Is it applicable also to stone?


Behold! Should you not dying, live;and living;die.

.. from the veil outward…

Ornaments and objects

A shrine to

Malleable walls

Cave jewelry

The falling through

The respiration by spilled images

Blazed with the day

In which I drowned

My inner Bishop

Bring back the change

Merely muffled roars and groans

In time.

You sing that song

Don’t…

Read that song.

That same stupid song

For the last three decades

This song you sing every morning

Where’s the song you’re gonna sing?

As the Deep is going down

Dive

You plunge into maelstrom of

Recycled paper

I saw, I felt, I sank

You got tased

You experienced extensive

Art production.

Surrender, fighgting and fighting  surrender

Is it applicable also to stone?

Ah I hate when liquid rock

Dips like that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Third Book Of Poems – front page book cover


My Third Book Of Poems – I am circling around the Amazon so far, for I am thriving to hire a professional graphical designer -for I am intending to create a more suitable design – you can follow me on WATTPAD platform. I will post some of my poetry there.. regarding this book of a bit cryptic yet intense poetry, or at least, I would like to think so 
soon I am going to open FB artistical page.
I hope some amongst you would like to join me there.

fb3dQuotes90

THE UNENDING SOLUTION TO LARGE SCALE CONFLICT OR WARS


THE UNENDING SOLUTION TO LARGE SCALE CONFLICT OR WARS In the beauty of journalism and what its values represent in truth and in the essence and the service of humanity, Leila Samarrai and Lawal Jimoh, L27, we, believe in the power of words and languages, solve one of the most concerning World issues or problems facing the World or the Globe today dealing with Large Scale Conflict or Wars imploring the light of accommodation, love and unity guiding our differences and cunning claim superiority with the work titled, “The Happening”, to be translated into all languages and shared to the World across and through all media of communication. Work Title: The Happening Authors: Leila Samarrai and Lawal Jimoh Genre: POETRY Number of Lines: 37

The Happening By Leila Samarrai and Lawal Jimoh, LJ, L27

Lawal Jimoh:
When death disguised, dressed in riot,
that day, no road for you and chariot,
because to console the soulless soul
for some reasons unknown to known,
there is wisdom not to have started

the fight, we are now on the field
that is awaiting the decay of times
to fuel the ground its returning.
Your birth gives reasons to light
a generation and its reborn is grace.
Do you remember, when birth places
your turn? Do you want to remember,
when death places your return?

Leila Samarrai:
What time that furious haunting flares
of a disastrous dominator’s reign
of the weeping dark?

The ocean whispers they never flew by plane.
Somewhere in the background,
I can hear their booming voices:
until the moment Soldier pounces his plane
on a selected target
and joins the virgins
in Paradise.

Where we would end the invisible war
by invisible war by invisible war
for booze-smelling oil, embarking on a crusade
a stone’s throw away from the cursives of the blood
for cemeteries and unclean places

and the knives were weeping
and the bombs were weeping
and the planes were mourning
until becoming the river Jordan.

— Leila Samarrai and Lawal Jimoh, “The Happening”

Videography, more than a documentary, link at:

https://youtu.be/-Gs3wojztSQ

© SmartBankPoetry, 2020. All right reserved.

— Leila Samarrai and Lawal Jimoh, “The Happening” Videography, more than a documentary, link at: https://youtu.be/-Gs3wojztSQ © SmartBankPoetry, 2020. All right reserved.

In The Balovale’s tribes mausoleum (of human history od living and dying)


 

Airily at a fragrance-oozing garden                                         a gem-beautified tree leaving a peg of bright white wood

 

Thrilled hand sculpting faces to add to                           by the garden

 

With midsummer rose petals of                                         Venusian Red by the sides floor-strewn in rows

 

 

Too holy to pray                                                                      my eyes looked at the firmament’s high girdle

 

to dive in seclusion into light

 

 

It’ll just be one great summer of red tea

 

and I shall disrobe myself before nature                          and taste of love

 

hear the cortege the flutes and the                                    tambourines

perceived in the wind

 

Entombed beneath the mountains of Himalayas seclusion

 

In The Balovale’s tribes mausoleum

 

where it always smells like greasy secretion

 

during circumcision, an ancient torture for babies

 

 

From ancient precursor to what we call warfare

 

Since Ilyad then Tiberius’ Holocene and the charge of the light brigade

 

were terrifying, inglorious flash which had souls charred to ashes,

 

the blood kept coming from knife-stabbed bodies

 

Blades cut palms from the palm-trees for

 

a chant for selfish prayer of the wildest Brutuses

 

Richards, with all the Henries in between

 

leader, a sociopath in the house of roses

 

to clothe himself in war to taste of blood by fire

 

 

Gold glorified in greed have baited the kings

 

to close their eyes

 

and descend into apathy’s underworld

 

This has to be the end

of attending to gloom

 

Attention, my soul, do not leave your gaiety’s sun unattended.

