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Kaycee

Kaycee (1)

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You and I
Dear Didi
"Our father"
Good Mother
The Citrus
MUSIC and ME
Poetry
He's willing to forgive
The Setting Sun.
Who's the thief?

You and I

Can a fruit fall far from it's tree?
And can a tree producing vile fruits,
Be termed as good?
Its boughs and roots would be havens for corruption.
who then is to blame?
For all these fustrations that can rip reason from senses, In a land where many are tainted, And mired in needless degradation, Corruption, greed and indiscipline That still add weight upon shoulders, As we struggle to keep pace, With the rest of the world.
And when we raise fingers,
To cast stones at those we choose to censure, Which directions do we point to?
Certainly not to the heavens!

We plunge ourselves into gutters,
Of ill-existence,
When our common goal is plundered,
And whom do we put forward,
As culprits needing riddance?
Aye! People from amongst us.
And the society would be quick,
To look to heavenly places,
Where authorities dwell,
Sons and daughters from amongst us.
And truly these ones have sullied their mandates, With excretion of lies and deciet, Yet they are all from families, That makes up the nation.
Our fathers, mothers, bothers and sisters, For the same degradation is evident, Even in alleys, far from those heavens, where you and I dwell.

Dear Didi

My opening lines,
Flattery with amazing fineesse.
One fit to lure sympathy,
that could twist the arms of her decision not to acceed.
I produce words with purpose.
"...Dear Didi", I continued.
"its a pity my chances crumbled
like a pack of cards,
under your brief scrutiny.
For you appeared like my dreams;
brunnette by just a touch;
height like the 'face of Africa';
bossoms that would douse desires
perculiar to my kind;
smiles that'ld bring forth warmth;
flowing dark hair, like that of stars;
and that aura I picked up
like a sign from the heavens.

I could have sworn to do it all for you, And what would be the first would be to entirely erase, even, any compunction to risk having the smell of mine habit sip through to meet with your snif.
This habit, the reason for your
hasty rejection.
And with the thoughts of clearing my pathways to nuptial bliss still looming, your hands I would have gladly taken, If only you knew.
Your thoughts would however remain warm in mine lonely heart awhile, till another turns it cold, Truely yours."

"Our Father"

Our dear Father,
who at in heaven but still,
condenscending to my level I sing,
Psalms like I'm king David,
I've been craving to sing praises,
to You lately,
I'm glad to be called your son,
for I'm not worthy to be called Yours,
for I was born upon imperfection,
but You'll be reaching out,
and giving out your only Son,
to bring me out of transgressions.
So I'll publish your name far and abroad, now that the strength of youth persist, i hereby humbly insist, to be ready to be used steadily by You, in everything that I do, Thats why I scribble lines that echoes, that you alone are good!

And indeed O Lord,
You have made the Earth and the Heavens, in just seven days and every...
Stars in the galaxies,
Sharks in all the seas,
Grasses, even trees,
Man and all earthly beasts,
Mountains and peaks,
valleys and Hills,
inpiring to bring psalms to my head,
as I read that You cared for Your people, and went ahead to split the red sea up, You set the laws of Gravity and Karma, Relativity and every other theories, under Your sun including the speed of lightening, very awe-inspiring, Thunder striking!
its very likely that your divine presence, would be very brightening, no wonder Cherubs and Seraphs, cover their faces with their wings, when they come withing your glorious presence.

Good Mother

My mother is nice,
Even the mother of my mother,
My mother like Christ did sacrifice,
Even all that is nice that meets the eyes, and follow the likes of man, Never absent of a vice.

For not even lies,
Could lure or entice,
This pure and bright lady,
She is one of a kind,
in all that is right,
and endorsed by the likes of Christ,
That preaches around all of the time...
my mother is fine.

Ofcourse she's mine,
She's my mother and grand mother of my seeds, To be taken to the heights further, beyond dreams she bothered to sleep upon.

The Citrus.

Is it the unusual hesperidium's succulence?
Or this level of innebriation
when taste buds beckons even its spittle?
Because from the first squeeze,
To the last, of the leathery rind,
Sweet essence poured forth,
Dousing thirst and hunger.
Vesicles burst open by thier hundreds,
Spilling natures awesome sweetness.
As the once well rounded carpels meet distortion, From grasps of aggression.
Soothing and satisfying.
Then an ill-bred belch!
Reason finds senses now sobber,
With renewed appreciation for the citrus.

