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

Only a few of us will get to ever truly live life. The rest will follow their every line of thought, whim, will satisfy their every desire; and all they’ll ever need is express them. These few will be like the source for all men because they do things rightly. Man, though created to think and become, resigns to pursing the easy way through life, ironically the paths mostly perceived to be easy are indeed the most difficult and most fulfilling. The mind of man is one with the universe, and nothing is denied to one that is given to the other except one does not know how to ask or how to receive. Our dreams, our passions and fears constantly mold what we call our destiny. We fail to note that our destinations in life are in a constant flux, always responding to our decisions and actions. While some will always be rich and others poor, it is by no means the fault of the rich that the poor lacks, except when one steals directly from the rest which should then be treated...

I'm an outcast in your judgment; A dropout from your school of thought. I’m that fool made out of your crafty designs - You know, I'll never get it right. I'm lost, wretched, But I’m not humanity's garbage! I'm only a visible manifestation Of your endless castigation; And I’ve have come a long way. I’ve left my smile miles behind, Fed my laments to your hankering demons, And my torments I've worn like a better skin.                                   I am that pie abandoned in the rain To rot into a billion bits, But my molecules won't go up in a fouled air: I've become a figurine of your nightmare, A cornerstone of your paranoia, A death you didn’t will come. I’m slow. Your creation has found liberation.   © Jude I...

Oh sweet Erika You wanted a place in his heart And got a spot in his car Another shade to his art The sacks below your eyes The ashes of withered passion A still star in moving skies Lays no claim to their motion Oh dear Erika Can't count your loses on ten fingers Matters of the heart are what they are But you got to leave this to the head © Jude Ifeme

You could hear my silent protests, if you listened. But I hearken to your whistle, bow to your idiosyncrasies, render my dignity in non-reciprocated measures. I am a dog on a string, training my fangs, listening to my leash and lapping your feet - waiting for the day of selective amnesia. Jude Ifeme

Tell my mama I have no map Tell my papa I left his cap That I have seen images of Europe And there I might find some hope I’m done waiting for the oil Or wealth of abundant gas For ages they’ve bare the soil And the proceeds theirs This desert has my shoes But I keep to things I knew Don’t know what they’d be telling you Mama, seal your ears to the news This sun sears my skin And the distance drives insane But my dream I hide within I will find some place in Spain Till I cross that deep blue sea ‘Don’t know what my eyes will see Tell my papa I left his cap Tell my mama I have no map If some day I return Their lives I will fill with fun But if home I don’t come I still know where I am from But, mama, I have no map Papa, I know you love that cap Jude Ifeme

If you’ve held the hand of a dying, then you would know that death can breathe; you’d feel the calm rush of air deserting inflexible fringes – the veins, the nerves letting go their cares for life and lungs contracting, unwillingly at first, before ceasing for the very last time. You’d feel the body heave, surrendering memories, abandoning worries, sending forth the soul. If you’d listened closely enough you’d heard their subtle exhale, though you may not hear or feel death inhale. And if you do not feel or hear another breath, and if you feel as helpless as you have never been then it’s time to morn the dead. If you’ve ever held the hand of a dying and you stayed close enough, you’d realized that life is not the beginning and that death is not the end. (C) JUDE Ifeme

I don’t want to live forever Or defy death and time And lack – like the baobab Or re-launch like the grass, In desperate grasp for life. I don’t want to be a mountain Waking up to a spot – millions of year Yearning to roam the earth, Cursed with longevity. I don’t want the life of a star Or the moon, or the everlasting Warmth of the sun… But I will leave no moment unlived Not a second! ©J.IFEME

Walk a mile in my shoes And you will find how hurt are toes, How fixed is time while the heart Abides in pain, whispers of the earth Heard in quotes and verses Sighs and hums, and moment races. A mile in my shoes, you’ll recite A poem without a beginning or an end in sight. A walk not for a pilgrim Or if you will to pleasure to the brim But to dare to probe the skies And dread not the moment of truth in your lies. ©J.Ifeme DREAMING IN WORDS

You could hear the voices of the weak pine under the feet of neglect. You could see hunger in her commercial face, while disease withers the essence of the being. You could find hope ‘for sale’ on the altars of deceit, where men play god to rise above penury line. You could see the deprived rob the deserted of their right to life to score a point in a game of the conscienceless. You could see fortunes change as another good man finds a gap to sink his teeth in the large corrupt pie. O’ great citadel cast on the shoulders of deceit, O’ great citadel where only they can sit… You could see deprave disciples battling to un-break the dawn of new beginnings – You could see a nation torn between men who want it all and men, who want it all, men who have it all, depriving all. ©J.Ifeme

