THE MAN-HIGH

Ever been on a man high?
A high so strong that leaves you reeling?
A high so wrong that keeps you wanting?
A high so right that you can't stop aching?
A high of needing, seething, searching, wondering, mourning....
A high of confusion, a high of hating one self,
A high from hell, a high deeper than the deepest well,
A high that is a curse,
A high experienced by a smitten lass.

I am that lass,
So star struck that-
That on this love I take a pass,
That on this string I choose not the bass,
That on men I quit the fuss,
That on looks I will hide the sass,
That on words I will be forever terse,
That on flower gifts I will keep no vase!
I am quitting on the man high,
The high that got me muddling in a sigh.

Ever been on a man high?
An awesome high when he is close by,
A hair-ripping high when he kisses his bye.
A high voluptuous and satiating when he calls,
A high deflating and cold when he ignores,
A high of dreams and goals when in his arms,
A high of loss and being stuck when he is being an ass.
It's the high that mends you only to tear you apart,
It's the high that consoles only to break you apart,
It's the high that defines you, then confuses you,
It's the high that warms you, then freezes you,
It's the high I hate, the high that's a mate,
It's the high that he gives and forgets to keep giving!

This high has:
Driven me mad,
Made me sad,
Turned me sour as curd,
Very much anti-lad.
This high got me wanting,
To roll up in mud,
To get on the bottle and sing kumbaya,
Yap,
I'm crazy!
Hazy and dazed,
Bitching every minute like an unpaid whore.

This high got me motivated to be bad,
Hike up my skirt,
Make my booty twerk,
Twerk, clap like thunder on a roll,
Twerk, clap till them honnies throw me a roll,
Get diced and sliced,
Hopefully till you call.

Once

I loved once.
Once when I was a fair young maiden,
Once when I was a restless young woman,
Once when I was a seasoned calmly woman.
Yes, I did love,
Men skilled with lance,
Men gentle and scarce,
Men careless and jerks.
Now,
Now all I do is pray.

Once,
Years passed, days lived, books read,
I could sleep like a babe,
Dream of years passed, days lived, books read.
Now,
Now shut eye comes short and light,
With thoughts of mates passed, days lived, chapters unwritten....sometimes.
Most times,
I pray through the night.

An appetite I once had,
Of succulent fruits, greasy foods, baked goods....
I often craved,
Flesh,
Hot and red.
I many a times drank,
From crystal glasses, beer glasses..
Now,
My hunger is embedded in prayer.

I was,
but now I ain't.
I needed,
Yet now I needn't.
There was,
There still is.
I could,
Now I can't.
Now,
All I do is pray.

CLOSET CLEANING

It was so like the typical horror movie scene: a hand reaching for a door that hides something sinister, something unknown.
The knowledge that whatever it is, it will get you.
No matter how swift you run,
how loud you scream for help,
you are a dead man.

The mental picture of such many scenes previously watched,
Gave me an exciting shudder,
Consequently brought me to wonder,
About the 'things' locked tightly yonder,
A place I had learned to forget,
A place I'm certain the term 'skeletons in the closet' described so perfectly,
"It was time," I thought, shuddering from pure fright!

I opened each door at a time,
With trembling hands, like a novice on a first crime.
Every opened door brought a cloud of dust to my face,
Behind it a sea of cobwebs and a swallowed case.
Within I had buried something,
And now I had to exhume it.
I hated it, but I had to keep the ring!

Clawing through the dirt,
I saw the grim past,
I trembled from a thousand feelings,
I ached from a dozen misgivings.
I was no longer a mature woman about to be wed,
Instead, I was a girl with lots of scars itching to be mend.

I had crawled under the bed,
Scared to death that this time he was surely going to kill her,
And true to his words, he finally did,
Taking himself with her.
Then there had been the cruel relatives,
The misguided believes:
I was a loony too, like father like daughter.
The scorning laughter,
The endless wishes of justice.....
I had had it rough, yet here I sat,
A woman whole, a woman survivor

At that instant it came to me,
As a woman goes to her wedding bed,
Yes I was scarred, but I had made it!
I was me because of my past,
I had faced the worst,
And now that I had faced it,
I needn't be afraid.
What had previously reeked of death,
Now brought unfathomable mirth,
It was like: a beautiful corpse, cold, calm...
It was so like a horror movie: the excitement and fright of something sinister, something perverse.