MUSIC and ME

Let your sweet voice serenade,
especially to me at dawn.
Songs from the depths of the lungs,
flow out, tinged with the talking of drums, producing melodies sweet, as dexterous fingers stroke cords.
The flow blossoms in the air.
Let no one tell me about your genre,
for all your sons are one to me,
and as they come to me,
I let them speak sonorous notes to my
drums,
I begin to move in progression,
and at the bridge,
I reply you matching your pitch,
even hanging on as you drag an octave,
and then with eyes of the initiated,
key signatures become visible,
majors and minors with sharps and flats, place themselves after clefs on the staff, guiding us as we start to make love aloud, even to the enjoyment of listeners.

POETRY

Poetry gives me liberation!
My mind levitates beyond clouds;
of limitations and measure,
and of chastity and timidity.
And like a renaissance of the mind,
I get placed in realms,
where man's existence; his ways,
deeds and thoughts,
his pennings, religion and devotion,
his dicoveries and inventions;
would sit pretty on my palms,
stripped of sacrosanct's clothing,
for my unrestrained caress.

I get placed on the fence,
in-between two sides of a coin,
from where I would envision
the head and the tail,
and come to glean understanding,
even the least compartible reasoning.
Then I would be free to flirt
with words upon the bed of my thoughts,
and as she urges me on,
I would create onomatopoeic additions,
to Lexicon's fold,
from the sound of my toss.

I would be free to paint imageries on my mind.
The grotesque, i would make picturesque, and vice-versa And I would reply rhetorical questions as my mind explores the depths of any knowledge, so that after each penned masterpiece of reflection, the feeling of being liberated, even in the deep recesses of the mind, would go ahead of me all day.

He's willing to forgive

Seven days after,
He made man and made him after,
His image and likeness,
with preciseness that's priceless,
life everlasting in the finest of gardens, beautiful surroundings, love was everywhere and even beauty was abounding, and when He made Eve, her beauty was outstanding, yet standing as the reason why the universe is ground in sin.

But then Your son would crush his head,
banishing the Devil from the heavens plus his friends, 'tarnishing' the people who do evil and pretend, and 'garnishing' the righteous and the persons who repent...
These are words that speaks to me,
at dawn's meditation saying,
"whoever believes must recieve life everlasting", even when we sin.
The good Lord would forgive,
as long as we confess and believe,
that He's willing to forgive.

The Setting Sun.

Only moments passed,
who would dare look you in the face?
Moments when your scorching stare
would burn out sweat from my brows,
leaving me wondering how austere you could be.

But here I stand!
Absent shades, returning your stare,
in utter amazement, relishing
your genteel gaze.
Like a huge golden ball,
you set adrift westwards
within Orion's arms.

A picture of intense calm,
your passage would leave by a fine hue,
and as your drift summons twilight,
the gnomon's cast bids me to turn homewards, only to return when you rise again.

Who's the thief?

Who's the thief?
Who's the robber?
For indeed we suffer,
when you loot and plunder the coffers,
and how many monies would you steal a day?
Far from funny,
is the way you launder the money,
to accounts in amounts thundering and stunning.

For all we do is hunger from grumbling,
when you take trips overseas,
when we can't afford ameneties to make us pleased, like good homes and food for the kids, good clothes for the good folks that we meet, handling biz with steady power supply, like 24hours of the light, empowerment strides everywhere, like the showers of life, falling on the peoples instead of strife.

But instead you'll steal all the money,
stash in other countries,
behave like monkies,
taking our resources to increase their profits, then bring home the losses, to all who'll hail when you floss with Dol's, all because, the government has lost touch, and so we must 'clutch' where we can get much.

Thats the kind of disposition,
in the GPS position
I grew up with, poor mental shapings of perceptions and now we're stuck with thoughts, of how to get the means now, by any means now!

But who then is the thief?
Who's to blame for the smugglings and bunkerings?
Who's to blame for the looting and shooting and polluting?
Who's to blame for the suffering and mass murdering?
Alas! its you and I.