Christmas in the Sahara

Let snow fail to fall,
Let Ice fail to form,
Let Santa miss my call,
Christmas’ll stand alone.

Friday is black everywhere but here,
No smoking vents for saint Nicholas I swear.
Trust my guts,
He’ll make it to all but here.

Jingle Jingle,
Sounds the messiah never heard,
the sounds I hear from afar.

Gusty winds fill the air,
Camels strut as we ride through death dunes.
Memories of the Magies fill my mind,
the mystical king,
His huge destiny,
What it was all about.

So if no tree is lit,
If no missilttoe hangs above me,
If no presents sit at my tree,
I still have the messiaha to celebrate.
I’ll be merry,
the constellations cheer me,
Family surrounds me,
Wouldn’t trade them for anything else.


Passing Fancy

Interesting Read….

Feathery-Words' Blog

My life is more that the average being conceives.
I call it normal, you call it eccentric.
I say its electric and you say its abnormal.
I wish for a boom and you think it gloom.
So we are doomed, my alien boo.

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Jacobs’ Falling

For your ears,
But not your eyes.
I planned it all,
So true fate testifies.

In time I stalled,
Refused to believe,
Refused to interfere,
Refused to bow,
Coasting through till the end that was mine,
So true fate testifies.

I sit in this shadowy Palace,
Encased in royal doom,
I feel it’s a dungeon,
They called it bliss,
So true my past testifies.

My movement ended with no move to make,
So too my moment stayed,
As I strayed from my appointed boom refusing to be doomed,
So true fate testifies.

Shackled! Refusing my end,
Making lies of prophesies,
I fall,
Making a broken image of my once prestigious self.

Bottled Scroll

See I was told: to live truly I had live like a child,
So I died… And was born again.
I understood that to understand the mysteries of life I had to regress,
To reject the wisdom of tested men,
To leave the ‘trusted’ ways,
To adopt the foolish ways understood by fools otherwise called… ‘children’,
So I died… And was born again.

My foolishness paid off,
So I entered the realm only lived by those of my peers,
Yes! Us… children,
Like the Phoenix or not so like the Phoenix I rose from what was my ashes…
And I…
Shocked and stormed the world with they wisdom they deemed… Foolish.

With my examples which were samples of His examples I proved fantasies right,
OH yes! The fallen could rise,
The blind could see…
And that time could indeed by reversed.
Talk of unending merciful grace…
More foolishness?
Perhaps deceit?
May be… You should… Regress.

PS: For the price of non get all… 
The biggest scam of all? 
Call it disbelieving. 
Drag your feet but take a step, 
And eventually you’ll reach, 
Then you’ll know what is from what is preached.
Call this my bottled message.

Foreshadowed Bear

Foreshadowed Bear

Just one moment,
A silent pause,
A stare at the less than impressive mirror,
That’s all it took.

Behold a flash that is my future splashed before me,
So brief, yet reveals an eternity.
An eternity of struggles,
And of contest.
Man vs destiny.
Generation vs generation.

My father’s face shadows mine,
So too his deeds?
His great strides, yes.
But his flaws?
To look forward but see backwards,
That’s the reality I now see.
I can’t help but fight for my space.
Its my life!

The past and Future blends,
Mine and His.
But must we end up like our parents?

My identity isn’t too mush to ask for,
Or is it?
Tag me a rebel,
But by God some things have got to change.
To live a life unlived is that which I seek.

Before The Darkness Came

Before the darkness came,
Before rivers dried,
Before the seas froze,
Before Ra’s fury weaned,

Gabriel’s horn blew,
Harvest time came.
Aries’ trumpet echoed,
And Boots crush the earth,
Whips let loose,
No amnesty, just damnation.

Screams and scars dance in synchronized horror,
Tag or death………?,
Too late!
Tag or horrific horror.

Life pervades,
Ruthless Sickness cascade,
Running through earth,
Flowing as tributaries,
Reaching far,
But no death.

They survived,
The weak lived,
The strong died,
Our existence re-defined.
For we found life through death.

Hope: The Slave Driver

When is it right to let a vision perish?
When is a mission worth abandoning?
When is the time to let go?

Shackled in the bounds of vision,
Hope becomes the merciless slave-driver.
Constant whips and lashes;
Become the echoes of a better tomorrow.
Hope fills the heart of falling men,
Renews their resolve to fight on,
To live on or die on.
Oxygen to the breathless but hungerd.

Tribulation and trials,
The two wretched Ts.
They seldom leave,
Their presence remain dominant and fostered by hope.
Hope I wonder,
Serves what purpose?
To keep us alive?
To keep the dream alive?
To keep the struggle on?

Asking enlightened ones proved futile,
“Everything serves a purpose” they cry, Let all be.
People living good lives don’t need hope, I say.
No, they don’t.
People with fulfilled lives don’t need hope,
Today carries all the dreams and vision they have,
Tomorrow, they wish carries same pleasures as today.
Who does this merchant of doom serve?
Its hands stained of blood and tears of the weak,

Let them fall,
Let them fail,
At least in their failure they find peace,
Surely even the most gruesome beings have a spec of mercy,
No, not hope.
It grabs you and takes you all the way through.

Coup de grace!
Coup de grace!!
Too deaf to hear,
The more you squeal,
The more it compels you.
Be victorious Or fall.
Only then does hope let go.
Still it lurks waiting for an opportunity to linger.

Building Poetry Communities on

The Blog

As we’re entering the final week of National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) in the US, we want to celebrate all the wonderful poetry-centric community projects here on

The sites we feature today — like many others we follow and love — make an important point. We may all write on our own, but it’s only when we join a community of other writers and readers that our voices are truly heard.

Keeping it local

Some of the tightest-knit poetry groups are bound by a shared space, where writers know not only each other’s work, but also each other’s face. Over at Poetdelphia, Philly-based poets share poems, announce readings and other events, and celebrate community members’ achievements.

typewriter poetry2Ghostless Sleep, by Yasin Chines at Xsentric.

Similarly, .: Poetry in Chicago is a project that aims to bring together writers from across the city’s eclectic poetry community, with posts on

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Poetry Is?

Poetry, not exactly what is expected of the
“masculine” gender.
Yet, I do it.
To be soft, tender and violent at the same
time? Poetry does that.
It is the dusty street with coloured walls
where blood is represented with bones,
where toothless people grin, where flowers
meet barrels, where kings knell and subject
It is rational made irrational, and irrational
made rational.
That’s poetry.
It is where romance meets horror and they
dance to one rhythm.
Poetry, my escape made real.
What is it to you?

For the Love of Poetry, Novels, Memoirs, and All. From the well of Experiences, Exploring Common Areas (life, love, pains, fears etc), Our World in Ink. Our sanctuary. Our opportunity to Read, Review, Share and Comment. Enjoy.

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