a cooking pot and twisted tales
Thoughts and Tales…A Lifestyle Blog with a Zing.
You were afraid
to live your dreams,
and you buried them
in the place you believed
they would be safe;
now everyone who goes by
sees a forest of possibilities.
#Buried dreams
©
Jacqueline
My prayers,
you are stuck on the ceiling board.
I look up, intently at the white rectangles
eyeing the invisible patterns of my earnest supplications;
that never quite made it past my rooftop.
My prayers,
why are you not getting past the ceiling board?
Is it because in the midst of saying it
I was thinking what sauce I must make for the day
would meatballs or fried chicken
appeal more to my hungry fold?
My prayers,
why do you fail to soar
could it be that the landlords brick and mortar
are far too hard and impenetrable?
I must have a word with him
‘cos he needs to use heaven proof material.
My prayers,
once you leave the space in my heart
do you roam the void trying to fill the vacuum
or do you travel faster than the light of speed
heaven bound where Angels receive you
then file you away in ‘to do files’?
My prayers,
I have no idea where you go
no do I truly know where heaven is,
but what I know is that at some point in time
each word of prayer I ever offered
will be waiting there to meet with me.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
With each engraved wrinkle
that time etched on
she lost her youthful looks
but never her twinkle.
≡
Her beauty’s matured
as her heart’s nurtured
the canvas of lines of time
stories of a precious lifetime.
Our beauty stays with us irrespective of how old and wrinkled we become. We only become a much more beautiful and limited edition 😉
one shot,
two shots,
three shots
… twenty more
target is down,
and he’s stone cold dead.
A life is lost,
a son is gone,
a brother is taken,
a husband is no more,
a father is killed,
a friend is dead
the list goes on…
To them,
he’s just another
disposable black man.
His phone,
a weapon
that struck fear
in their hearts.
How is it that a black man can be killed in his own backyard where even his phone is mistaken as a weapon. He’s riddled with enough bullets to take a small army, yet serial killers get taken peacefully, living at the expense of taxpayers and they get to have their day in court?
When I looked at you,
I searched for a flawed human,
but,
I found a beautiful soul.
©
Jacqueline
#seeingbeyondthesurface, #beautyisskindeep
Please save your thoughts and prayers
for they no longer count
These empty thoughts and prayers
only exacerbates the mind
Please keep the gun barrels rolling
for they are worth more than children’s lives
Lives you proclaim to value in the womb
yet assaulted for the price of ridiculous guns
⋅⋅
Can you hear the silent cries of little children
hidden in cupboards, under desks and mortified in fear
There’s so much blood flowing freely
leaving stains that no one can ever mop up
Yet you stand on your podiums
and proclaim non-existent freedom and rights
where are the rights of these young ones
who can never go home anymore?
Jacqueline
#Americasomethingishorriblywrong
#Americayouarepathetic
you cut my tongue
took it to the morgue
to stifle my words;
•
you chopped my fingers
burnt them to cinders
to bridle my vigour;
•
yet my thoughts
cease to staunch
from fluttering out
©
Jacqueline
Excerpt from my work-in-progress poetry book 3 – Check out Unbridled
We undulate to the hum of the night breeze
our bodies in sync with time and rhythm
our eyes hold on to each other for endless moments.
We’re caught in the euphoria of wedded bliss,
where everything melts away into oblivion
we are caught in our own whole new world
where what matters is just you and I.
©
Jacqueline
The veil before my eyes are torn,
now, I truly see your colours in high definition.
The thing is that you never hid them,
‘cos you let them show.
The fault is all mine,
‘cos I spent ages repainting you,
with the hope that my dabs of love
would soften the horridness,
but no amount of glitter I place on you
can hide your ugly sides;
now, I withdraw my paintbox,
I’m done with you.
© Jacqueline
#whenitsdoneitsdone, #stopsugarcoating, #sometimeswehurtourselves, #iseethroughyou
The Daily Post – Torn
This is life,
a beautiful, dirty fighter.
filling your eyes with splendour
then punches you in the guts,
with a fist full of pain
that breaks invisible parts
you never knew you had.
This is life,
shaped like a beautiful city,
charming yet endowed with chaos
glitzy upper streets with ghettos to the side;
just when you thought things looked rosy
the stench of its rawness sucks the air out of you
leaving you gasping and watering your face.
©
Jacqueline
a cooking pot and twisted tales 