Beautiful Piece from Broken Pieces

Whole I was made
deception played a serenade
tumbled over pride
I lost my secuirty
shattered into obscuirty
I had died, to my identity.



To eyes without acuity
my shambles,
were percieved as ugly.
Pieces kicked itinerantly
hopeless and lost
I remained, inevitably.



Piece after another
days rolled after each other
He had collected pieces
and made for Himself
in the eyes of the beholder
a perfect idea.


They laughed at His folly
I had lost my glory
"in your eyes" He said.
As he unravelled the new me
dumbfounded, He shocked they,
that knew the old me.


Uniquely way past beautiful
the cracks and patches left me.
and from inside each crevice
He radiates my glory
I'm remolded, piece by Piece

into; a beautiful piece from broken pieces.

Picture By: Woomie

"such perfection in the hands of the potter..."

To the woman

To the woman,
who taught me in the way I should go
to the woman I pray
sorrow may she never know.
For her kind and loving soul
and hands that upheld my grey
as the world slowly turned away
to the woman I pray
that her peace never be stained.
for her many nights without sleep
and her numerous days without food
for all the miles she walked
that my entity I may keep
to the woman I pray
long life, happiness and strength
so in due season
from her labour, may she reap.
Have u ever been loved so deep
constantly,
every second of each 365,
have u ever been paid such attention
I mean: her ears heard each irregular breath.
even her back,
knew who it was when I walked.
Will you ever know such care?
constantly at my service all day,
from conception till her last breath
feeble hands or blurry eyes
her hands never tire
to cradle me on her chest
even when she knows, that, I detest.
And so to the woman I pray,
the comfort of heaven.
For not flushing me down the drain
for each and everyday that she stayed
for love and tolerance no other will ever have
for all her prayers everyday
even as we're miles away,
To the woman I say
you've done wonderful
keeping your home and
thank you for being so sure
even when I, saw no future.

                                          The Hawkeye
To every woman
and all mother's especially,
Happy mother's day.
Fimisola-Samuel

8-May-2011

My Kind of woman: A valentine in words

She is graceful like a ballet 

peaceful like the violin 

well spoken like words 

and her beauty is penned in figurative lines

that reveal the artistry 

of her creators stencil.

Her figure and curves 

are calligraphycally exotic,

like a pencil

her smile shades away tears 

that endless years of blue and black 

have collected.

In her eyes is the suns beautiful glare

into which when i stare

my glory is reflected

for like a crystals glare 

the best about me 

she brings out and bears.

Her faith is strong,

elegantly unmatched,

it's the bone that collars my neck.

She touches me 

and heals my wreck.

Her cotton soft hands

laced in pearls of love

strum my efforts with joy

and when I drown in rivers

they wrap around me in faith.

She makes the stars shine brighter

and her smile adds an 'er to the words; 

sexy,

and pretty,

prettier than all other

oh what a cutie.

The skin that sleeves her hands 

simply is; to touch, soothing.

Calming, relaxing,

are the words she airs,

she dispenses them with glory

intelligently sophisticated 

and yet no ounce of pride.

My Joy, My kinda woman

                                                        Woman by window: patent place

whose soulfulness 

moves my body 

to the rhythm of her blues,

whose pulse is the tempo 

to which my heart dances.

My kinda woman 

who has hands

and is willing to use them

and still respect me as her man,

guide and provider.

Whose occupation not need be a chef

but handles her business well enough

it keeps me wanting more

no precautions about concoctions 

just pure satisfaction.

whose warmth not only radiate

from the silky smooth 

and beauty

of her ravishing nakedness,

what unharmed pulchritude

that so delicately keeps me insatiable

it's awing effect

like a butterfly out its cocoon,

but  also from knowing 

I wake beside the grandmother

of my childrens' children

and her infinite beauty

even in they yet unborn.

I know what you're selling 

and I'm very happily buying

you're such a beautiful conundrum

i hear drums sounding immaculate

it's my heart beating

to the tune of your love.

So I'm testing this river with both feet 

walking on flaming coal

to place all my eggs in a basket

at your door,

open your heart 

and let trust be the bridge

between the gaps of our heart

and love the screw

that keeps 'em together...

