Chocolate Woman

I can escape her if I want to!
But seriously, who would want to?
I dare not even to close my eyes.
For with a glance, I see the heavens;
Her beauty uncompromised.
Immaculate and free, she reigns angelic,
Her face I continually see, my thoughts aesthetic.
Mock me openly if you will, yet veil not your lies!
Restrain from being stormy,
For its all clear as our skies;
"She's really a woman of chocolate!
A real chocolate woman."
Hard on the outside, but at the right temperatures;
Will melt like butter,
And will make you stutter!
Well as for butter, it will always need complements.
Yet chocolate deserves compliments.
And if I were you, I would find all the condiments,
To influence the consequence.
I love my chocolate; black.
No milk, not even condensed.

A devout I stand for ever,
However,
As with glance; that is well within my sights.
I stand behind my seemingly ineffable, bias plights.
Let the weak dither,
"I stand by my black woman's dinner!"
They've become inundated from the flash of another.
But not me!
For my heart will hurt me, my vessels will desert me.
My body will become cold and unearthly,
Don't get me wrong,
For some of these milky characters are worthy.
But not me!
Never would I ever, want to miss out on her...
For that would be my chance at the world.
After all she's the epitome of a woman,
"The Black Woman", especially with child.

Even in my sleep, I dare not dream;
Thats far too much sunshine for me to take.
So I'll suffer, in her colourful world; my heart wont ache.
Looking at my chocolate woman's face,
shining from the sweat.
To be in love with such state, I will never regret.
I've become much more potent for it...
Much more surrounded by her orbit.
I for one will never make her cry,
Unless they are tears of joy.

Innocuous

I've endured better times in the slump.
Those were the glory days,
The real days of triumph.
But what we have now is sickening,
Far too heart rendering!
Imprisoned and disposed, to our impulsive nature;
To live composed of this, pungent caricature.
Oh how this irritates me, and I only have myself to blame.
Yet, I hate you for it; for this burning desire,
This thing I simply cannot tame!

I am mad, my senses have eluded me once again.
My conscience unsparingly writing on my thoughts,
Like an irremovable pen.
Am I not a man, can't I simply understand?
With beauts like these, I should run to the plagues.
Yet this unamed feeling; is far more determined,
Than perpetual plagues.
It yields not, it disturbs and plots;
It clothes the impurities and conceals rots.
A victim I am of this trance...
Well, that's not too bad
It has marauded many others in France.
They make wine for this stuff!

They applaude and serenade in it,
Way too incitingly; so many become exhausted in the bliss
And commit.
After all its "harmless"...

Love is the great mathematical equation, it gives you everything.
Yet you'll never be able to compute it.
It confuses all!
It drives us crazy,
Then sends us way over the wall!
L'amour n'a pas seulement des actes à ne pas faire...

“Athletes are predominantly stronger, and oft, more successful than the in vogue aesthete.”


“Gone are the days of where we marinate, these are the days of broth.” As paradoxical as that statement may seem; it may very well be true. Not a certainty, yet certainly worth a given try or at least something to cogitate on. Common sense these days is not as common, or as granted these days. Yet I continue, for with distance; the closer we become, the clearer we realise. For some, here on in, I would suggest you stop looking. Unto the meat of the matter; no matter how artistic you are, it does not count for muscle.

Athletes are predominantly stronger, and oft, more successful than the in vogue aesthete. Now need to sound the alarm bells as this is directed solely at males, I raise the emphasis on now. Not surprising, as women are predominantly petite and seek to use their wisdom far more than men –in most instances at least. Women, in the general case; prefer to be, protected than being romanced. I am sure there are far too many novels to defend that statement. Yet, there is no need for self sacrifices that may prove only to be a masochistic act, and eventually being looked upon as being fatally unwise. Furthermore, there is enough on our plate. We cannot afford to allow our egos to get that much ahead ourselves. We might be seen as heroically not all there, or even worse, small headed. Certainly, I am narcissistic enough to believe that.

