Showing posts with label antiguan spoken word artist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label antiguan spoken word artist. Show all posts

Saturday, February 27

#88 They Never Did Exist



There are two men walking along a beach
heads bowed against the wind
strong, gusts blowing
from the ocean
originating past the horizons brim
their clothing is dark
their arms are crossed
each one shoulders a holster
the wet sand molds
to the swish of their feet
trudging through the lawless tide
from an ocean
that in the dark is devoid of
the colours of its green-blue luster
but they don't mind because
even if it was the day they'd probably
wouldn't haven't had noticed its beauty either
they see a shimmer of a light
that marks their destination
it's in a cove just below the range
of cliffs from where they had descended
their equipment is in a briefcase
the client had left behind
to finish the job
that lies cold, damp and defenseless
life stilled behind open eyes
they say a prayer
to bless the dead
make signs of the cross
an unsettling custom
but they did it anyway
because it had become habit from since
their first one
with so much practice behind them
they finished working within the hour
tools sanitized 
blood vessels cauterized
fish food that would never get the chance to go sour
and as they came they left
briefcase holder delegated by Rock Paper Scissors
and soon they were on their way to the city
listening to steel orchestra rhythms.
The local papers would soon report
a known local drug dealer missing
but by then they'd be far gone
per chance any loose ends 
of their client were uncovered
through the police hired fishermen
and if in fact they were
it didn't matter
if he attempted to explain away 
their little tryst
for they made sure the
 briefcase only
had his fingerprints on it
and as for them,
they were just hired hands
who just finished another shift
but to everyone else;
well...actually
they never did exist.


 My Inspiration: Dark Coves





© KohylahPiper 2016

Sunday, January 31

#78 Calming Grace

courtesy: pinterest.com


Rush with me
feet pointed north
where life has to be
less pressing
take one step at a time
don't dare to think of what may be behind
shadowing, following, merciless.
to your trapped emotions
no Houdini
as it were
but the route to escape is clear
it is wherever you walk
the path growing underfoot
with each stride
like the inky colours
of sunset across the sky
relieved that a blank page
will begin
it's embryonic growth
into the rising of the
sun, both old and new
take your time now
breathe in life's essence...
you can place the words you find
on tomorrow's empty script.


# SELAHSUNDAYS



My Inspiration:  2008 Archives
 




© KohylahPiper 2016

Saturday, January 30

#68 Duality and Lessons

courtesy: Wordpress Blog Random_Michelle



Your conscience holds its own hands;
walking down streets,
lightly paved with fertile soul
that grows
both health and disease
in soul,
dis-ease
in sole 
remedy of survival
it held its own hands
because it had to keep you balanced
masterfully equal
and adjusted in the face
of this world’s evils.
Breaking even
brothers of the same heritage
lounging temperaments
that when provoked
could ensure a disaster
for they live everyday speaking
into your essence
guiding your mirth and your anger 
and the all of the ways you can
consider life’s matters.
One sibling settles your cases
observing the laws governing thoughts 
of reason -
the other couldn’t care less
but feeds his ego
while biding his time
till he erupts into rage 
tired of being a mental slave
man enslaved
animal caged
till the other calms him
trading in patience
giving strength to what’s weak
traded in love
for his brother’s ignorant conceit.
And its this symbiosis
that has led you to
a middle ground, narrow
that you choose to tread
because its the only path
you’ve seen that both
knowledge and wisdom consistently blend.
Teaching you :

Justice,
is nothing but lawful vengeance
with rules of fairness upheld.
And the glory in revenge
is nought if
you still have no peace 
within yourself.

Faith without tenacity
is sloth lying under covers
soon to fade for if there
is no action,
words are all rootless, 
slowly dying flowers.

Love covers all things
all transgression 
all faults
but not always in
the way you would choose
because love can be harsh
directing your hope towards truth.


Your conscience holds its own hands;
walking down streets,
lightly paved with fertile soul
that grows
both health and disease
in soul,
dis-ease
in sole 
remedy of survival
it held its own hands
because it had to keep you balanced
masterfully equal
and adjusted in the face
of this world’s evils.


# SELAHSATURDAYS


My Inspiration: Conscience in the Natural Man & Photo Prompt by Random_Michelle 
 




© KohylahPiper 2016


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Think on these things...Selah

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