Love you this valentine and beyond...

Fimisola-Samuel

2/13/2011

What Do You See?

I see;
a forest of trees, that bleed away
hundreds of growth years
as they are felled and cut.
As their barks are sanded,
fined and mashed to a pulp,
and bleached,
sun dried and cut again
to the satisfaction of mans gain
worried only about the papers grain
too thin and wide would bleed out ink
bright and slippery,
would it frame the perfect smile?
Or would the finely sewn synchrony
of alphabets like polka dots
on its dull, clean-white background
be the key to unlocking someones' closed ways
or will they hold the secrets of ancient days?
Would it be flexible enough
for a scroll to reveal God himself?
maybe they would bury a childs' playful thoughts
with his stick friends in a note pad
as they arrange a beautiful orchestra
and dramatically act out an opera
or maybe, just maybe
explain the cure for cancer.
Shall these words make new laws
or will their choruses ensnare us in prejudice
would they scream out lies
or be a gentle caress on the soul
letting spines tingle.
Shall they make bellies rumble and tongues water
or maybe they shall outline
the hollows in our foundations
On a dirty brown sketch pad.
But what do I see?
a plain sheet of paper
lying in my imagination.
What do you see?

Fimisola-Samuel
3-Feb-2011

Picture and Title By Woomie

My Reflection

Poem Inspired by:  Woomie: You-nique Reflection

                                                              


You stand before me
in perfect resemblance
a complete ensemble
of characters that sleeve my soul
is packing in the depths of your heart
we're wearing the same hat-
you are my reflection.
Sharing my emotion
I see you
and see the scars that,
line the very depths of my mind
from the painful habits
that inhabits my spirit,
I see you and think
oh! purify me.

Role play

you can be my lawyer

stream down the four-poster

lemme hear your heels kiss the floor

turn me on some more

aagh baby,

till i burn from the passion 

of your lips' work.

Punish me a little

and let my fingers work 

till they make you squeal like a kettle.

Or you could be my doctor 

listen to my heart

hear it beat

racing as fast as my hands

rubbing around your body

in harmony,

with the music's melody.

I'm throbbing doctor

from the sensation of your lip balm 

I like to feel the tip of your tongue

rest, on the mushroom cap.

I'll be your priest?

kneel before me,

as i stand with your head

before my thighs,

now prey and prey...ohhh prey

prey all over me

until i moan in tongues

and anoint you with my oil

watch it stream down your chest,

neck, breast till it hit your abs...

aargh just prey, prey on me.

Let me be your pilot

I'll guide you to the right buttons.

You see them 2 on my chest

touch em, and set me on auto-pilot.

I'll map out the geography of your body 

from the asymmetry of your contours

and the symmetry of your curves.

Buckle up around my back 

it's going to be a bumpy smooth ride 

through cloud nine.

Play devil and incite this beast

i'll play the guiding angel

watching you moan uncontrollably 

in your delightful vibrations

of endless orgasms.

You can play a mime

I'll be the ventriloquist

that makes the bed squeak 

in a twist you can take the top

like how i bite my lips in pleasure?

now do me like never before! 

Dead Love

Inspired by the picture above taken and titled by a wonderful friend and sister; Woomie, is the poem below. She's a free-lance photographer (for now) and a owns a blog: Woomie, visit and feed your soul with beauty through her lens and let your heart listen to the words they speak...enjoy

It,

smells so beautiful

be careful.

It,

blossomed one spring morning,

falling,

like petals in autumns evening.

My heart,

deeply in mourning.

It,

brightened your smile,

Now it's dull!

like a trees bark

in the empty winter night

boring,

like the lone dogs bark.

It,

still smells so beautiful

the pretty summer odorant

Lingers,

In my stone cold thoughts,

as the memory

of a once beautiful thing,

warmed my soul.

It,

then eludes me,

as I’m reminded

by the sorry wilt it had become.

It,

drank of my tears

nurtured,

by the labour of my hands.

Grew,

before my sight

and with my hands buried it.

It died,

and you killed it,

the very moment

you lied about it.

Yet,

beautiful still,

is the smell of; it

grow

shalll another

the orchid is full with;

it.

Fimisola-Samuel

fragile,