What’s the use of a man if he will not defend her in the direst and most undesirably fearful of moments? Zilch! To be frank, we can’t wrong them. This is just the way it was meant to be, we must be defenders! If not, we lean towards our ancestral disseminations; they (ancestors) were taught to be great seekers of the land, no matter how nomadic! Sorry, I meant we were taught to be great cultivators, to not only plant the seed but to dig deep. What did women do? They became wiser, ensnared in jealousy and signs of and from the times. Protection became much more than taking a hit to the head. ‘Protection’ means the ability to be protected from the gross dangers of financial collapse, the means of adapting to trends adeptly – not leaving her out in the cold. We males are still cultivating in the most post-modern of ways, if only our pockets could stretch. If only we had pockets. The time is now. We need to realise the Titanic things we can do. Why else do they love that movie so much?

If you want me to be a man, don’t complain when I give you my dictums. True. But that my friends is certainly a chasm. Well as life would have it, things are not as straight forward as we would all like to believe. That being said women are very much the lions of the den; they seek their prey far more ostentatiously than we are led to believe. Predators of a feministic kind, the ones that will deceive you in the ways you can actually believe…



Realistically, before even approach; a woman, has mentally unearthed every good and bad deed the man is capable of producing. The assumptions over, she then begins to physically analyse the features, and then he can only pray that she sees pass his timid frame, or limited brain. But of course, all that is in the general sense. For I am not Doctor Phil, I don’t have surveys. I simply go through personal observations. The perception of him being the predator is no more, she now has complete control. Denial is still quite possible, for she believes in her instincts. Yet, if you are bold - a major evidence of a manly structure, then you may just find that you have the time to convince. Being bold is not being big; being big is definitely being bold. She requires someone to protect her, not someone who insomuch an aesthete, but a man capable of wowing her as that of the athlete. With words she may grow softer and a little bit more fairy taled, but that’s of no use, for a real princess desires protection and warmth. Even a meagre figure, who will be her defender to the end, from the very beginning. I repeat, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. In becoming the bold and protective we must try at best to not become foolish.

With women the world can be quite catastrophic, for they are demanding as the tax we pay. Seriously, women and their needs are a lot. As protective as a male should be, she should never neglect his potential and his efforts. Also seeking to make sure that he does not extend himself beyond belief. In fact, she should be very keen in keeping him upbeat in the troubled times. Females are... ok, moving on. (In keeping with fact that I am more or less married, more or less saving my skin.) But women are muses of the musers, the caterers; of the protectors, the cultivators, and the nomadic fishers; well not so much the fishers. I go back to our ascendants’ dissensions to prove that point. Obviously, realism has caught up with us. Father Abraham had many sons, all of which were under monogamy. Certainly.

Where can we strike the balance? Both sexes need to realise the fact that there is a need to appreciate people for who they are. Appreciate the opposite sex for what they are. For by nature we do complement each other, by nature. We also need to become more than people who are appreciators, and seekers of those who suffice. Human beings need to recognise love. Peeling away the cloak of impurities, for by default we are fallible. Yet there is something within everyone that makes compatibility easy. The word is soul. With soul there comes a key factor; we are happy in spite of , not because of. For deep down we are all plagued with something that need not be there. Love eludes trepidation. Gone are the days of where we marinate, these are the days of broth. For if we take people for what they are: fat, skinny, rich, poor, intelligent, and foolish. We’ll never begin to understand who they are.


TO BE CONTINUED….


“Behind Every Great Amorist, There Is An Even Greater Muse!
Be It Prolix Or Pithy, You Are Muse Of My Every Metre.
From The Recesses Of My Very Heart, I Love You With Every Litre”
To Cerise

The writer's struggle...

