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MAY 2012, ISSUE 12

Poet Speak magazine MAY 2012




Design & Layout: Jeffery Asheley Brown

Prophets Published by: Poet Speak Publishing


Distributed by:

2 Online Edition:

Speak MISSION STATEMENT Poets are like Literary Prophets/Visionaries.… Chosen just like Moses to stand on the peak of mountains and commune with God and receive instructions to take back to the masses.… Come on Poet...go ahead and Speak!!!!


Poet Speak Magazine pg.5

Thank God It’s Friday!

A kiss from a distance in loneliness cast to you, your lips of flowing untasted wine when the season has come on it hoofs to smash the orphan berries buried by the withered leaves that lay and guiltiness to lay behind sin as its shadows dragged on the endless journey; mine part hath been done to fear that in eternity swear the bond now thy turn to accept the forgery of mine presence, in this cup of nothingness that brims of mine gift to be drunk from and in its drowning hallow to had sunk. Share from mine empty sky doth beyond mountains, beneath the sea afar this fading eyes everyday quenching beneath mine, when the sun clutch to it yearning moments as what we share unwillingly; never to permit it to grow old nor fade at the footpath that divides our two by two feet, the point of parting in both

A Kiss From A Distance

Poet Speak Magazine Pg. 7

ways, or the pale colors painted differently in the flesh of the heavy mirrors when you were behind me and the noise of the wall was behind you or the superstition that greeted me from mine mothers old womb as the sun that cling mine stubborn forehead; my feet so sore to tread a thousand miles on thy voyage, to suffer still from the same curse I willingly accept for the loss of what i have not had, nor hold the desired pain by its hand Copyright Š 2012 Friday Ogba

drenched with salt in mine presence. The beautiful dream of mine sailing thoughts and feigned being, dream of the day that mingles both, thou the name beaten on the war drum before the battle against right and wrong, thou the beauty that hangs in the balance.

What more than the mystery of thy beauty upon the the filtering sand, the earth die in heavy witness doth nude to thy consuming embrace of the maddening heat thou lie in clumsy bare stomach, bellied with the fisherman's row boats of dawn; as did the flowing shrubs assembling at the shore for a fisherman's morning summon, to speak not ill will of those who came

and go how we've in romance caressed the beautiful marks of thy twining dirty back of endless rubles, our deepening branded feet on oath of endless traverse. Step here and there, scattered in an uneven manner thou is an adulteress of many virgin lovers; as chickens searching the earth when night

Thy Beauty Upon The Sand

Š 2012 Friday Ogba

Poet Speak Magazine Pg.9

caught up with their buried seeds, 'twas not there to be for the last time found, for the secrets of their unsatisfied hunger; only to find the blood of another drained under their match of three fingers. That was not treasure 'tis life buried within the vast of the sands breast feeding the earth with what we gave the mattress of eternal comfort. -vanity upon brow-

Vanity upon our hanging brow who won't die when death is so dear why do we now been so mean to the price so fair to hath buy, never to have paid the debt with all our wealth. Where the dust doth lie we dare to had followed submitting to the second self of farewell with hope of not fulfilling unfaithfulness; thou so shine of sheen and black on this water-glimmer

reflections, that in ignorance denied the curse and sworn the journey for beauty to always tread through unchallenged.


Poet Speak Magazine Pg.11

Dull impure grey appears in heralding dim-stir wiping away the drool of un tasted memories shame lurking beneath the hem of quenched roses in lone self embrace oil of our dying lamps are now half brimmed its smoke blown in endless flicker as though grey leaves craving to fall on tomb stones at the edge of an un agued fevered crow all that is left, the half-eaten corpse of our fading hope. O dusk, o dusk, a half naked moment when the weight of our unmade choices are trapped in a combat as the two igniting flints rubbed together-romantic, cast apart as our choices are dumped on the boundaries of bad and good so we may not have any to linger on when sweetness of sins vanish and guiltiness still prevails. There in your hands was the consuming fires of adultery dewing aimlessly on the shield of a widow when the unripe night brings the concubine, the concubine brings the wine, and the widow drunk in the separation of water from wine that is our frightened moment, the prologue of our unjustifiable taste.

