RHYTHMIC WAVES by Jesse Asonze

Heartbeats fluctuating like tandem Pulsating in sync with attached electrocardiograms Eyelids fluttering in short bursts of reflexes All culminating in rhythm and poetry Sinners occupied by wicked acts Homosexuals impaling themselves with phallic rudiments Mercilessly pummeling their rectums Deny it not, amplitude is observed Runners taking strides towards victory Pendulums...

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INSPIRED

I’ve been inspired By the air that men breathe To bless all men, without grief Irrespective of what the man breed To give without appellation To all, irrespective of the nation I’ve been inspired By the beauty of the sun Whose glory radiates all the earth Making everywhere an hearth...

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INSPIRED

I feel like writing something but First I need to get inspired So I pick paper and pen, sit on my butt And wait to be inspired But wait! What will inspiration require Before it inspires? What if inspiration expires In the middle of writing, won’t I end in a...

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INSPIRATION

Like the drops of rain on a thirsty ground Like the gleaming moon in the darkest night …inspiration comes! It is… the instigator of our pen a light unto their paths a song in their mouth as the truths of the world (and the lies too) become characters on paper...

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WHAT MAKES A POET ?

Voices in the head create a handsome poet, a flood of tears makes up his lines, a flash of smiles gives rise to his verse, a poet is one made by His countrymen. A poet was made by his problems, another by his rustic view. One, his beloved makes shed...

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‘TIS YOUR CALL!

The only cure to this disease Is that you never cease To take this art by the scruff of the neck. It’ll be at your call and beck: Your ‘sufferation’ from ‘Poet-reukemia’ Is to be released by ‘Uthanasia’. Otherwise, suffer in silence, For we the critics are used to violence....

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I AM TIRED OF POETRY

My pen refuses to stop I get so twisted and I am laid bare; of all the themes I wear of all the ideas I share My poetic wit disobeys my orders Poetry stop please, you are killing me I am in a state of poignancy I pity myself I...

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FADING INK

In slant and well carved holeWas it buried in a mild coalAs names do cleft on tombOn wall, was its speech dumb That, I supposed was a numberAn address, waiting for its finderClenched in front of the buildingIn hope not to fade of it’s bleeding The drooped paint pootled in...

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