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
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
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?
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

It don’t matter how far
Nor the distance
Every air you exhale
I feed my desire in its inhalation
Devoid of, I succumb

Its not obsession
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


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:

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.



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.
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
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.



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
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