Copyright Š 2012 Friday Ogba

The Parting of our Ways Come shall a day when the moon shall cease to shine when the shadows shall break away from the bondage of oneness; when roses shall be smashed at the cross-road when our drumming heart shall drum heavily in different rhythm the violin and piano in same strange song of different sonata. Come shall a day when our binding feet shall as doth a rain from the faceless face of the heavens taste the dust of this footpath covered with thorns and laurels in a mingle both; come shall a day when our mouths shall exchange those chimes of the day for the halleluiahs that howls in the savannah come shall that day but come let me love you today, now that the sun is up and i can see your face at night the fireflies might fly to slumber only both the eyes in the drowning dark left to wonder come let me embrace you and in my dying cradle sleep, so rest look farther beyond the mountains in the west, lest tomorrow shall be the parting of our ways...

Š Friday Ogba

The Day that I met Ye It was the season of the rain, the day that lingering souls stagger in valor of an unbidden vie Shadows shroud beneath abdomen, it seem as though the beginning of a voyage of vintage and the berries dangle incessantly on your drape, grapes seek not wine at the gamble presence of ye. The stars were playing in the pond outshining the onyx, the lilies were tossing their heads in somersaulting homage, my poetry unpaged evenly as i salaam at the holy feet of thy enshrined beauty. Light faithfully harnessed the rubble of thy shining eyes, gathering laughter and rainbow in its pale veil. The cave of my orphan heart bound to thy endless expectance being of black wine, thy hip the twinning path of warrior hood. Thy lamp beheld shimmering fireflies, thunder clap drummed deep in the hard rock of my marrow as lightning nested in your hair, should ye be mine at dusk, the moon shall be our only witness prophecies untold in boundless of doubts.

Š 2012 Friday Ogba

Poet Speak Magazine Pg.13

Masterpiece (the Book of Friday) The touch of masterpiece in all seen and unseen tempered, the dust caressed and moulds hath mine deep worthy throat of flowing wine say: 'a craftsman’s pride' and mine manhood praise doth sway tempered still as mine age flee in mine passing youth and hath touched the vast edge to cast off the shroud and pronounce the beginning. Thence in the way thou still temper still, till faithful death in time hath brought the unchallenged truth, the truth known before what known hath come and what unknown hath passed to descend to the shallowing earth a humble bed and bring mine end and the beginning of mine second self. Mine beauty 'tis ugliness in common eyes where paths divides when parting and in the streets blindness linger, but thy eyes is one thus mistakes die a thousand death beyond thy six fingers; mine heart sore lame untimely what blame argue never to offend. What more than perfection upon perfection to be named hath thee touched the dust thy twin hands and the beauty that honor self bravado the desired evil doth masks, denied behind the man, and face forth sin to have our knowledge this tasks farewell only, thee to bid mine endless exploration and forgets asks How thou a lover so generous made mine gift of gold so rare a necklace and to man mine hangman's noose how mine treasure no longer woo my greedy heart as the black pit of the purest of adultery doth only mine endless soul to eternal slumber of misunderstanding.

Š 2012 Friday Ogba

I found bits of me like breadcrumbs… This empty feeling always makes like legs numb. It’s no beat in my ears… My ears have become dead drums. This drink is flat so much to the point it’s just dead rum. Maybe I should turn myself in or wait until the feds come. Everyday…. A certain element of me goes away. I shed skin like a snake as I blow away…the tears. And my comfort zone lately has become restricted. No wonder… My past is trying to make a revisit. It’s no wonder I’m conflicted. I lost pieces of myself over time… Due to the fact that I put all of my eggs in one basket. Now a shell of me is in one casket. My mind is/has been reduced to a tennis ball… And the cause of it was being hit too much against a racket. Pieces of me were chopped up by a hatchet. And my well-being was corrupted… I guess you can say someone hacked it. The sound in my heart is unbearable. Its screeching its nails… Its huffing and puffing… But only breathing to fail. It stresses itself out reaching for its tail. And this lesson is only a teaching for the tales. But who will care… The layers that protected my most precious treasure dissolved And the gold that went missing has not yet been solved The skin that bind me left with consequences. It left my heart and my soul exposed.. And with that… Life decided to knock two birds out with one stone.

