Gossips Of Beauty
Have heard the gossips of your beauty
Have heard and now have seen, it's all true
That your beauty would make even the most
Chaste of men think of impurity
And I in number of too many
Suffer this burden of chastity the most
From the moment I cast my eyes upon your beauty
Indeed maiden, your beauty worth the gossips.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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Extinguished Life
She was full of life
For in her was the fire of life
And with the heat of the fire of life
She became restless with no care for life
And they that cared for her life
Sort to quench the fire in her life
Thus they screamed f-i-r-e! Where? In her life
Alas, came death fire service and extinguished the fire of her life.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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The Mother Sea
It s said that there is one river to cross but the nature of the river they know not,
And that there is one sea people are afraid to cross
And that is the one Caesarean Sea in the whole wide world.
This sea no man born b y a woman can cross,
Not even the world best sailors can sail across on that sea
But the true 'Caesareans' only.
And the Caesareans call it the sea of destiny
Fr it takes only the destined and pure minds to sail across that sea,
And they labeled it 'THE MOTHER SEA'. AND INDEED 'I AM A TRUE CAESAREAN'.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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The Caesarean Child
Who is this caesarean child named caesar?
Great thought is this child and brave are his deeds.
Honor has he for all but fear he depicts none
This child who dwelled in the delphos of eve
And now caesarean child bear his identity
So envy am i this child of caesarean
To take the path took he come my world
For great and brave desire i to be too
As when lived great julius caesar.
Caesarean child be thou my replica
Men and wenches honor and fear thee
And so caesarean honor but fears none
For men are born by women and are womanish
Caesarean child born he not by a weaker vessel
And so brave and great are his deeds
O' happy i this caesarean child is my identity.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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O' Poverty
O' poverty, thou art but smelling
And thy pollution dangerous to life
And the living wailing and crying
Wishing you never existed in the world
As they have no healthy gas for survival
Thou maketh men wander about
For gas, for repast, and for shelter
With no sweet repose in their eyes
With bare footed in the streets
And with no apparels for their mortals
Unprotected they're in the perilous night
And in the light very little hope of survival
Their society looks upon them scornfully
And took you from them the zeal to inhale further
O' poverty, thou art but smelling
For thou hath poisoned many a mortal
And may ruin bedeck thy number of days
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poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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Reverse Is The Case
I shall make thee my Romeo and shall be thy Juliet
And nothing like Paris shall come in ‘twixt us this time
I will destroy thousands of young men named Paris
And unite both houses of Montague and Capulet with love
Then will have William Shakespeare write a play called 'reverse is the case'
Therefore thou shall be my Helen and I shall be thy Paris
For there will be no Agamemnon come between us amore
And I shall destroy thousands of Menelaus with Hector's sword
Wherefore will have Homer's epic Iliad altered for once
I shall be more fairer than fair Helen when she lived
Whose admired worth made Greece with ten years of wars afflict poor Troy
And shall launch ten thousands of admiration and love
With which ten thousand years men shall serve thee for thy daughters' sake
Then will have Hera and Athena themselves withdraw like the stars ashamed in
comparisonwith You, my Aphrodisiac beauty.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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The African Tradition
Libation! It is the African tradition;
It is the centre culture of our tradition;
The power of the African child,
The network of the information from the household gods
And the gods of kingdom, the gods of our identity.
We libate with schnapps, awake the spirits
Of our ancestors so speed us in action an' reaction
But done upon the gad at ease we no longer
For our centre culture active no more as things fell apart
But who is he that makes our minds troubled?
And walk we abroad and forgot our tradition,
Our culture, belief, our vehicle and our tradition
Woe to you foreigner for deception is you;
The betweeness between us took you away from us
And our offspring you turned rebels with your foreign ideas.
The networks of our wise ones you intercepted
And your strange God now we serve with you
While our wise ones slave for your topless.
No to you foreigner, for me, myself and I shall awake
And maintain my fathers' beliefs, culture and tradition
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poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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O' Murderous Poverty
O' poverty, thou hast made man prostrate his soul for repast
Thou hast made him swallow the bitter pills of living
Yet thou sing songs of death to his hearing
O' murderous poverty, thou art cruel and fiend.
In thy bosom cometh suffering, pains and sorrows
Thou taketh delight when the world's burden heaped upon man
Man toil in vain for subsistence from sunrise to sunset
Yet thou castigate him with thy unseen wand
O' murderous poverty, thou art cruel and fiend.
Man roams about the street with no shoes for his feet
And with no vest upon his already worn out bones
Having his repast from the table crumbs of other folks
Not certain of where the next crumbs of survival cometh
Yet you castigate him with thy unseen wand
O' murderous poverty, thou art cruel and fiend.
His offspring sick and pale then die ere his face
His heart become a place where dirge and elegy meet
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The Doom Dungeon
From the merciless hands of the rulers to the ruled,
The wind of oppression blow stilly into flesh and bones
So many the minds of plebeians quailed out;
Thus no hope in their faith and amidst many I the orator,
And fears from my eyes like a woman's to fellow plebeians.
In the darkest expires many air in speechless state of mind
But the system is called the freedom of people, by the people and for the people
Yet they keep watch o'er us fierce remote animals in attempt of our freedom,
And I the press given to the freedom of oppression, death and doom.
In speechless will I never expire like fellow plebs,
And not even the zombies will I fear and be speechless.
I speak freedom, equity, fairness against oppression, death and doom;
And unto the dungeon they transited me with their remote machinery
As they could not put out the fire of life in me;
And with their merciless power has dug dungeon for my freedom;
With no one whom I could communicate my thoughts to,
And no one to sympathize with my state of suffering.
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poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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Fizzled Life At Stake
Who he is that can save? Come, deliver
Where is my safety? Where am I safe in this life?
Every minute of my life I languish in pain and sickness.
I tremble for the quakes of the vagaries of life
Who is he that can tell of my story? Is it you?
No there's none among men with such feat
It is too hard a nut to crack. Still I'm destined to bear it.
Who shall sing of my elegy? Who are they that care to listen?
Every moment of my life I'm in sorrow.
In my eating hours there always a dropp of tear in my tears.
My best companion of life has become but grief
Have I but become a sacrificial lamb?
At least I should have been considered a human.
The wailing of my heart becomes greater of Jeremiah's
Job's encounter is only but a spark of my visitations
Every moment of my life I'm in sorrow. In waking hours flows the avalanche of tears of bitterness in my heart.
Even in my sleeping hours I have nightmares
I see myself a fly being caught in a vicious cobweb.
Any attempt to detach a leg, pins it securely more on a sticky-stand.
Accurse be the day I was born. For it were better I was not born.
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