LINES AND VERSES

Where was he? He seemed to have released Those millions and me in such a hurry; Quelled his phallic hunger And cycled off without a worry. Where was he since he closed That door behind ? Perhaps opening more doors; Making more maddened babies - Plundering hearts of the ladies, Fouling their fine lives And brushing them all behind. Where was he since he brushed mama And I behind? Perhaps, he forgot we weren’t the only Things he’d brushed behind: He once did his glossy black hairs too, And his photos won’t hide that, too. And I'll ask once more: What did he do with his hairs’ blackness? Because he is bent and back And pleads I care for the grey ones. Where was papa? Where was he? By: Jude Ifeme Photo: Dreamstime

Poets of ghetto streets, They are not poets at all, Just a bunch of loose marauding louts Whose heads are best un-kept; They shout and foul the peaceful Air awakening the end of time. Poets of ghetto streets, Can’t be poet for us! Their manners stink Their minds in kink Of liquor and weeds And staggering dance They know not day or end. Poets of ghetto streets, Do they know the world at all? They are ferocious men Living dingy lives And blame the world for their plight. They are poets of ghetto streets, How come they speak for all? By: J.Ifeme Follow @mcjudeci Photo credit