Never again will you find a dull poet.
They reserve the title as writers.
Whilst the writer may scribble a long the way.
The poet embalms brilliance, at the writer's dismay.
The precision of a poet's vibe,
Is far too rhythmnical for the writer's hide.
This will always irk the writer's wit;
to deboggle the content. 'Why is it a hit?'
The poet's vendatta is sublime enough to unearth
Yet he doesn't vaunt or grinch to the writer's dearth.
Certain things are criminal to do...
To write as a poet incensed by writers too!
For writers do write, yet a poet's magic is never wrong.
And just for the writers' sake, I shall not make this long.

A Whim of Inspiration

A whim of inspiration would do me fine, for I am a joker at heart, and an amorist at mind. I will sit as a recluse, and poker with time; for it is never of the essence. Unless spent in God’s presence, adorning him with lofty presents, forgetting the fad of the world; the twisted and the twirled, the crust of the earth, only bringing to the almighty; the incense and the mirth. For, giving God praises therein lies pleasure, and for a poor man; God is, the great treasure.

But to scribble the next line, I will certainly be greedy; searching for that impulsive thrust of wit. To wrought the interested, to suffice the needy. Seldom are those thoughts when inspiration is lacking, so I sit here searching for that profound line; for my own gratification, something worthwhile, something smashing. To make this all seem of sense, just that one line. Or write until I find that whim of inspiration; for my poetic pores are burning, for this titillating feeling of revelling in my poetic trance as that of love.

But that is my very woe, I choose not to be cheap and scribble of love. Far too easy it is; I have from her and family and that from above. No, I will not be the amorist, but I shall claim the poet’s stance, unbiased to the real and exaggerate the feeling. Indulging in my creation, I write to raise the forgone ceiling. Too much is never easy, so I soldier on yet to find the profound, the not cheesy. Where is that, whim of inspiration? Save me now, for it’s long in the poem and I’ve yet to feel that moment of ecstasy. To ease my temple, and soak in a good read, finding myself and finding myself; smiling thinking about the last line. The one that really did the damage, the one that unknowingly committed the crime.

I am now frustrated, as my journey has seen itself through. I am exacerbated by thought of little or no inspiration trickling as dew. I’ve lost; this will be just another plague of a poem, dying to become something it has always wanted to be. But for now, it suffers at my demise, for there was no inspiring thought. I served best, as amorist.

Hypocrisy

The perfect smile; leaves you with enough evidence, for it to be seen as hypocritical. Better yet, you know. In essence leaving them in their ignorance; with perhaps a smile yourself, but this is not new, nor rarely ever is it absent. And in those scarce moments of pity, this absence leaves an abnormal feeling of dissent, especially for the hypocrite. But for the brave, forlorn its not- But there is a thin line between bravery and stupidity.

Allow me to be impartial; to say it, like it's meant to be said. Read it like how it's meant to be read. Being as indulgent as possible, but removing all the doubts, taking away the improbable. Causing disturbances for the few, who feels the most; clearing the air, exorcising the ghost. For as you know; these are some perilous times. Where people commit, some in arduous crimes; but they are not criminals, just hypocritical minds.

Constantly, I plague my mind searching; why is it human nature to be a hypocrite? ''To love is human nature; maybe that's why people love, to be hypocrites''. But then, the time spent thinking was nothing gained. Maybe my cerebellum sprained but the answer it aint. As I now know, there is no answer. Like the cure for an AIDS or better yet Cancer. We are all spawned with ignorance; as to why, certain things are the way they are. Why simple cuts heal for some, but others just scar. Which leads me to the point, some heal better than others.

But some, they just can’t refrain from being hypocrites; they just cannot heal. As if to say; it’s a promise made, an immovable seal. Yet again, some can; but it all depends on their mental, their ability to not care. Or, perhaps not fear; not showing a sardonic smile. Not driving the crowd wild. For there are no heart attacks, no emotional breakdowns, for there are no casualties, especially in the heavenly faculties. We simply live on, living on free of thought. No entrapment; no freedom sought, of the afore behavioural concoction. Positivity enhanced, immoral reduction.

