FROM THE BOTTOMLESS PIT

I stripped naked words spat by rulers of creativity world
I ate raw untamed unspoken word
My DNA got blessed with limitless poetical thoughts
I spat on critical thoughts and take away artistic creative draught

I dug deep into a pit that has spat insults to any form of measurements
I have fallen close to three decades without reaching my destination and pressure point
I have survived inhaling the air that only gives direction to the annointed creatives
And I now bow down at this altar of raw words with a gall to be sprinkle the imperatives

Emperial I am because of the soul I have taken from from poetical bottomless pit
Royal I have been declared through brain DNA traces of my cutless spits
I dug deep into the hearts of those who have souls blessed to analyse true poetic view
Deep inside the brains of those who spent years digging for tangible poetical stew

I have drunk and eaten from food for thoughts falling for centuries in this bottomless pit
I have not for a day derailed from the true mission of this selfless trip 

A PIECE FOR THE CRACKED HEADS

This poem does not have any gods to worship nor any ancestral roots to trace and follow. This poem knows no grammatical boundaries and abide by no poetical laws. It has defied poetical kings countless times and has encrafted bravery sprinkled with disobidience in its footprints. This poem was cooked and boiled by poetic thoughts so deep they turn hellfire into a holiday resort. This poem refuses to be classified by industrialists academics and authors into any form whether epic or otherwise. It knows no rules and laws of rhythm and shadows of rhymes. This poem asks no permission to knock into your house and does not amount to constitutional protocol. A poem that is an obligation of no religion and affiliates to no political party but walk in their dimension like a dictator. This poem hardly notifies legal frameworks and utters to spit bile at basic ethic fundamental laws of nature. It has positioned itself so it can be allegic to critics cannot be touched by analysts and is dictated by no reasoning. This poem cannot be unchained by academics but only by cracked heads who have bathed in tripple boiling waters of poetic streams.

THE LOST SCRIPTS

Melodies in my memories gone down the drain
Papers in mountains stacks that have come down and caused me pain
Showers monstrous in size swiped them away in quite rain
Demons so friendly have eaten them starring at me with a meticulous smile
And I am reminiscing at their golden contents which was to be my pride
Unlocking every door in my memory in search of their sign

Traces traces aluding me I am a lost course
The zillion pound worth words inscripted that I have lost
In my sleep they haunt me like a vengeful ghost
They beleive I was careless I was not paying attention to logistics
Scripts that stripped naked bodies of overfueled muscle politics
They have unleashed wrath upon my memory I am all agonistic

Lost scripts tainted in ancestral bloods of the most powerful tribes
Sprinkeled with urine of crocodiles and strengthened with elephant spine
Content drugged with creativity and drunk with poetic lime
These scripts that built marvells way beyond man's imagination
That have blessed babies with ability to found art of determination
As I bow down and rise again hoping my pen will cry in their dedication

DRINKING OCEANS OF CREATIVITY DRY

These  children that I gave birth to are melodies so sweet they massage the listeners' ears
They sooth a soul so trembling that it reflects a guardian of faith
Their claws so sharp they they piece though artistic brain and sprinkle creative pearls
Hope is born to roam upon ballistic stages and gather enormous incomparable brain

These girls that I stood for them to lend their first sight upon
Injected by ideas and thoughts so powerful they exist only in imagination
Are singing melodies that reflect curse to the dull and blessing to art created ages ago
Upon these dark walls they bright so much they give new definion to illumination

My boys are giants to unspoken words arenas known to men
Their voices postures and gestures introduce a billion words song sung by multitudes
Their rhythm so enormous it drinks juice in skies of joy and leave it open
Their whispers so passionate women have been seen writing their aptitude

These words of art are so huge they drink oceans of creativity dry
They are so soothing they rhythmise positive brains and leave the devil to cry

POOLS OF RHYTHM

Blacks and white have come together to meet under this umbrella upon these waters
Pimps and priests have come to share jokes while getting baptised by these majestic towers
Towers so enormous their shadows are drinking sun's rays dry
Inside them packed for dance of the heart are waters sweeling with rhythm reahing the sky

Pastors, priests and reverends have come to baptise congregations for eternal mind blessings
     in these pools
Brothers, sisters and fathers have come to upgrade their families with thesee beautiful tools
Snakes have been seen making love to mice and spiders playing skipping rope with the flies
    in the belly of these words
Poets have been fed by illetirates and vice versa in this world designed for Lords of wars

POEMS I WROTE

These words that their first juice came from the bottom of my curved and watered heart
Melodies so beautiful they speak to unborn baby attached to its mother's womb
Rhythm unsinkable they put shame to iceberg declared hardest and harder than hard
Whispers so immortal they known to ancestral views laid in the tomb

These poems I wrote have been used to declare emotions of undying love
Such beautiful packs of unspoken bits even after years of cooking they remain raw
The praise that can be heard from the one who outflew the hawk Mr Dove
Declaration and timeous constant songs and weapons of war

Words so beautiful used by mothers to put their babies to sleep
Tounges so smooth used by proffessors to update their latest truest lecture lessons
Brains shadows so majestic they are used for court appeals
These poems I wrote are used to update each and everyone of your inner persons

These poems I wrote...

I PAINTED WALLS OF POETRY

I encrafted on an Ice Age cave using my naked cracked nails so Scientific explanation
          may not die
I traveled artistically into garden of eden breathed at sight of paradise and it's biblical
         version I gave a ride
The white house shivers at the whisper of my ability to bring mountains to oceans
The Union buildings smells of the poetical atmosphere its breeze is the centre of every
         occassion
That's why I wrote poetry in the heart of the mind that reads these scriptures from my
        brain
For along their majestic lines they will breed political injection and paint the sight of
        the unspokens' hidden pain

I vomited on the food of the feared Lord of war and he still called me his right wing man
I spit at the feet of majestic queen and she still invited me to her bed
I farted poetry at the altar and the priests reserved my special place at the sacristy
Sjambok of my unforgiving uncensored lines crawled ruthlessly upon modern artform and
        I got a special invitation to the sixties

I cursed at the door of a feared tribal chief and he offered me his virgin daughter
I speak desease and healing ointments combined hence the ears of my audience refused
      sight of any doctor
I walk naked at weddings and get invited to funerals as a symbol of timeless fashion
I carve these writings upon the tip of every man's brain and every woman's heart then in
      me they see updated truest version

I wrote poetry so sons and daughters may indulge in these fruits that I planted tirelessly
I breathed each single word so I may chase away the drought that inferiorise the mind of
      my slave people who live armourlessly
I do not hold no weapon of war but canons and war taks shall bow before these words
      that seek expression freedom
As I march through your vexed mind upon the eyes that gaze on this poem that so wish
      taste of palatable kingdom

I do not spit at no man's feet so my cooked unspoken words may be critisized
For I wrote poetry to open doors of the tied tounges that may be granted art to analyze