a cooking pot and twisted tales
Thoughts and Tales…A Lifestyle Blog with a Zing.
I searched his eyes
but he was long gone
wandering a private,
and distant place
a landscape with no zipcodes
and no maps.
I tried to call him back
all in futility
he was stuck
in the corridors of silence
unreachable…
© 2018 Jacqueline
This poem came to my mind when I heard of Senator John McCain’s passing. I don’t know him personally except for what was made public, but I developed a healthy amount of respect for him as I read a bit more about him. May His Soul Find Rest.
Dark secrets you buried,
light unearthed it;
skeletons in your closet
refuse to stay forgotten,
they rise, they rattle;
their whispers reach out
and sends chills
deep down
to
your marrow.
©
Jacqueline
He heard them.
They were coming
but he couldn’t run.
The Earth spurted blood
black birds circled in foreboding,
this farm is a prison and he’s its convict.
In a bright panorama,
he saw horrific things,
things that jarred his senses in an unspeakable way
The beaten and the burnt,
the hung and the torn,
the shackled and the maimed.
The tears, the gore,
and the stench of death filled his nostrils,
it clung to his skin and seeped into his bones.
©
Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
For Scene 1 – check this link
He walked the fields
the whispering ears of corn
caused him to shiver
tendrils of the melon
entwined his ankles
in an attempt to pull him down
ripe melons turned into heads
gruesomely lopped off
and rolling on the plantation floor
The sights he saw
made him break out in a cold sweat
his feet rooted to the ground too heavy to move
©
Jacqueline
The hatchet was buried
where no one would find it,
or so they thought.
It was a nasty surprise
to see it leaning on the barn door
smeared in fresh blood.
Too many things didn’t seem right,
each day throwing up a new surprise,
they dug deeper to bury more secrets.
©
Jacqueline
a cooking pot and twisted tales 