We see it rampant; in our churches, classes and everywhere else. We fear it not, for Machiavellian it's not, it's only Hypocrisy. The age old tendency; to be unreal, to see the truth and not reveal, But wouldn't that make us all hypocrites? No, not unless you're not brave! It’s not over till its over. Be not a push over, for controversy is good for the soul and for every surviving sole. We are all from the World, but all are not of the World.

A Metaphor for Love

Steel mirrors do not break! Often times dented. But then; love eventually happens, again! Reflections resolute-musing empowered. We admit to defeat, our senses scoured; there is no escape, without it no means of survival. We have been through its death, now its revival. But how hard is it to love? A World full of pain; for if there’s no pain, there is no gain! This love cannot be concrete, unless there is foundation. Love cannot be of spirits, unless there is distillation. This love is that plumber, who fixes all pipes-a dirty job it is. But it gets the blood flowing, leaves the cheeks glowing, keeps the teeth showing. Love survives, that is status quo.

Love is too little a word, to mean so much. Yet it's more than enough. Love is harder than tough. For glass it’s not, it does not break! Hitting the steel is painful; but it’s your pain to take. But you will endure; for love is unmoved, unchanged, and only clearer next time around. By both what not and your actions for with math it is your fractions. Love is there; it is in your before, after and again, basking. Incessantly recurring, just asking and asking. Showing its reflection like water, especially at sea; you punch, you kick and slap; yet, your soul is not free.

Attaining love is not easy. And it’s now a depression, the recession is over. You smile, wit and jeer and lose your composure. But nothing beats a good try; except, from writing a note, and having a good cry. Unless you’re smooth as silk or melt like butter, you’ll never find the words to say...just stutter and stutter. Until you find the one that appreciates, your mirror –steel that is. Then hunt along, but it is scarce as you can get. But there is hope, and you will cope, in most instances. And when you find; someone of the same ilk, someone of the same mind, some mirror that is not glass. Far more durable, perhaps vague, but will last. For with time, you will adjust no more of blur, no more of cuts. Happiness occurs: perpetually, incessantly, and again and again, for there is gain, and then there is gain!

Glass mirrors of love are good-handle with care. For long term they’re not. They are as crystal as clear; we see what we want, and get what we see. Reflections can be altered, by the mirroring effect of others who faltered, and just by the mere amoral we apply; which leaves it a little less than amative. We hop in; we look, and just leave and then we sigh. Little time spent on musing, for it serves best static, dynamic is confusing. Everything seems so clear, so: ‘that’s what I want’. Maybe that’s our fault; we focus not, on what we need. So the mirrors break, and then we bleed...

The Fabricated Truth: Sexy and Girls

We all have faults; no matter how self righteous, perfect we think we are. But when it comes to females, they embrace this fact with a wry smile. For cardinally it’s a sin for them to not; dress to impress. Dress like the rest, but look better, that much better. Matching outfits that glares in your eyes, just enough for you to become aware of their presence. Maybe a little more than aware; allow them, to become the centre of your attention. As surely they didn’t dress, so potently glamorous for you to take notice of them, only in small doses.

But they fail to grab hold of the male’s mindset. We are not impressed by the way they adorn themselves, well maybe but it’s not that essential. Her being sexy is and will be far more, essential. The Coco-cola bottle mentality; the curve keeps our eyes, straight on the figure. That’s me being brutally honest. For we care to let go, all the before, and think of how; sexy she looks now.

This leaves a big gap for girls to live up to, for not only are they plagued with the up keep of their dressing. But now, keeping up to the fitness regiments and watching that regular Pilates program, which seems oh so imperative; for the knowing girl. No girl wants to be that girl; who walks around with her hands smelling of chicken gravy. Creating more humor for the world at large; as she walks in those tight jeans, compressing the lard unattractively. No guy wants that girl, uncouth to say the least. No matter how narrow minded us males are; we aim for that sexy thing. But sexy is based on perception, which leads me to the truth….

