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Vicky Tsiluma Poem
Dawn
hopeful, expectant
tantalizing, exhilarating, inviting
friends, citizens, government, politicians
inciting, embezzling, dictating
greedy, covetous
Darkness
Copyright © Vicky Tsiluma | Year Posted 2012
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Vicky Tsiluma Poem
I’d tell you my story, but where I’m from
it’s just a statistic
Life and death- same difference- it’s just ballistics.
So much suffering – I no longer pray for salvation
But say
‘Unharden our hearts, soften the indifference, please
let us not become animalistic’
I can’t drown – there’s no water
I can’t choose darkness – no light
I break my back- hospital full of counterfeits- bills left to pay
Work, work, work- greedy employers- overtime, what overtime?-
don’t bother them with linguistics
I fall asleep, dream in a loop- even my fantasies have become realistic
DON’T tell me it’s going to be okay- I’m not idealistic
And yet…something happens when I hit the poetic scene
There he is encouraging others, commenting on poems
Reaching out to new poets and just being optimistic
His words flow so fluidly, so joyously-tears prick my eyes
Gentle words, humorous words- my heart constricts
My face muscles contract
This feeling I get when I read his words is so foreign…
I wreck my brain trying to solve the mystery
Suddenly, my head bobs
My heart expands
My muscles relax
My mouth curves – it is called a smile
Your words are my balm – your goodness my hope –
your encouraging others my optimism
It is through you that I smile
so please try not to be sad.
Dedicated to Richard Lamoureux, he who makes me smile.
Copyright © Vicky Tsiluma | Year Posted 2013
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Vicky Tsiluma Poem
Poet, stand up!
Your name is your seal!
Your works let their story reveal.
Though you be enamored by great poets,
don’t shy away or get disheartened.
Rid your heart of nervous anticipation and forget
about word-perfect dictation.
Through your internal debates and bouts of indecisiveness
Find a style that’s uniquely you.
Make your stance stronger.
Poet, stand!
Stand aside when it comes to gossip.
Stay away from petty jealousies.
Too much connectivity hampers creativity.
Stay focused!
But by all means know when to pick up a fight.
Stand back, ponder, and align your ammunition.
Then be ready to stand up for
what you believe in and make a passionate defense for what is right.
Accept correction – it is the heart of positive retention and
the means to sharpen your abilities and enable your work to
stand up to
criticism.
Smile at genuine curiosity but never tolerate ignorance.
Or how will you stand up to bullies intent on creating havoc and those
quick to impose their sense of ‘correctness’?
Build yourself up but desist from putting others down.
Identify talent and stand over a budding poet, gently giving
them directions but be careful to let them choose their path.
And when the time comes when your light dims
and all you can do is ruminate mentally on things already past –
Poet, stand down!
Yours is a life truly well lived!
Copyright © Vicky Tsiluma | Year Posted 2012
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Vicky Tsiluma Poem
as my pen positions itself
between my fingers and pillows itself on my hand…
…I know not why I write and still I’ve got to take this poem for a ride….
Thoughts spew inside my head – too
fast to articulate. Too deep to defend. Ticking like a badly timed bomb
infused with a faulty timer – I reach for the pen…
words align themselves as I walk Through the clutches of Pre-validation. My mind
is appeased – my will is at ease…until the stumbler opens his mouth:
“Poetry” he whispers and I’m thrown
Into the vapors of Validation wondering, perhaps, maybe? Could it be
that without will I have created that which could be termed
as poetry? The jury is out: the naysayers and the critics;
the conservatives and realists;
friends and foes –
torturing my mind, stroking my ego, making my blood boil,
soothing my heart…
tears I cannot cry…smiles they can not see…
anger spills out; indifference sets in;
I wring my mind and
pack my poem
slowly I embark on the
Wrought past Post-validation.
Baby steps in forming words I love. Twisting the poem in forms I’ve
learnt. Dressing it in different styles, shortening it, elongating it;
Snip, snap, cut, bandage –
Rhythm no rhythm. Basking in formless form.
Counting and discounting syllables
But still it’s not enough.
What’s the use of words if they don’t effect?
Diving into The plunge I reign in the words – the leader of my chariot-
My poem succumbs to my will.
Wielding, exposing, slicing, dicing, building, destroying, encouraging,
condemning
the poem breathes – a life of its own.
And I think to myself Oh please who am I to be the wielder of such potency?
I call it back.
Taking a stroll along the beach, I reminisce of things past;
The things I’ve done; the things I’ve not done;
The rot in the world; the love
that begs to be heard…
The thoughts start swirling in my mind.
….
My steps take me back to the beginning…
as my pen positions itself
between my fingers and pillows itself on my hand…
…I know not why I write and still I’ve got to take this poem for a ride….
For: Boomerrang Contest sponsor: Michael J. Falotico
Copyright © Vicky Tsiluma | Year Posted 2013
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Vicky Tsiluma Poem
The rift
They say comes from deep
within.
But I beg to differ
Isn’t pink a compromise between
red and white?
At times even slightly
approaching lavender?
So why should it not
make a concession?
An indulgence
A consideration for the niceties
of the heart.
Dear pink alloy
So pure yet so imprudent.
Or is it that the alloy which was
refuses to acknowledge the alloy
which could become?
How my heart yearns for
your sweet fragrance!
Spread your petals and
Bid me inhale.
Copyright © Vicky Tsiluma | Year Posted 2012
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Vicky Tsiluma Poem
And
WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO ME???
The pity…
I can’t stand the pity in your beautiful eyes.
If I could tear out my heart
I’d hold my hand over yours as you fight in
vain to keep the vessels from erupting.
WHY ARE YOU HERE WITH ME???
Can’t you see I’ll drag you down with me?
I believe in love, it’s true,
but I’m ninety percent introverted. I can’t let
anyone into my personal space. Especially you.
I just can’t do it.
I refuse to compromise and yet I’m surrounded
by impunity.
I dare not submit in the face of patriarchy
I spit on book knowledge in a society that glorifies ‘diplomas’
My arthritic bones laugh at me whenever I
start a new exercise regime
My mouth craves sugar and my
heart spasms in the wake of cholesterol
My eyes shoot daggers at you as my
hand charms you with poetry. And yet…
WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME??
The back of my head aches and I drown myself
in cheap pain killers and back door laxatives.
I mean, what am I to do when I can’t afford a brain
scan and my family is lounging in poverty?
Lately I find myself forgetting things, mixing words,
Misspeling phrasis… But I’m a writer…
Aaargh!!! Why is this happening to me?
WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW???
Stay away from me, my love, my precious.
I don’t want you near me when I self-destruct.
Can’t you see??? …I just can’t win…
Copyright © Vicky Tsiluma | Year Posted 2012
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