 

 

I am not some face boiling if you stretch out

like a kid, your tongue at me

 

Here is my skin thick to stand

jackals from your lips                                                                                                                                                                                          handsome replica

 

appliance  is for the sake of ameliorative mankind

 

living with love in my blood is enlivening,

 

living tenderly in the silence..

 

No decay will devour my summers’ bloom

 

Actually, the sun in its beams of glory

will resurrect midsummer dreams

 

 

I want to see you, you… morning house

You, dewy face

You, flowery eye

 

In fact, when I take off this night gown

like a daughter in obedience

 

 

A garden secure,

pleases me with the fragrance, that faylike spell

 

 

myself, I’m a mystic

who seeks the Heavenly

 

I should walk alone with a silent head

to a secluded wood

and dive into darkness

to rise up into light

 

Editor: Obinna Eruchie, https://allpoetry.com/Obinnex

 

Late Night Poets/After Midnight – Rhythm and Rhyme


My poem was read on the After Midnight radio listener show – you can hear the poem read by myself as well as comments on the poem by fellow late-night poets at allpoetry

Thank you all, guys. You are awesome.

https://allpoetry.com/group/31955-Late_Night_Poets

Late Night Poets is dedicated to the celebration of creative minds. We are a welcoming forum for poems, stories, art and ideas. We encourage absolute beginners, seasoned pros and anyone in between. All we ask is that everyone be treated with respect. Late Night Poets is a reflection of our community spirit. A place to share, develop and reveal the best parts of ourselves. We welcome ideas and views.
“It is great to think highly of yourself …as long as you are not looking down on others while doing so”

 

https://www.blogtalkradio.com/latenightpoets/2019/11/18/rhythm-and-rhyme-with-rex-luna

Requiem for a mosquito, poetry recital


https://leilasamarrai.wordpress.com/2019/06/09/requiem-for-a-mosquito-may-your-spirit-rest-upon-these-toxic-fumes/

Requiem for a mosquito, may your spirit rest upon these toxic fumes

 

1

I love your milk colour, nearby madhouse,
I love your fatuum traitors cry,
To Now or Once, to hellholes or sneak thieves
Which summons the harlots of Time.

Pull the drains, sewer bunnies.
may your spirit rest upon these toxic fumes,
I love your shiny little bumps, your aggro,
Simply… I love your shaft.

The Belgrade on Krnjača*
screwed up its sewage line to
contaminate the crime scene.
with raw sewage.

The Wraith will come dragged along the floor
Belgrade, you are an asylum in the open river
while sailing on a burning duvet

2

To Kunst for homeless god
to Happiness and vindictive mosquitoes
to calls of local bar hopping slut.
and fine Sers missing communal apartment.

Spraying for mosquitoes!
are you my executioner?
you’ve disarmed the vengeful mosquitos
itching
cursing
a short-tempered star
a lightning strike
frost in dictionary

And soon.. all these years
seem just like a blink
of the bite.. inseminated…
earthquake!

Don’ t get nervous phantom of the
birthplace shores.

Requiem for a mosquito
and soon, your music shall come,
some slacker roadkill shall come,
plastic heart shall soak it all in.

Like ammonium nitrate…
3
To add mincemeat out of the filthy Ser
mix mixture carefully into medicinal
soup
For Hannibal.

Poke and doodle
In the pokey, up to the rectum river,
then
plant yourself like a squatter

And… put some ice in the urinals.

 

*Krnjača (Serbian CyrillicКрњачаpronounced [kř̩ɲat͡ʃa]) is an urban neighborhood of Belgrade, the capital of Serbia. It is located in Belgrade’s municipality of Palilula. (source: Wikipedia)