Did I ever have what it took?
Or was within me a spirit, now fled – leaving my body once “All” he had said?
Even now the words fight to come out as inspiration visits in trickles.
Laying down, eyes wide open; body heavy laden… my mind is numbed by nothingness that fogs it.
O return to me better days of story and rythmn and song. Let me feel completeness again as I create; that readers may devour of my imagination…
“We’ve all become god’s madmen, all of us.” – Bram Stoker, Dracula (1897)
A more recent translation…
In Silicon’s womb digital and binary fuse,
Technology birthing numerous possibility.
… America cradled her gods.
From Social media, to AI, these deities reach towards the sky.
and I and you, we reach too,
following their every advance
seeking feverishly for upgrades anew.
Or is it the numerous likes and the rate of followership
the cause of sleepless nights;
At the mercy of public criticism, we adapt or get picked apart and die
…When did our words take on more meaning to others than ourselves,
we commercialised and caramelised for viewership sake.
Social media, god of the deep fake causes this to be our fate
Much online is pure content, some just nonsense
with each piece we read; each video watched a piece of us is lost
till the idea of ‘self” becomes illusion.
We drink each others coolaid,
feverishly waiting on the next challenge to parade.
Becoming like cancers to one another
Opinion like tumors, having the ability to spread and infect.
And here lies the madness…
That from Neil Gaiman’s mind, ever advancing Tech. boy,
we will continually cling to, until we all become faceless…
“Mama, I have foot…”
Yes sweetie, two little ones,
speedily growing, swift in stride
carrying with them the giggling sound of your mischief,
the humorous expressions of your 2 year old wisdom.You move with them and I can scarcely keep up.
chase me! chase me! you say. “Now i’ll chase you…”
These sessions ending the same every time
I catching my breath while you yell “lets continue”Your quicksilver moves at the stores are a challenge
I watch you jet down the isle, a “catch me” said in your giggle
“If I catch you!…” my mind mutters in annoyance, and yet I do.
Into a shopping cart, sweeping you up… AND OFF WE GO!“Wear your socks baby”
“No Mama, I have foot”
Amazing! we came by each other only 2 years ago
yet today my quicksilver bears a silver tongueFoot or feet, mama gets the picture and respects your wish,
I’ll just wait till you lay fast asleep and later parcel them in wool
And for each night I do this, I’ll gaze upon your growing feet and say a prayer
… that they may grow to fit into shoes far better than my own.
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Today we’re looking at writing/creating a profile/portrait in our verse.
“The African Queen” is what she is called
when her head is scrapped clean and bald
The African Queen
the perfect and yet ironic title for the hairless woman
who feels she has lost her mantle
The African Queen
her hairless head reflecting the suns rays
free from the stress of weaves and braids
and yet she is ashamed.
The African Queen
for in her society how is she truly seen?
Some would call her a widow, while others will say she is in mourning
Mutterers speak of the disgrace of the look she is donning
Yet they do not know and are too ignorant to see
this was not her choice nor of her own doing
The African Queen… Me
Her hair is snatched but not her pride and beauty
She finds it is within and decides to let it shine daily
Though not always easy, since she once in a while recalls
her days of long hair that made her the conventional lady
Still, I am “The African Queen”
I embrace me, and that includes my bald head along with all my being.
©2011 Festivalking
Festival King 