Day 5 of the longest poem in the worl

I could talk of her all day

Her charm, her cruelty

Or I could tell my sad tale

A victim of both faces

Her smile and her scowl

Oh how pretty and dreary!

The horror! The awe!

I woke up to her crave

My lips parched and heart crass

I reached for her endless arms

Locked in that small space

And there she was,

A smirk and a smile

She was monalisa and Cleopatra 

In one cruel unforgotten moment

She was everywhere

Her voice rising

Her laughter haunting

My solace soaked in her prowess 

Ruthless and unrelenting 

She crawled the entirety of my Zen

Her fingers tickling my comfort

She laughed on and on

A wicked villain sound

But my body still craved her

Even as my soul loathed her

I reached for her with my fingers

Cursing her feel on my feet

The unease and the comfort she brought

For like the flames of fire,

She is a loyal friend 

But a wicked foe. 

The Colosseum

Yeah I know what you are thinking 
What is the Colosseum all about?
That's right, Y'all need to know...
 But I ain't telling, at least not yet.
All I got is this: If you are an instrumentalist, then in a few weeks your life can be transformed for good
 It all goes down at the Colosseum.
 Blood, sweat, sand, victory, defeat and excitement.
 The Colosseum... Loading...

Birthday blues

Once in the earth's revolution It becomes imperative To remember that first war Raged in the navel of the soul A travail of faith and destiny

Day 4 of the longest poem in the world

A MAN IN HIS PLIGHT

Dear diary,
Once again the tide of life
Has left me befuddled
I am beyond comprehension
On what really matters
There I was,
Lounged in the comfort
The comfort of an after day
Bemoaning life’s cruel hand
 The ache in my back
The after taste of a weary man
When I see him there:
He leans on to his life by the metal
His hand hanging free on pennies
And when the pennies were gone
He held on briskly to his life
Fist clenched on unfriendly metal
Each day passes and he does same
Day in, day out
Nightly when hopes are drowned
And here I sit,
Favored son of time
Worried about when the cock crows
Oh! How cruel and capitalist
I must realize then
That life gives to us
What we deserve
And only appeal the maker
That my tends goes not unrewarded

The perfect time to break forth in your passion

Have you ever heard this phrase:  my time will come.

Definitely right?

We hear it every day: by our parents, friends, pastors, competitors  and people around us.

The point is, everyone believes in a fabled time when every thing will fall in place.

No one believes in this more than the artiste and in this case I am referring to writers and musicians.

But when is that time?

Is it a moment crafted in God's divine clock for all?

Or a perfect juxtaposition of time and place?

Everyone has an opinion on this fabled moment of discovery and recovery but none seems to take into consideration: the action of the seeker.

The truth is: I have come to discover is that: the perfect time in the life of an artist to springforth, is when he realises that he doesn't need the opinion of others to believe in himself. All he needs, is a sense of true passion and love for his craft and success becomes inevitable.

So whether you are a poet or a singer, a writer or a dancer, remember this: you only become an assured success when you learn to believe in yourself first before others.

Remember this as you sail in life's ocean and success will be inevitable.

Always a pleasure.

DAP...