MY HEARTIST by Mercy Marende

I sit in ponder of my beloved

So far, the distance kills the heart

I cannot vent

I am mad at him

Who gave him the authority?

To anger me and be angry at I

And with the distance

Assault to injury

It kills the heart

Yet my soul yearns for he

In love

In fight

In fury

In anger
In frustration…Still

I submit

Funny

That in these fiery times my insides burn most for him

I miss thee

I burn in anger and desire

So far

The distance kills the heart

I close my eyes

O my beloved is here

Staring at me

In my fiercest fumes

I want to burst…I want to charge…oh I should explode

And yet

Am halted

But how can I?

The exuberance of his charms won’t let me

Assuredly, he moves towards me

Am confused

My bosom heaves, uncontrollably, pleasurably

I miss you

His gaze fixates upon my eyes

Am bathed in calmness

His arms tightly but gently devour my body

I coil senselessly in submission

I totter in his intoxicating embrace

I blink

He lain me down, sunset reflecting in his eyes

The passion in them ignites my body, my desires

I want you

I tremble in his lips’ tender traces upon mine

Oh that…that I do miss, my heartist

The dexterity of your craftsmanship

Nay

Squirm not over spills and splurges of your shades on my surface

This canvas thirsts

Insatiable of your paint

Worry not of broken and of misplaced brushes

For the skills on thy digits is enviable

Alas! How they tickle

How they stir these nervous nerves

How they paint the corners and edges of this canvas’ curves

Your art on me is impeccable

When you work on this plane

Undesirables turn orgasmic

It is such

In breaking my heart

I would care less

You ponder why?

Well

Our fate, to be or not to be

Pieces of mine shattered heart form a mosaic of your face

Juxtaposition in thought

Of my love against your selfishness

Unfaithfulness

Disloyalty

Egotism

Anger

Disavowal

It don’t matter how far

Nor the distance

Every air you exhale

I feed my desire in its inhalation

Devoid of, I succumb

Nay

Its not obsession

Simply

The loves that burns for you

That the eloquence of words cannot quench

It refuses to die

Its destiny

For he know not the depths of my love

O reader,

If ye cometh across my beloved

Doth pass my word

That I deservedly declare

‘I am your canvas

Paint your love on me'


I received this poem from my girlfriend, so much I want to say about this piece. I wont, instead I'll say thank you, I am glad I am forgiven, loved and missed. I love you and I am honored you love me this much. I am yours; you are mine.

#100daysofblogging #Day11

writing was hard today

photo|courtesy

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication

-Leornado da Vinci

To write today was hard

The topics came and went by so fast

In verity they were just bad

Trying out haikus. Just words strung together really.

#100daysofblogging #day10

and life keeps laughing at me [IV]

This is a story contributed by talented writers and still in its infancy as more writers continue to make it a Novella. Enjoy my little input. Find the other parts here:

Part I

Part II

Part III

  ....

Angel or demon? Which exactly I’m I to them? And what are they to me? Njeru lay facing up. He turned his head left and right, getting a clear picture of those that stood beside him. He wanted to speak, blurt even, yet the words formed like knot in the throat and tightened as he opened his mouth.

He felt sorry; he had been feeling sorry for the longest time, what with the divorce, reuniting and the uncertainty of rebuilding his career.

“I am sorry,”

“Just rest, we will have enough time to talk,” said Sarah

She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, then wiped tears from his cheek with her palm.

“It will be alright, I am happy you are alive”

This was comforting and his lips tiredly curved into a smile. He felt hoarse and parched; he couldn’t clearly recall his last meal. He tried to remember, playing his memories like a vhs tape in the head. Then it hit him, like a lightning bolt on a rainy day. He shot up in bed and motioned for Mutiso to come closer. The plain ran through him and he clenched at his teeth keeping it at bay.

“What day is it?” He asked

“It is Wednesday Baba Junior,” replied a visibly surprised “Kwa nini?”

 He shifted his gaze to Mutiso and asked

“Dexter! Have you seen my Dexter?”

“I picked him from the seat, I figured it must have been why you came to see me.”

“Angel! Confirmed, you are an angel.’

“What?” Asked Mutiso

“Never mind, I have a few instructions for you regarding Dexter”

He spoke for about a minute uninterrupted giving a brief synopsis of the problem at hand. He also explained to Mutiso that he had until the close of business hours to have the required photos for the competition. It was now fifteen past midday; giving Mots about four hours to perform a miracle. It was not going to be an easy task, and it had been made harder by the fact that Dexter also took a beating in the crash. Mutiso had been tactful enough to avoid making mention of this as he wanted to maintain the feel-good mood of his friend. He shook his hand and wished him luck then turned to leave.

Njeru pulled him back and said

“No, you go with that luck I have all the luck I need with me here.” He pointed at his wife who had been silent and smiled.

May the story continue........

your woman: myqueen. A response to the poem 'Betrothed then Betrayed By Oyoo Mboya'

This poem is a response to a poem I read by Oyoo Mboya I will post the original first then the response.

ORIGINAL:

BETROTHED then BETRAYED.

Tomorrow at dusk
She'll be in your arms
Her face behind a mask
Read the pattern on her palms.
Tomorrow at dawn
The priest will declare her your wife
Uncover the veil, beneath the smile
there's a frown
You are not what she wants in life.
Tomorrow at noon
You'll feed from the same plate
A (g)olden honeymoon
That seals your fate.
Brother,
Before she became your bride
I plucked her petals, still tender
In the journey to womanhood, I was
her guide.
Her body is scented with my stench
Kiss her and you'll taste my lips
Feed and wait to hear her belch
There's a name in her hiss.
Look deep into the fires of her eyes
The blaze that burns to blind
Do you ever care to ask why
She's one of a kind?
Dust her bosom for my fingerprints
The contours I caressed to break
The stains on her thighs
Are of pregnancies we longed to
make.
She'll cook, just like I taught her
In bed, my name will feature
I am her eternal star
Her past, present and future.

®Oyoo Mboya.

RESPONSE:

Photo|Courtesy

This are but tales you tell to satisfy your hungry past
You made a woman from a girl
that much I agree
But you remain a boy
Your words betray your ploy

Of the stains she's cleansed
Washed by the product of my loins
The hissing was quelled; she has just graduated
with a doctorate of the diploma you so graciously accorded her
I should thank you
for all the callous caresses you politely introduced her to
I could never have asked for an easier time
You are indeed godsent

I admit,
It may take a while to forget you
Its never easy to erase the opposite holotype of everything you are
Meticulous
Astute
Sturdy
Direct
She was a woman when she met me
You made her a woman

She is a queen under my care
An epitome of decorum
A royal diadem of peace
She is patience
Wrapped in royalty radiating love
She is my shield from pain
In her I find much strength

She is a queen
Executive director of the home
Symbol of my kingdom
and flesh of the flesh of my fledglings
Your one-time woman is my lifetime queen
It will take more than memoirs of your lips on hers
More than dusting prints of her thighs and bosom
It will take more than the past
for her to be annulled from this golden throne


Pablo Neruda writes I am not jealous/of what came before me I echo his sentiments.

#100daysof blogging #Day9

what is your why

If your conviction to become a better person rests in someone else’s heart then you have got it wrong.

Ultimately it will have to come from you

The ispiration

The drive

The push to attain completion

the burning desire

and oil burned way past midnight

It rests squarely on your shoulders 

Find out your why

Make it YOUR OWN

#100daysof blogging #Day 8