LaRochelle:
I sent the link of this thread to one of my friends, a poem writer, performer and lover. She was now thanking me as if I gave her the winning numbers for lottery.

PS: I didn't read it. I'm yet to appreciate the deepness of poems.

I can imagine how your friend feels. I just bookmarked the page. It's the best poetry I've read in a very long time.

DanseMacabre:



Evolve into what exactly? Shakespearean verse? Metres and Iambic pentametres? Rhymes? That's prescriptive poetry bro, and it's exactly what modern poetry evolved from.

Thank you, DM! Many of these people don't believe that poetry has evolved into something bigger than the literature they were forced to read in secondary school. Romeo just won the Brunel Poetry Prize. There were more than a thousand entries, and I'm sure there were a lot of uninformed people who thought they could get anywhere with how perfect the syllable-count of their sonnets were. I know quite a number of the short listed poets and some of them don't even write in stanzas. Lol.

JoeBlocks:

Joe, what do you think?

RaggedyAnn:
This is really amazing! You have a powerful narrative style - deep and haunting. This is art. Well done, you.

Thank you. Do Not Walk Into This Room was eqaully amazing. You had me glued till the end.

stuff46:
What we say isnt important, oh me i have missed a piece like this for long.

Poetic

Thank you stuff. Do you still write?

It's dark when I get back to the seaside. Darker when I make it to the abandoned cabin, so I crawl my way in, shielded by the darkness. I gaze up at the empty sky, there are no stars, there is no moon, there is only darkness, darkness, everywhere. I hear a sound; the chirping of a cricket, and I laugh. I laugh harder as my voice echoes through the darkness. The cricket chirps on, I know the sound, I know the sign. I can't forget today, I can't forget yet.

I turn on the old lamp; the only thing I came with, and I hold back more fits of laughter. The pails are still in the same place, but now coated with rust. I lift up one of the pails and there is my old watch, covered in dust. I pick it up and dust it. Its light still works but the time is incorrect. It must be, if it shows 9:49am at an hour as dark as this. But as my heart starts to beat aloud, and I start to get bathed in my own sweat, the doubt hits me. It hits me hard. Just as hard as Kabeer's back heel kick had always hit my temples while we sparred in this little wooden space. Is it morning? Is today one of those days when the morning is just as dark as the night? Is there an eclipse? In my life? In all of the world?

I look out through the open window onto the sea. I let my eyes linger, trying to remember him- Kabeer. His almost bald hair, his perfume, his earplug. My hands shake and the watch falls. My knees go weak. I stare at the waves as they crash on the beach, and I wait. I wait for the waves to bring his face, to bring his missing body. I wait for the waves to come rushing at this little place by the sea and get me too, the way they did him. My eyes brim with tears. I sniffle, once, twice. I tighten my muscles and groan with the pain. I can't afford to cry, not here, not today.

I drag my numb feet across the floor. The wooden boards creak, creak beneath my feet. It's their own way of remembering, of sobbing. For Kabeer, and for me, too. For all the futility in my reason. For a man seeking what he never will find. I silently move towards the corner of the room. My big toe hits on something, but I'm scared to flash the torch.
Scared that it will be what I came here to seek. Scared that it won't be what I came here to seek. I press my toes on it to make out the details. Plastic, curved, an earplug, Kabeer's earplug. My heart sinks, sinks to an impossible depth. Sinks to the depth where the hands of saviors can't get to, won't get to.

I pick it up without looking, scared that it might vanish from the ground if I shove my lamp towards it. I raise it up to my nose. The perfume's still there; the Hausa perfume Kabeer liked to wear. It's strange. One year, three months, four days and three hours. I know the count. The immortal scent is a miracle. I almost smile at the memory of the little jars where he kept the perfumes. But I take one look at the earplug and I'm numb now. My sunken heart sinks deeper. I am frantic, confused, scared. Where is the dust? I swing the lamp around the room. There is no sound. There are only the chirping cricket, the crashing waves. My heart beats fast, faster, something is wrong.

There is no dust on the earplug. One year, three months, four days, there is no dust on the earplug. Three hours, the earplug still shines from the tiny silver dots that coat its blue skin. With shaky hands, I drop the earplug into my jacket pocket and I sprint out of the cabin, towards the crashing waves. I run along the shore, mad and scared. Mad that he still comes here, that Kabeer still comes here, or someone else that I don't know their name. Scared that my lamp would make out colors, colors from his jacket, seated and earnestly watching the sea. My heavy boots cling to the wet sand with every step. I am not tired, I am afraid. Afraid I will catch him on his favorite hobby. Hobby, hobby, that was on those days. The days before the sea took him away.

My breath wanes and I run on. I won't find him. Not here, not today, but I run on. I run on for every time he wasn't allowed to compete because he wore an earplug, and they considered earplugs to be harmful weapons with which he could stab his opponents to death, if he so ever wished. I fight all the fights he never could fight. I fight with my waning breath.