No – it is not the carbon monoxide which desiccates the air that gets at you, It is the tatatatatatatatttttttttttt… Papapapapapapappppppppppp… Tutututututututututtttttttttttttt – they screw serenity on all sides leaving you half-sane in your quasi-self-sufficiency! You’ll get discordant tunes to your rhythm and blues blabbering mess when you need the news and a strained string to your vocal chord – that’s if you already can condone the commotion! You will find a discreet scowl for your neighbors When their only crime is joining the electric-city! Just like you! Away from the days when you Never Expect Power Always But it occurs to you baptism don’t cast old demons They create new ones PHCN – Please Help Create Noise! © J.Ifeme

She’s got the Hollywood face And the grace of five-plus height, Her demeanor without shy or slight As she flaunts the latest craze. The gaze of the dummy damsel – Eyes the hue of hazel Beneath gorgeous lace hat Will race any man’s heart, But she’s got no taste for the Gucci And all the trendy designers, Not gullible, not itchy For dates or late night dinners Solitary in the world of big Barbies,   Far removed from kiss or hug or touch, Or the content of a life-time walk Down the aisles of a church This lavish beauty will never cry or laugh Or moan, or know a rhythmic swirl All she ever does is look Beautiful in a half-broken smile. © J.Ifeme  

She is a little frail She wants to set sail But she is searching for the sea She sees the butterflies She wants to fly Just so all can see … She has jewels on her crown She wears a long frown What a paradoxical entity She needs to walk Although she can talk But she is a tot at fifty

Do you believe in faces on magazines? Wonder why the next girl isn't so fine? If you could read in-between the lines Then you'd know who she is I know it's her figure you trace The eyes, nose and the face But if you knew inner grace Then you'd know who she is Without you she'd walk the street Your words aren't all she will eat Save your love, so be it Someone's dream woman yet she is J.Ifeme

When word fades and whisper ebbs into  deafening stillness. Only stirred by the soft pound of the heart. I hear you. When silence gives word to the unsaid – unaired accusations birth resentments, and forlorn expectations stare in folded arms, waiting. I hear your footsteps on the passage of my soul, descending. I hear the door softly closing; and there  is nothing more palpable  than the unshared pain. And here we are, our hearts so close. 2010©J.Ifeme 

Let me tell a tale of mortality, Unveil the marks of your immorality. Let you see every line, every crease, How a delicate skin decrease, In this battle of virtue and sin. But … I will watch your back, hold your stare Much longer than a best friend would I have no lies of my own; I could be what you would – Yes, I have no motion but yours will do, And I could even live your emotion …just to please you But I know a feigned smile And I could learn you a new charm, Give you a stage if you want to dream For you live in a world of much harm. Let me be your mirror, intricate and plain Untainted by time. 2010©J.Ifeme

Life is not a race, life is like a walk. Life is not a struggle, but  a stream of challenges. Life is sad. Life is sweet. Life is terrifying, yet beautiful. Life is obvious but highly mysterious. Life offers everything - only air is free.  Life is a gift, Life is a choice, Life is a burden - if you feel like carrying... Do not hold it tight, do not let it go. Do not call it names - it will always change. Make a plan or not, life has a plan. But  be not deceived for nothing is what it shows. ©J.Ifeme

The old chain-watch on the table Ticks away in cold despair – It would have dangled from his slim wrist as you shook his hand And he clasped yours in both palms like a priceless gift; How worthless time is without a breath! The three-quarter on the hanger An air of subtle anger The red cap that announced a forgotten chieftain – All mundane burdens finally shed … You could smell his sweat on the Isi’agu The stale odor of his earth-suit Now six feet below And if you were still gullible you’d think that was him But the real papa was the wind that swept past as you cried Departed like a real sojourner His stay once sweet but now over (C)2010 J.Ifeme

There’s a world of colors Amid the black and the white – A web of colors Beyond the sight The eye sees that it wants to see – Vision is in the balls… Like the most intriguing veiled in the sea  Deeper revelations dwell in the unseen The winds are angels And rule the tides They battle the rebels In the endless wide The souls of trees The spirits of bees The fingers of the air As they stroke your hair The haven in our world The dangers in our path The lens on our eyes Still keep us blind 2010©J.Ifeme