The truth is; perception poisons our thinking, above all else. What seems to matter most are others’ perceptions about our perceptions that leave us, a little less than our selves. We are not free to be who we are. We cannot think as we would like, for what we like, is not of their liking. So we are left as wanderers; both male and female, living up to someone else’s perception of how things should be. Of how sexy that girl really is. ‘My nails really need to be done’- the celebrity mentality. Nothing is wrong, in aiming to become a celebrity. But something is wrong, in becoming like the celebrity. Nothing is wrong, in, more than appreciating the ‘thick’ girl.

Sexy and girls goes hand in hand, Likewise, beer bottles and males. Just maybe, these bottles are influencing our thinking, more than enough. They say females like what they hear and males see what they like, pardon my twist to the saying. But all in all, sexy girls like hearing that they are sexy. Leaving them; looking that much better, But that’s only perception, right?
Maybe not, maybe fabrication….

You’re Cheese

Nope, it’s not about smiling...try again, give up? Well, it’s about that important person in your life. And why you feel; everyone, just wants to have that big unspoilt slice. Well unless your lactose intolerant, then obviously the division of your cheese is not an idea you would take with open arms.

We all should know what happens to cheese when left out in the open, inadvertently it becomes stale. Keep your cheese refrigerated; allow it not, to be cheesed off. For no one really wants stale cheese which is too much pain to endure, even for the starved. The Cheese is, was and will be; such a wonderful thing to be wasteful of.

The great thing about it, Cheese is so abundantly varied; for there is a type of cheese, for every type, for every soul. But be cognizant, this Cheese is not for consumption. A moral adjustment, if not aware, for this ‘Cheese’ must be cherished to every single bit. But do not bite, instead appreciate – realize that your Cheese is special. Embrace the fact that no one else can have a slice, a piece. Fortunately, you’re not lactose intolerant, maybe to everything else, but not Cheese.

So be free to be cheesy, with your Cheese; undoubtedly love it. Cheesing is essential, when with your Cheese. For only then, your Cheese will come to the realization; that you in fact, are their Cheese, their spoilt milk.....

How yummy does that sound?

Etching is better

Etching is better, only if done cerebrally. One cannot condone the idea of a person literally carving into their skin, inflicting damage, equipped as the Surgeon at the ready for scalping, anaesthetics intentionally misplaced or erased. But as the blood spurs, from the relatively calculated cut that inflicted enough damage, for it only to be seen as stupid, not fatal. They find relief in the temporary pain it sheds. But the marks aren’t effervescent, rather grotesque and humiliating. For it is no one’s wish to show off their stupidity, at least for some it isn’t. A mental condition some may say, in fact, a mental condition it is. But how much so, would you want to be etched on someone’s mind? A different type of high...

Feeling important is not easy, for some. They rely on one’s opinion of themselves, to feel only just ok. Some enjoy the fact they can exploit people’s thinking, through disturbance but they in fact need deliverance. For etching should never be extravagant, boastful, imposing itself, it is unique to the Artist. Hence it is not; loud, it allows for reflection, a deeper meditation. But the beauty of it all, everyone possesses this ability to etch. Yes on skin, but that is not beautiful. Etching of the mind is.

We cannot allow this unfailing power to elude us, this artistry. The power of etching can be of greater significance; if only we allow it. Persons who etch illusions onto one’s mind are no less than liars, Magicians they are – they bestow the power to deceive and create confusion. We can all allow the Magic tricks to elude us, for it would seem very limited of us to be associated with trickery, at least for some.

Be not confused, etching is not glorification of one self. For it is merely the ability to bid another, with the beauty you’ve found; be it, inside or out. Creating a far more colourful; beautiful relationship with this other whether they’re significant or not. In doing so, one becomes a better person, self confidence begins to loom, maturity blossoms, negativity hindered. If an Artist etches every day, unavoidably he becomes a better Artist. Paint your picture today; it may very well leave an irreplaceable mark on someone.

Etching will remain parallel to its initial state, leaving a lasting memory of good...Use it well, to colour and engrave; the good amongst all.

Becoming the Neo you can be....

If I’m getting no sleep, why dream about it? A false sense of hope is nothing to save up for. If we sift our moral obligations, then by hand remove all trivial matters, what are we left with? Nothing less than standards and customs, so old our skins wrinkle to think of its inception. But it is good to standardize, to customize not so much. Conceiving an idea is neither beyond nor above anyone. The culprit can only become a criminal, if the act is a crime. But the criminal conceived a culprit’s psyche, and then by executing became the doer attaining the criminal status.

Are we all criminals to our minds, no? At least our thinking, we readily appreciate things of the old the real proverbial stuff. Conception is just a mere lake we visit, in our times of solemnity, trying to escape the world around us. We create new ideals, when the things of old become counterproductive. Too little for anyone’s liking, but that is standard, surely we know that things of old are not meant to be changed or tampered with. They are truths of this world, the untouchables.

Truth is not beyond us, conceiving truth is certainly not beyond. What seem to contradict our truths are misconceptions that lead us to errant results. Why bother play the law of averages in conceptualizing? Because one cannot hide behind the fact; that it takes only one great idea to ameliorate all that bad preceding us.

This idea of old is better, standards are certain and customs are tried and tested. Limits our ability to become creators of beauty and wonders, every being is entrusted with a talent. Each talent can and will conceive. This mental blockade of adaptation is cunningly disguised as what I call ‘truths’. For it is truth, that education is the high way for success. But who says we need education for success? For it is truth, that money can grant us joy. But who says there is joy in having money.

Customs and standards imparted from the old, simply produces nothingness, essentially endowing our minds to another’s intellect. My success is not your success; but we must aim to successfully remove standards and customs from the forefront of our thinking or intellect- if in fact, freedom is our wish.

Let’s standardize and customize to originality. For it is criminal to hold our minds in contempt for conception. The mosaic mind holds within it many pictures...Feel free to become beautiful!

A familiar...familiar

This is no ordinary fragrance; it possess within its powers, the ability to elude one’s comprehension. Causing a heavenly disturbance, whilst it lazily infiltrates one’s thinking bogging the delusions and perceptions. Inconceivably potent, its nature is distinct, but, beyond us. Uninvited to our exposed and very much eroded defences, it declares; ‘We come in peace’ for only in peace, will it gain its objective.

Its mannerism, would suggest that it can only, oppress and not suppress. Leaving us unclear, of its potential to inflict damage, is it malicious - vile in character or is it benign? We tackle this ‘thing’ with caution, not allowing it to understand our resources be it; destructive or constructive. Yet unknowingly, it has studied us, knowing our inner selves, makeup and characteristics, more than our selves. For its success, is incumbent on its knowledge of its victim.

As it continues to creep its way into our system, we send out decrypted pulses of compliance, in order to barter the control of our system. But it holds firm to its resounding claim. ‘We Come In Peace’

Adamant that we should comply without complaint and allow ‘it’ to configure or direct our paths into a rather vulnerable position. That may very well lead us, into prosperity? ‘Let your shields, your Hulk, your Norton, down. Do not withhold your inhibition to feel at ease’. But we remain intolerant to its demands, at least for some. Eventually leading to our demise, but the fool is not hardy, nor is it hard to be the fool. But for the seemingly or unseeingly wise, who gave in to the entrapment of one’s soul. They will perpetually remain prisoners of the ‘thing’ the ‘it’ called Love.

Been a prisoner, for some time now, I can tell that its hardships are hard. But equally so, is its ability, to compound the word happiness with one’s self exponentially. Some try to extricate themselves from it, some successfully so, but finding themselves, in the ocean, looking at sea.