The Generation of Colours
Source: A Blackout culled from Page 63, Chapter 9, Where The Crawdads Sing
Proceed With Caution Poem 16/Hour 16
Proceed With Caution
By: LuvMiFreely
I’m often perceived as quiet
Shy and meek
People like to try me
Taking my kindness for weakness
I normally take the high road
I don’t like to argue
But what you might not know
My words will destroy you
They cut like a knife
I aim to hurt feelings
You’ll see a side of me that can”t be deemed as innocent
Watch how you talk to me
Tread lightly when you speak
Coming for me will turn ugly
I promise you would never want to witness that day
If you came with a warning, what would your label say?
Hour Seventeen – With Eyes of Flame
With Eyes of Flame
– a golden shovel after Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll
The mission is good, the mission is important, the
mission is imperative. That beast! That Jabberwock!
It is essential that it be subdued, place under guard with
no chance of escape, or killed. I have not seen it with my own eyes,
yet, but does that mean we should take any chances? Of
course the rumors may be false. Who can believe it has eyes of flame?
But better we err on the side of caution. Safe, not sorry. We came
to this wasteland in hopes of peace, with a jaunty ease, whiffling
our way through. But now we know: this place is not safe. And through
new rules, new safeguards, we all will live, and live well! I tell you, The
Command has your best interest at heart! Our opposition, the Tulgey
Brigade, would have you believe the beast is friendly. Friendly! This wood
is filled with horrifying creatures, and the Jabberwock is the worst! And
what’s more, it intends to kill the lot of us! That noise that it burbled?
That is its death cry! As a commander of many armies, and as
leader in many similar explorations, you can depend on me to know. It
is my duty to . . . Aaaaaah, it came!
Hour 17
I arrive and no one moves,
sweat drips down their necks.
I am the heat, hitting people
like a wall
and they are frozen,
The room is a loud orange,
uncomfortable chairs lounge around
and on the glass table stands a cold beverage
slippery because of the condensed glass.
I try to make myself small,
still as a mouse teeming on the edge of death.
If only I could move through bodies of water,
maybe then I could find the quiet
I so utterly long for.
Exhaustion faces me like a stern sphinx,
tired of fighting and eating
she gives me the answers I have been looking for.
You have turned day and night into night and day.
Even at her best, her tongue twists riddles.
The dried-out red sand on the floor
lies dormant but I know
that the moment I leave,
it will come to life, swarm around
like an ant-nest about to be stamped upon.
I fear the ground.
Maybe if I let the day birth night,
instead of the night birth death,
my temperatures will lower
and maybe, I will be able to rest.
Hour 17 “It may be time to write the tears.” Doreen Dd. Spungin
Promise to never forget, you
where my words are left unsaid.
Your smile contained an explanation point,
hung on by a question mark.
This world should see you for what you are,
not what you became on paper.
Long for you on a summer breeze.
Again hoped for you on statues
of angels and holy figurines
decorating fresh cut lawns.
Dreamed of you on cabbage butterfly wings
and monarchs too.
When things are good, I crave for you.
missed you more when they turn bad.
Keep you like a prayer inside my heart,
remember yesterdays.
If I could meet you
for the first time again,
warn you of your future self.
There were signs we should’ve noticed.
So much loss made you numb,
I wasn’t meant to be your hero.
Tomorrow
Hi Chris.
Been too a long a minute
So I thought I’d write you this.
Even though I still wish we said our goodbyes over a bowl of jollof rice and a keg of palm wine
Then we’d vow a vow to stay together till the end of time.
Time.
How come mine stopped ticking, and yours kept running? On this I’d often ponder.
I make to call you sometimes, but then I’d always remember
Parting is still a bitter sweet sorrow
And truly, no one was ever promised tomorrow.
“Angry aggressive alliterations” POEM 5
Angry aggressive alliterations
Backhanded bad wishes, by the boat-load
Cold blooded cruelties, as casual as cucumbers with cheese
Double down dirty looks darted in all directions
Evasively escaped ensnarement
Feel me, friend..or foe!
Good GAWD got me getting hot!
Hush that hellaciously halitos’ed hole!
In time, imaginations will ice, inching inevitably inward
Just joke jeoulusly joyful jests
Kindly…
in my direction.
I will lay these angry alliterations asunder
Limerick
There once was an infant from Illinois
Whom ate or dismantled her toys
Her teeth tear through tires
Her hands grip like steel pliers
Unscrewing chair nuts and bolts brings her joy
Hour 17
Teacher, teach me,
I am ready to learn,
Like a sponge, I will soak up what’s intriguing,
Divulge me with your wisdom,
So, that I may understand,
Read with me,
So that I may enjoy,
the words that dance across the page,
Put the technology down,
Let’s engage in dramatic and sensory play,
Mom, Dad – you are my first teacher,
Teach me the ways, and I that I need to know,
Help me learn, help me grow.
Hour 17 – 1 AM
Whisper secrets through the phone
Rather this than feel alone
To know I’m just an option
Why in love must we take such cautions
Better me than her
To feel this hurt
But I always long
To be proven wrong
But for you this is only
The things you said when you were lonely