The waves come rushing at me, and I stop to run. The angry waves climb to my waist and bury my fists. The lamp drops, the earplug drops. I wait and watch the waves take away the earplug, take away what's left of Kabeer. They started it, they finished it. I whisper his name, "Kabeer, Kabeer". He has his earplug. He hears now.

I walk back to the cabin. And, I forget to wonder if it is Kabeer who comes to use the earplug, or someone else. I forget to wonder why there was no dust on the earplug.

THE END

This one, for all the deaf people of the world. Don't bother, much of the things we say is not that important.

©2017
laykornwhisperingocean@gmail.com

joseph1832:
Magun is for married women and I don't do married women.

Beside, you'd be surprised how a healthy imagination and sex experience makes a man a better poet, especially when he puts those experience in writing.

Oh, yeah! Thanks for all the pieces of advice.

joseph1832:
LMAO!. I hear you. But I'm not dead, not in the least bit. My sex poems will continue. Every sex experience gets written poetically.

It's a whole new world full of sexual adventure.

I don't want to imagine that each poem in your collection represents a different partner. Beware: Magun is real!

joseph1832:
LOL. I absolutely don't know. I believe with recent event, I may have to hang my pen for a while.

You sure will get a beffiting welcome in the DPL now that I am their president.

DPL: Dead Poets League

joseph1832:
I understand you. But it's always nice to let the audience know what they're reading so we wouldn't have another 'moganacanta' here. I'm sure you remember how that went?

Oh, yeah! I can't forget him. I wonder where he is with his 'dancing language' crap.

Beautiful, Joseph. We're going to add 'social critic' to your list of titles very soon. One thing, though. I think satires lose their gripping power when the authors name them as satires, and the audience know what to expect even before they start reading. Lol

TheSCRYPT:

My boss is back

Scrypt, haha. Been like a hundred years.

I now slow down
my steps when
I walk by
these police stations
only so to get a chance
to peer into the wreckage
that's left of cars
pulled from accidents.

I have learned to admire
the destructive art of impacts
sending massive cars
into shriveled balls
of crushed iron

this art that sends
massive cars into death
traps, death cans,
death containers, death,
death, death, written
everywhere.

I slow down my steps
to stare at deflated
bags that hang from
the dashboards,
dotted with blood
and, maybe, tears.

to stare at the airbags;
blood-stained airbags
that are meant to save
our lives but the
only things they
really do save now

are stories, stories
plotted on the dreams
that got crushed in the
wreck, the limbs, the lives-
empty blood-stained airbags
modeling all the emptiness in
our own worlds- what they save
now, these bloodstained airbags

are little marks of death,
and man's vulnerability
the little marks of blood,
little marks, little maps,
that lead to towns and
cities where all the
weakness of man
is not only recognized,

but I also,
understand,
appreciate,
embrace.

these days,
I understand,
appreciate,
embrace.

TheSCRYPT:


How do I indicate, raise my hands? llaykorn, it is still not fair.

Yes, Scrypt, and your legs, too. Both of them. How have you been bro? A thousand years!

gudluckgreat:

Yea

I didn't notice it's posted above. You'll be added in hours.
Cc donifez emmaculate99 jigsawkillah

gudluckgreat:

Yea

Hi, Goodluck. Please send me your number by mail.

joseph1832:
Yes and Yes, Miss you too.

Old friend, how do you do?

Ngaz

'm sorry this is coming late; I've had a busy week. I wish I could organize it better, though. Let me know when you get this so I can modify.



The day has suddenly become Dusk. Like an eclipse in midday. How fast bad news travels, like the speed of light, bellowing into homes like the roaring thunder, announcing the death of Rose, my sister. She was just ten. A rose plucked before her bloom, she was cursed by the epileptic lord, chosen to serve his selfish needs, but my sister often disobeyed, rebelled and the god would go berserk, throw Rose into a fit of nervous disarray,

(I recommend a full stop there.)

her body betrays (betrayed) her, twisting like a cobra in a disjointed ball,

(no comma: there is no need for a comma after the relative pronouns. Eg, This is a book which will make me not sleep. There is no need for a comma after 'which'.)

that would make even the most daring gymnast green with envy,

(I recommend another full stop here. A reader would think you're deliberately trying to be stingy with sentences. Lol. Bringing up a new subject (her eyes), I think, necessitates a new sentence. If you want to combine into one compound sentence, 'and' could be used instead of the comma.)

her eyes would roll back into the socket (their sockets) as if, hiding from the monster that seeked to claim her soul, her teeth clenching, holding back profanity else her pain be made worse.

(There is no need for a comma after 'as if', really. And I think it's more correct to come up with the subject again after using 'as if'. So that would be: "as if SHE WAS hiding". Glance through the examples here:
http://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/as-if-though)


I had known instantly that our playful embrace had gone sour, her nails were digging into my little spine, drawing blood and pain but I didn't mind, for I knew that the demon was at it again. "Rose... Rose", I called my voice echoing the desperation, I felt.

