss and stretch your legs.
It is a church like any other.
Preach your soul on the warm flesh of the earth,
Sate your conscience and feed your spirit;
You are a child of mother earth too.

---

You heard father disowned me
As mother cried her shame.
You saw me sliced, piece by piece;
Every saint there with a sharp knife,
Their pound of flesh, they had come to claim
But you did nothing.
You stood by and watched me fade into the sun.

FLICKER, FLICKER, TELEVISION SCREEN

Flicker, flicker, television screen;
Tell a tale of noiseless death,
Of coiffed speech protesting some bombings and some wars.
Spit out the truth of a lie hidden
Beneath clean sheets covering pale faces and cold feet,
Fix a cup of hot tea; fecal and putrid,
Hissing off the tale like a punctured lung
Screaming for some sort of mercy.

Flicker, flicker, television screen;
Throw on a beach towel and toss a spade,
Shove some earth and spy a girl,
Dream the dreams of little kids kicking airless balls
On puddled roads, as the moon turns her fat ass
And farts a scented breeze that escapes to the other side of hell,
Where harpies sing of pollution, family planning and debt canceling
In one sugarcoated breath,
Stained with kola and tobacco.

Flicker, flicker, television screen
And bear reality to a single speck, a stain
Wiped off by the rags and shows.
Paint the last moving pictures in rote;
Mannequin hands swinging left and right in lifeless art,
Dirty verbs and adjectives applauded
With limp semen stained hands
As the background brightens to producer
And protégé making noise in selfsame style as the dying and the dead.

Image Source: pixabay

NOTES: I leave you to make meaning out of these words. The words are mine but the interpretation is yours. My Work is done.

Peace

©@warpedpoetic

art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics