Poetry

In these recitation of a best Word in a best order, 
shall our true self dwell and be revealed! 
Our thought are but Word, our song, our say and cry are all but in a Word, 
a communication of the innermost man in us.
Oh Word, In darkness dwellest thou until be found 
thus our ignorance to an end be brought as we with apprehension receive thine will, 
a learning that forever shall be.
The doors to thine unknown world thus opened unto us shall our full appreciation of thine beauty be heartily given unto thee.

Home alone

Know know, anyone in there
Alexa
Alexa, where has everyone gone?
Ask Siri
Where is Siri?
Walk straight and turn right to the
Garage, I am here.
Where is everyone?
Turn left and walk straight, Alexa is a
meter way from the satellite TV.

Abbreviation

The word Abbreviation
is so long
That it dwarfs others.

Defining Haiku

You ask for three lines,
I give you seventeen syllabus,
You call yourself, Haiku.

The Moment

No feeling can measure
The realization so big
As to, 'ah, he loves me!'

The flow of Love

The flow of love knows no terrain,
knows no weather.
How come I am empty...and cold!
How come I can't fill?

Definition of Talent

My boy never sings,
So do I.
But when he does,
I know he needn't practice
but I do!

Personal Poems Cntd

20.    Talent
21.    Definition of Talent
22.    The flow of Love
23.    The Moment
24.    Defining Haiku
25.    Abbreviation
26.    Home alone - Alexa and Siri
27.     Poetry

Talent


My little one never sings,
and when he does, I know he
always does.

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Prose

  1. Introduction to Prose
  2. Exposition Prose
  3. Descriptive Prose
  4. Spoken English 

Spoken English

In distinguishing between written and spoken English, spoken English attempts to record accurately exactly what people say. In a passage for example, someone could say, ‘defendin’ instead of defending or ‘s’ for it’s. Omissions like this when quoted from the passage are accurate records of what people say. In spoken English people can say, ‘James and me’ instead of ‘James and I’


Other characters of spoken English include a mixture of tenses. For example a mixture of past and present tense in narrating one story. Such a change of tense is not usually in formal written English but tenses change when people are talking.
The story is also sometimes interrupted by exclamations like; Hey you, hey home boy/girl, oh gosh, Ooooops, which contributes nothing to the story itself.
Some of the statements that sound sensible when spoken can be seen as in logical in print or in writing.


The constructed form of spoken English makes it clearly different from written English e.g. you’re, he’s, gays, etc. constructed verbs are very common in spoken English and read in single words.
The other characteristic is the use of statement form for a question. In written English it will usually be, “Have you seen him? Instead of spoken English, it’s you’ve seen him. Want me to take you out? Where the auxiliary verb do and the subject you, have been omitted.


Another characteristic that appears throughout passages is the use of slangy words and colloquialisms such as guy, smash up job for the holiday or the entertainment was so slap. Hook up or hooked up.
Colloquialisms are words used in spoken English while slangy are the expected use of words with a meaning different from their formal dictionary meaning. Slangy in general is regarded has substandard and out of place for written English.


Signal words, may come anywhere in a sentence in spoken English. They often indicate a change of tone for emphasis. They may indicate that the speaker is not certain of what he is explaining or his uncertain that his explaining himself fully or clearly. Eg. As it were, after all, in fact you understand, you get the point. Spoken English is always released and conservational.

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Descriptive Prose

As the name suggests, description has to do with describing, and by doing this, one has to make the best use of Adjectives i.e. words that describe a noun. There are two sorts of descriptive writing; the objective and the impressionistic (subjective). The writer of an objective prose tries to give an account of something. He sees what he is describing as something in its own right. He looks at it from the outside and therefore, his attitude or feeling towards it is not import. The writer is like a camera.
But impressionistic description concentrates on the feelings that the described object arouses in the observer. The writer is more interested in making the reader feel rather than see. To do this, they must be sure of what their own feelings are about the object, so that; they can try to arouse the same feelings in the reader. The impressionistic writer often writes as if they were inside the thing they are writing about.
The two types of description are dependent of each other. The objective writer has feeling which they may come across and the impressionistic writer must also have factual description if what they are describing must seem real to the reader.
Objective description often begins with a short general picture of the entire thing described; then, some details are given. It’s often written impersonally as if the writer was not interested. E.g. you may write about a large house by stating facts about its size, qualities and excellent materials without any emotions.
An impressionistic description may be communicated directly or indirectly. The direct way is easier where the author describes the feelings itself like telling the reader that his amused by something although this does not make the reader amused. The indirect way is not for the writer to describe his feelings but rather, describe the object in such a way that will arouse in a reader feeling similar to his own, like describing what has amused him in such a way that makes the reader smile or laugh. In such a way, he would have communicated his feeling (amusement in this case) to us.
Impressionistic descriptions are not concerned with factually accurate picture like the objective description that minds about objective accuracy. They are concerned with feelings, attitudes and points of view. The writer can exaggerate, omit or even add information if it helps them do what they want to do. His not trying to tell us what something is but instead, what it means to them or how they feels about it.


Exposition Prose

 As the name suggests, exposition prose is a writing that explain or gives facts about a topic. It’s the commonest kind of prose found in text books, letters, legal documents, Newspapers or in anything where you look for information and explanation.

The straight forward exposition gives the facts without any addition of personal opinion. They are long carefully balanced or intricately constructed sentences but… rather simple and straight sentences.
The construction and vocabulary are simple and straight forward as possible. For example, in making of a meal, facts would be given about amount and the method of preparation.
Slanted prose is also factual and concise, but improved by the addition of colour such that it’s sometimes called, coloured writing. Its intension is to convey the writer’s attitude and pursue the reader to accept the writer’s opinion. The writer does this by specific choice of words especially verbs and nouns that draw the reader’s attention on minor details. The tone of the writer is sometimes meant to pursue the reader. It can be sarcastic or the whole piece can be satirising or mocking to pursue the reader.
The primary purpose of exposition is to explain. However, the explanation can either be straight forward or slanted, and when slanted, it should be persuasive. The words chosen should reflect the opinion of the writer.

Introduction to Prose:

Prose is written in spoken language that is not in verse form. Verse is a form of writing arranged in lines often with a regular rhythms or rhythm scheme; that is with sound effects. So, prose is plain writing of speech without pains taken to shape it into a definite form of structure.

Characteristics/Qualities of Prose

Prose is basically passages or pieces of writing that have some logical grammatical order and its ideas are connectedly stated rather than merely listed.

Prose writing is usually elaborate and detailed with sentences and paragraphs whose length and size vary from writer to writer according to the different styles and accompanying intentions.

The variety of expressions is brought out through the individual choice of words and also through sentence structure. Therefore,how much of the passage is understood by readers is determined by the author’s choice of words (diction) and expression.

The language of prose also varies from writer to writer. Sometimes, its archaic and difficult to understand. For example,Elizabeth and Shakespeare writers. Including Shakespeare himself. Others use very descriptive and vivid language as the writers of the Victorian era like George Owen, Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy did; whose essays have very long sentences. The other prose writers use the 20th and 21st century era style and language that has no specific characteristics except that, the English is simple and simpler than the other, for example, African novelists like Ngugi wa Thiogo, Chinne Achebe, Okot B’bitek.

(Mistake not however the simple English for simplicity in the subject, they are as complex as any writer of any era is. I personally consider Wole Soyinka the 20th/21st Century Shakespeare.)

When I am but Lonely.

When I am but lonely,
In this years season
When trees are but naked,
The only sound being;
The gurgling of the River,
Whispering of wind,
Chipping of birds,
Whistling of Insects,
And creaking of this very
Lost leaves


Under my light feet
As I gently walk to rest
This light body with
A bulky soul
Laden by thought of you,
I regret every step
That brings me far, far from you
On this very gently rising landscape
Where the horizon so journeys undisturbed
All is grey.
As grey as my soul
Oh, How I wish to see green


As I lay and watch the dying
Warm Golden Sun,
That simmers over the horizon,
I wish you were here
Here by my side
When I am but lonely.


The primal youth

The virtues of youth in love
is but wax,
Their sexuality is but flames
of lust
That erupts like a volcano
Giving chase for a life dear.
Like a loaded fire-arm,
It explodes
Maddening the victim enough
To charge more and more
Without judgment.


The sealing wax melts
In the fire of the primal youth
And the fire then reigns no more
In this but a messy remain.
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Hero?

In the blood field we thrive
As others fall.
On their demise, we toss!
Fear, not courage, drives us.
Ideologies, not principles, we stand for!
Self-prevalence not courage moves us forward
Over the foxholes we rush
To topple the foe that never was!
We slaughter them as they us
Not because we hate
But for my ideology, your foe
As yours mine.


They will say, ‘we won the war,’
We killed them and prevailed
Yet say I, ‘we are all losers
Dead or live, we all lost.

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The Journey

Turning to thine heart
To mine have I,
My eyes have I let to.
To my conscience has all been made real
for though art but the work of all.


The old dream, the wish, the if
All but die today
When thou art but come as a fulfillment to all
A new has come.


Mine love in thee have I found.
Mine word have I given


In thee, a tender green young plant
shall be
Until blossom come.
The pulsing flower thou shall be even through deserts
Surely, streams of water, water of mine love
shall flow .


And when tempest all seem loose,
I shall there be
And when all is calm
I shall there be
And when time for passing come
I shall gladly do, when my call is whispered
With full knowledge shall I respond
In these but a journey of love.

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Citizen Fanfare

How by hour life is kindly offered unto us
Yet I die alas from pain
We have learnt but alas little from yesterday
Yet she who gives life and knowledge
Rejoices in the present without ceasing
Of tomorrow, all knowledge is forbidden
The past has gained steadfastness
Happiness looks neither forward nor backwards
Yet I die, alas from pain
She who gives life
Alas, kills me and offers no life
To find infinite life,
Must I disappear
For being is eternal.

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Against all odds (part II)

The pavement dwellers
Like spiders,
Crawl all over the ugly streets,
Tattered and shuttered.
Houses with no walls, but a ‘rich’ ceiling,
Sun at day,
Moon and stars at night,
Their beautiful decoration.


Middle class glassed eyed
With despise,
Stare at their maidens
At the break of dawn
When unmindful of the famine
Sense of bashfulness,
Have a bath on street channels
That carry heavenly tears,
Tears of their suffering
Down to the dirty slums.
The pavement dwellers
Yet go on living
Worries from robbers,
Are un known, non existent.
Those who take pleasure in killing
Despise them,
For they get non-in doing so.


The pavement dwellers
Unmindful of the feminine
Sense of bashfulness,
Pick lice from each other’s hair.
Their young men,
Living on the brink of illegality
Terrorise the passer bys
Their old,
Eyes used to seeing corpse,
Hands to digging graves,
And hearts to endless frustration


This street,
It’s small and ugly but its home.


The pavement dwellers,
No longer tattered and shuttered.
Same hands, but new minds,
For things are changing
And changing fast.
Soon the dwellers and the middle class,
Before the throne,
Shall be judged,
And all will be equal.

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The word

A silent communicar
That audibly saith not
But eloquently speaketh of untold deeds
thou seeth it not when but spoken
No, thou heareth it
‘Oh, I see,’ you say in comprehension.
And written when it’s,
Thou heareth it not
But eloquently speak
To thee or of thine deeds
‘Oh, true its,’ you say in agreement


To the valley of guilty conscience it drives thee
Thine heart, to remorse it commits
Remorse so strong that judgment can not cure.
The word, oh the word,
Canes more than cane!
And more than any sword would, deep it cuts!
Every stone heart unto jelly melts
The word, oh the word!