The Missing Pieces

Copyright © 2012 Lynell Board



Poet Speak Magazine Pg.15

been lifting up my face to the clouds expecting a drink, but it feels like Heaven has gone Bankrupt and left me to sink

yet I have plenty of water to drown in, an endless flow of tears, acre after acre of barren land I've walked through down the years

allowing each potential lover the chance to hide their shadows well, I eagerly offered open arms and lost the ability to tell what was good for me and what I should run away from, while maintaining a hopeful heart that someday the right one will come

and when that right one arrives, will I notice, will I see? or will past failures in love hinder me?

and when that right one arrives, their devotion, will I mirror it well or allow foolish hearts from former years to darkly color my tale?

Copyright Š 2012 Jeffery Asheley Brown

That Right one

Out of the nowhere, The questions cameCan I love you forever? Or Are you but a temporary remedy For the pain? I danced to the rhythm Of your heart And naturally, My soul began to sing; But suddenly, I am questioning everything.. You opened the floodgates Of your love And washed me thoroughly; But now, I am drowning in the possibility That you indeed May not be the one for me.. Your touch caresses my skin, Your words massage my mind; Am I wrapped in love Or have I mistaken it all With the freedom Of a good time.. You make me smile But, I am far from being complete; You saved me from my circumstance But, I am far from being free.. Imprisoned by the boundaries Of the floor As well as the wall; And I suppose my uncertainty Says it all.. I am running without direction And hiding without cover; I can't seem to feel the love Of my lover.. In the heat of the moment, I gave you the title Of my hero; But as it turns out, The hero in me Has finally returned To claim his role COPYRIGHT Š 2012 KENTRELL BLANCHE

Poet Speak Magazine Pg.17

My heart had its desires But, I can only express them In so many words; I wonder if I will ever end up With someone who is even close To what I feel I deserve.. Someone who opens the door And cherishes my time And allows his actions To demonstrate That I am always on his mind.. A flower, A card Even when birthdays have passed; Affection, AdmirationIs it too much to ask? Am I reaching for the stars, Am I making it all a bit too hard? I thought love was a forever thing; Not just some volunteer obligation With occasional regards.. I offer Only to get taken; I thought that the sacrifice Would pay off But, I must have been mistaken.. I thought that love Was the missing piece But, That salvation has proven To be awfully brief.. I thought that love Would introduce me To brand new heights But even in his arms, I am alone at night.. My heart had its desires But, I can only express them In so many ways; Perhaps there will one day be Someone who listens to What I have to say


Me and my nurturing spiritSo quick to go out of its way Just to hear the next man say, 'Thank you for being there for me..' But, There comes a time When gratitude and a smile Hardly fill my heart To get me down that extra mile.. Give and takeThe recipe for balance; But, Shifting scales Can be so difficult to manage.. Give and takeA concept that so many insult; People will drain you dry if you let them.. but, it will take a silenced mouth a hundred years to see results.. And Lord knows That I don't have a hundred years To spare; Foolish is the fisherman Who throws out all of his bait When few fish are there.. And I have been that fool On an open sea; Drowning in regret, My heart forgets to breathe.. If I plant all of my seeds In everyone else, What harvest will I have left For myself? Me and my nurturing spiritSo quick to assist the next man To a bountiful life; Consequently, I am left dry COPYRIGHT Š 2012 KENTRELL BLANCHE

Poet Speak Magazine Pg.19

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l l e tr

e h c n a l B

If you would have never hurt me, I probably wouldn’t know How it feels to fall; If you would have never hurt me, I probably wouldn’t be writing at all.. But, You pushed And my soul gave way; And every since that battle, I have been shedding words of sorrow Almost every day.. In your arms, I felt a Heavenly embrace; You were my angel And I never imagined That the day would come That you would fly away.. Resting in the shadows, I thought that my emotions Would be in the clear; But somehow, Agony has found me here.. And reality states A verdict that fairytales cannot escape; I thought you to be an angel But, All you have blessed me with Is rattled faith.. If you would have never hurt me, I probably would have never picked up a pen; I cherish my poetry But, I would ball up every page Just to be back in your arms COPYRIGHT © 2012 KENTRELL BLANCHE again

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Poet Speak Magazine Issue 12  
Poet Speak Magazine Issue 12  

Our 12th Issue Featuring the Poet of the Month, Friday Ogba! Let him dig deep into the well and pull out some wisdom for your soul!