Ode to Death

There is no passion to be found in playing small – in settling for a life that is less then the one you are capable of living.

like an assassin, will you creep up on me in stealth?
when my lungs have run out of breath. Oh death! Oh death!
when the black wires on my head have turned to grey
and my bones have not the strength to face the day.
will you come and sweep me off my feet, like a broom?
into the glad gloom of an everlasting doom.
or will you simply strike me down like the lightning?
even before my adult years reach an ending.

Oh death! Oh death! i know the vas of my body
will decay with time. but please let it not be today.

Oh death! Oh death! whatever shall happen to my mind?
when my warm and pulsing body it fails to find.
will it wander around, a lost child in distress?
looking for the guidance of one who’s a compass
to point north in the direction of salvation.
or will it find a homey accommodation?
within the grand walls of the universal mind
that controls everything from the blowing wind
to the growing greenery that sprouts from the earth.
do not let my mind wander around. Oh death! Oh death!

when my psyche has reunited with the universal mind
and the vessel of my body is in the ground.
will the human essence of my being remain whole?
Oh death! Oh death! will the cradle of my life, my soul
be born again into another lifetime?
or will it too, suffer the effects of an eternal death?

© The Poets Peace 2019 – Lazarus Shatipamba

Ode to the Fish in my Dish

We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.

E.M. Forester

They say, there are only forty fish in the sea.
Swimming from coast to coast, away from the big boat-
Belongs to the fisherman keeps it free of flea.
So that on the oceans calm waters it will float-
When at night he goes out with all his gear to cast,
His net in order to catch the fish no swim fast.

Oh you! fool fish that has ended up on my plate.
Where were you when all the other fish went to school?
And were being taught how not to get duped by fate,
When she tries to bait you into biting that tool-
Used by the wise fishermen of old to hook fish,
From the depths of the sea straight into our dish.

Oh you! Fool fish in my dish that I ate with thrill-
For you tasted like a sample from the Gods meal,
Even though you were only prepared on the grill.
I hope in my stomach you swim around with zeal.
For although it is not as big as the blue sea,
You shall at least from the wise fishermen be free.

© The Poets Peace 2019 – Lazarus Shatipamba

Ivette to the vet

There isn’t enough darkness in the world to snuff out the light of one candle.

Ivette Ivette Ivette Ivette
You who went with your pet to the vet
Even tho twas raining and you got wet
Together with your pet.

Oh! Ivette Ivette Ivette Ivette
Twas night when out of bed you climbed
Got dressed and from the sitting room grabbed your pet
(Who many mouths have described as a rat)
From the mat.

Oh! Ivette Ivette Ivette Ivette
Who went to the vet with your pet rat
To collect the debt owed you
On a bet made concerning bats.

Why have you not come back yet?

© 2019 The Poets Peace

Mother of Four (An Ode To My Mother)

Happiness doesn’t depend on who you are or what you have, it depends solely on what you think.

Dale Carnegie

Hard life you lead but still you give,
Not just to those you gave birth to.
But also to those have no clue,
How to in your tender womb live.

Oh! Mother of four-
There in my greatest hour of need.
To my hungry, empty tummy feed
Something yummy and not so sour-

That it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Oh! Mother of four : three girls and a boy
That have grown into adults from their youth.
Though you bought me not many a play toy-

In my younger years, I shed bitter tears
When I felt the pain of my many scars
Which like cop you came to lock behind bars
Just so I would not suffer from my fears.

Oh! Mother of four : three girls and a boy.
Though you bought me not many a play toy-
Know i love thee for giving me much joy!

© 2019 The Poets Peace

An Ode to My Muse

You are the only problem you will ever have and you are the only solution.

Bob Proctor

When my creativity wears a noose
Around his neck I pray to you, Oh Muse!
Who since ages long ago played your lyre
To inspire poets to write satire.

You who artists describe with much fondness,
And is known by many as a Goddess-
Blessed with an incomparable beauty
Though they saw you not in reality.

Oh Muse! Hear the sweet cries of a poet
Who in the night, and the day wants to flirt
With you for you shot him with an arrow
Laced with love that was released from your bow.

He finds himself wishing that one day you’ll-

Sing to him. Oh Muse! Of the mighty men
Who in their fathers den picked up a pen,
To write the poems you wish them create
Wielding the forces you give them to aid-
In composing what could never be said,
Only felt within them it made them glad.

Never saw you. You and I never spoke
But when the time came for me to invoke
Your talent, you walked straight into my heart
To help me in crafting beautiful art-
So I know you’ll always come when I call
Even if I’m trapped behind a stone wall.

© 2019 The Poets Peace