(I was hesitant to assume you had a special love for the comma, lest I choke on false beliefs. You just confirmed it. Lol. Imagine I walked up to you and said, 'This is the book I bought', inserting a slight pause between 'I' and 'bought'. That sure would sound awkward. Separating the object from the verb and subject with a comma is equivalent to inserting the pause up there. This is all about the comma between 'desperation' and 'I felt'.)

I watched as she wriggled in pain, her face twisted like squeezed tissue paper, (I recommend a full stop here and starting another sentence with 'her pain') her pain was tangible, I could almost touch it.
"
Yeptka... No.. Tatakoo, no.. ", Rose murmured, her words incomprehensible, (full stop) but her pain had its own voice, stifling her breath like noose on a condemned.

I reached towards her, held her with all my strength just like papa

('papa' should start with a block letter. It's actually a proper noun)

had taught me, but my 7year old arm couldn't hold her down, it was as though she possessed the strength of a million men.

('it was as though' should be the start of another sentence. It is another idea being expressed.)

She was jerking convulsively, (full stop or 'and) she kicked the table, (full stop) the jug came crashing, water splashed on the tiled ground, (no comma before introducing 'as though' and no comma after it) as though (it was) following its trail, Rose edged towards the stairs and went gliding down the stairs, (full stop) I was screaming at the top of my lungs, running right behind her, (full stop)I held her sleeves, but like someone destined to drown, she slipped off, crashing through metal rails and concrete stairs and rolled into the waiting arms of papa. (Papa)

(The same note about commas. Create compound sentences with conjunction and not a cluster of commas if you're that writer who hates short sentences. I feel they're cute, anyway.)

Her teeth were clenching, papa was screaming.

"Someone get me spoon ", papa roared. I collided with mama in the frantic haste to reach the kitchen, but by the time, we got back in split seconds, papa had already ducked his index finger into Rose's mouth, (semi colon) anything to prevent her teeth from clasping. Mama was sprinkling red oil on rose's forehead as she was offering prayers to the Virgin Mary. I was looking at rose's face, something was different,gravelly wrong. I just felt it, like a part of me leaving, (full stop) I saw rose's (Rose) eye become lifeless, (and or full stop) goosebumps enveloped me, (full stop) casting a shadow of grief on my young memory, (full stop) mama was crying bitterly now, (and, full stop or semi colon) hope was clearly lost,(you know) papa's finger was cut off, (hahahah, full stop again) he was bleeding profusely, (and) the other part was buried behind the clasped teeth of my sister, (full stop) if papa felt any pain, he didn't show it, (full stop) he just sat nodding as neighbors offered their condolences,refusing offers, (no comma)to have his finger bandaged.

(Firstly, the verb 'clench' is a transitive verb and cannot be used without an object. 'She clenched her teeth' work fine and replacing the verb with an intransitive one like 'contract' would work too. Secondly, your usage of the past continuous tense for both verbs is quite unusual. It's more common to use the past tense for both parts of the sentence, or the past continuous tense for the first verb, and the past tense for the second part. The same thing applies to 'I was LOOKING at Rose's face'. If it's not for the sake of answering a question that was asked with the past continuous tense, it's very strange to narrate an incident using the past continuous tense alone. It would have been correct if something happened while you looked, and that would come with the past tense.)

It was strange how moments can separate life and death, (full stop) I looked at my wrist, it was still there, the red bracelet, (no comma) Rose had given me moments ago, (full stop) my heart was breaking into a million pieces, (full stop) I didn't even know how I still stood, how my knee could still hold me, (full stop) I wondered how my heart could still beat or how my nose could breathe,(full stop) life is supposed to end today, every single one of us, it is either death or we fight this epileptic lord and get my sister back.
It was when mama's (Mama's) hand reached for me, (no comma) I held on to her like a dying man holding the tiniest shred to reality, (no comma) I walked into her embrace and together we cried brokenly, mourning our Rose (insert a relative pronoun) crushed under the heels of the epileptic god.

Once again, this is a captivating story. It's the kind that never fails to win short story contests (I've been in many; never won one). You'll just have to do some work on punctuation, and you're there, gbam! I've just added a thousand pages to my book of thrilling expressions from reading this. Keep writing!

TheSCRYPT:


She was seductive,
Her voice, sonorous.

Beware,
Fire dances
In her soul.

TheSCRYPT:


Duty called
I followed
Her voice.

Aye, you
Answered:
Call of
Cowardice.

TheSCRYPT:


Duty called
I followed
Her voice.

Aye, you
Answered:
Call of
Cowardice.

TheSCRYPT:
I stood,
By it,
It lived.

cc llaykorn

You ran
In times
Of need.

This Thread
Fought Death
And Won...

Cc:
Texanomaly