When it rains it pours

In a grey world,
Whose bustle and hustle,
Once loud, Now muffled,
By the mid year chill, the mid year bill,
Both heavy, hefty and heartless,
Boasts scars of a seasonal evolution.

How sensational to watch the reaction:
More boots, more hoots,
A soil choked on drainage,
So much hassle to cover that mileage,
A booming business of warm-wear, hot beverages and umbrellas,
A flu epidemic,
Misty breath,
An infrastructure stunned by increased surface run off,
Puddles, muddling muddy streets,
A game of hop, skip and jump.
Sensational almost doesn't cover it!

Clearly, nothing makes Third World problems pop like the pouring rain -
Nay, nothing emphasizes poor decision-making structures as does the pouring rain,
Both gain and rain, go down the drain!

Think of the council man who gained at the expense of construction on a riparian area,
Plans to improve an efficient drainage system that were ignored,
Individuals who littered; litter that ended up in a river, in a drainage,
Developers who grabbed wayleaves......
Why,
Is this not simply beyond sensational?

A graduate's woes

I must have fancied these moments a million times before,
Yet the reality is a million miles away from the former.
I couldn't have been prepared for what I now face,
I couldn't have imagined that dreams could unfold at such a painfully slow pace.
Still,
The fact that this is just a foreword,
Leaves me quite speechless.

How reckless of me,
To think that one moment's hard work,
Could justify another moment in the future?
I have been clueless!
I was born to toil,
A labourer,
And such I will meet my death.

Youth's glasses saw life as eternal,
Now,
I see life through a grown up's eyes.
How could there be so much to do yet so little time?
So many plans to be made?
Quite an amount of regrets and no redo button.
Surely,
Two hundred years seem hardly enough!

I believe my educators humoured me,
For why else do I feel lost in a world I thought myself prepared for?
Why else do I feel that my armor of certificates and degree is hardly a shield enough for this fast world?
Did I spend twenty one years doing it all wrong?

Clearly,
My first chapter has nothing but questions, blank spaces and so much sadness...
I am simply stuck.
How this story unravels is beyond my vision!

For you....

I perceive you oblivious,
To my unfastidious declarations of approval,
Perhaps my words have been a tad frugal,
My actions with no chance at all,
To charm you into a perfect scenario.

I seek metaphors in your favour: you are a sight to my sore eyes,
You are a balm to my aching sores;
A simile may hap will appear less exaggerated: you are like a rainbow on a stormy day,
Just enough shades to turn me gay;
Nay,
Plenty of shades each with a lifelong meaning.
I fancy red as the "like" matured to "love"
Orange the warmth that sparks,
Yellow the sun you sow in me,
Green your ability to always be bountiful,
Blue the height of agreeable feelings,
Indigo the mystery in your eyes,
And violet the gentility your masculinity overshadows.

Still,
My words seem to have fallen short,
For they sure are brief!

What of music?
Your voice is a song,
So moving that I lose myself,
So enchanting like a witch's spell;
Your words,
Rising and falling as a tuned fret board,
Elaborate and distinct,
As a sharp C against E flat....
(Sigh!)
You are more musical than music itself,
Oh song of my life!

Such sculptured features,
I dare not overlook!
My eyes have painted a greater painting of your physique
than the Mona Lisa,
My hands have molded your image a million times!
My fingers could do you no justice,
Neither could any man,
Living or dead.
Such perfection is beyond me,
For no megapixel can capture your features,
As do my eyes!

Try as I may,
I have hardly hit the nail on the head,
You are certainly what no words can express!

HUMBLED

I,
Who is fair in manners and looks,
Gifted with sense, senses and quick reprieve;
I,
Who is soft and strong,
And forever recalls,
Trifling and high impact aspects alike;
I am extremely humbled,
In every aspect,
Subtle and explicit.

I see clearer than I ever did,
I feel gratified towards every evil deed,
Done upon me,
Thought in my regard.
To think that something cold could warm my heart so,
Must be in every way unimaginable!
I am humbled for this very reason.

Nothing gives me greater pleasure,
Fair madam,
Than to make your acquittance.
You are a reflection of the strength I always envied,
Of the gift I felt almost denied.
You have made me find purpose in a polluted world.
I am but considerably humbled.

I look forward to every evil,
Previously feared!
I wish that every word against me be said two fold.
Cast thy stone upon me
Oh dear foe,
So that my blessings may come by the triple!