A Prison

Never stress when you’re under pressure. Its pressure that makes the diamond.

Lazarus Shatipamba


My love is a prison.

I’ll sentence you with no reason
Either than being suspect of stealing
My heart – to go make some art.

I’ll confine you to – a lifetime of captivity.
You’ll find no mates here,
So it’s solitary for you.

And when things get slippery
I’ll watch with a smile on my face
As the soap slips from your hands.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

to Live

The secret of success is consistency of purpose.

Benjamin Disraeli

To live today like it was yesterday
Never deviating to take another way
That’s different from the one in the past
Is a sure fire way to make your old ways last-
Longer then the deep sleep you up from wake,
In order to fight for what is at stake.

© The Poets Peace 2019

Buy me a pen and paper?


People who fight fire with fire usually end up with ashes.

When you fall witness to the rise of the sun,
And its warm, cheerful rays reach out to cling-
Onto the stiff limbs of thine body that sting,
From the colds freezing breathe that stops all fun.

Remain resolute in the hope you’ll live-
Through the worst winters the land has to give.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

Buy me a pen and paper?

the never noticed nouns

Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny.

C.S. Lewis
Image by John Hain from Pixabay

i am the word.
the writer refused.
the syllable,
purged by the poet.

its been a long time
since my last use.

my power
has begun to rust,
like the metal
on a shipwrecked boat.

that never sailed the seven seas
long, enough to conquer the high seas.

i am the metaphor
that never tread
past the door
that kept me locked

away from the vision
of his imagination.

i have never
ever felt the joy
of being deployed
in his story.

never have i shared in the glory
of the makings of a good poems' history.

i am the sad smile
that never walked a mile
in the boots of a simile
that was told "be free!"

i am the poem
that was never penned
and convinced to conform
to the form of his creative hand.

and yet.

i hope
that i elope
with his favor and be part
of making love an art.
that sounds way better
when we're together!

© 2019 The Poets Peace

My fall from Eden

Just when the caterpillar thought the world was ending, he turned into a butterfly.


It has been long since my fall  from Eden.
That beautiful place that gave me much to eat.
Because apple trees prospered in the summer heat.
And red grapes tasted like a meal made in heaven.
By the Gods themselves to please my stomach.
So that my feet have the strength to tread the path.

Walked upon by those that came before me.

It has been long since my fall from Eden.
Now i am here, in the Jungle of Urban.
This atrocious place; that has not much to eat.
Nor a place in nature for a man to sit.
And ponder in silence like a scientist.

How best to spread love with an iron fist.

In Urban; my feet have walked on the path.
Not tread upon by the fore-brethren.
Whom my feet have lost all hope and faith.
Since its been long since my fall from Eden.

I have taken the path that leads deeper into Urban.

Since its been so long since my fall from Eden.
One day, when i was alone and lonely.
I decided to walk to the ceremony.

Where gathered were my modern day brethren.

To tell them that true bliss is indeed a wish.
Unless one decides to demolish.

The last lush green Garden in Eden.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

Inspired by a list of 8 words:

Eden, scientist, heat, feet, ceremony, demolish, alone, urban

A Prickly Rose

Image by Chelsea Reeves from Pixabay

The courage of the poet is to keep ajar the door that leads into madness.

Christopher Morley

Like a prickly rose, barbed by sharp thorns.
Your hate stabbed me till i bled.
In the back and had no more blood to shed.

I never. ever. Would have held you in my hands
Had i known you belonged to the darker breed.
That in spring, swore to make the masses bleed.

I admit, never to have seen the buzzing bees.
That to green gardens of flowers flock to feed.
From the sweet nectar of your good deeds.

I surely never drank from the petals.
That were grimly clad in funeral black.
Laying to rest the friends that hit the deck.

I knew, deep down you would bore sores.
Into our skin and cause many scars.
That would one day start and end wars.

Perhaps, it was written in the stars.
That mighty men meet their doom.
When you come into full bloom.

© 2019 The Poets Peace