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‘Heroes’

Unto political offices,
Primary is Nation defense.
To He in battle field,
secondary is Nation defense
To self-defense.


Nation defense,
a result of good self-defense.


When they die,
Failed they are in self-defense
But in defense of the nation,
Died HEROS.

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Foul Heart

Look to thy ways heart,
For the crowd on negative, looks
Thy ways, and hate.
Throw not lots
For my siren is sincere
Of thy fidelity’s breech
On thy bosom, shall many censor
Thy breath.

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'Shadows'

In aerial view,
Shadows are but real
And we the real are but shadows.
For what our shadow is but a reflection
And we ‘deformed’ thou
Reflect as perfect
Mirrors, of ourselves.
In an aerial view
Where we reflect not.

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The Alien

Unto this alien kingdom I return
Deformed I find the alien generation
Modernity diseases it
A new kind of civilisations they say
That but poisoned mine
Yet with all might have they clung to it!
And I
Should be glad of another death!

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When Sunset Came

To the bushes we ran
Away from our homes
For with sunset came more uncertain terror.
The grass that roofed our homes,
Now made beds for us.
The trees that gave poles to our shelters,
Now happily sheltered us
And took no revenge upon our earlier murderous hand on their lot.
Snakes sought for warmth among us and took no bite.
The piercing thorns that now
threateningly stood beneath
the grass that now was our
bed, pierced not.


The wind that spoke fallacies,
The ears that listen to imaginary sounds,
The eyes that gave life to still figures
That in their ghastly shapes
Appeared to move.
Crouched and stood they as I did!
All were part of the horrifying spooky tidings that rocked our very being to the core.
As we to the bushes so journeyed.
To hideouts where verbal communications would turn heads in horror.
Where fire was lit only at night in controlled manner
For smoke speaks volumes to foes far away.
Like a fix north star, it would bring our bearing to they that seek to hurt us.
When into the bushes we took refuge.

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Hunger Pangs

What can I compare you to
Ooh hunger pangs?
An ulcer that upon her mouth soar fluid tasted
Or a corrosive acid that
Upon my skin fell?


This weight of an empty stomach that
Weighs me down as I in
Slow motion rise from my sitting!
What can I compare you to?
To weight of liquor to a
Drunk who can't find his footing,
Or an empty tin that
can't in a howling wind
find its stand for its own weightlessness?


A thunder storm roars not in clear sky,
A cloudless sky.
But in my empty belly,
Roars this very storm!


Ooh hunger pangs,
To your own strength you concede!
Gradually to vanity you vanish.
As I to eternal bridge of darkness sink.
Weakness I feel,
Pain I feel not
As to eternal oblivion I so journey.

River of doubt

Where I come from or go
I know not
What shape or form I am
I know not
Colour have I not,
Taste or smell are but alien unto me.
Size matter's not.
But all to mine enslavement come,
even for a minute!
This second of smallest doubt destroys eternity!
And forever flow I, River of doubt.

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Personal Poems

InExperience

Like a plain page,
You are my little one!
And everybody around,
Like eager authors,
Readily inscribe on you.


Your author you choose not
But their work, edit
Correctly what on your page write.
And you shall be but a virtuous one.
Little one,
wrongly edit
And you shall be but a piece of dung
For everyone to spit upon,
And no better than a plain page will your worth be.

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Inpiration

I smitten me down with
a thunderbolt that deafens,
Hearing not all other calls
than this lightening fast idea that
now rocks me to the bottom.
This one spot of light
That now shines bright from this blacked out stage,
Bestows its urgency upon me and
hastily beckons me to its calling.
All other calls, secondary but become,
And I, smitten down by
a thunderbolt in a haste post haste,
Are lost in this but a single spotlight of inspiration
That now I hold.
Until the logical conclusion come,
Prisoner to it shall I be,
Of it but an inspiration.

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Mining the Mine

Gold you may have,
Silver and all that
Passes for precious minerals
But there is just but
One mineral of them all,
the Mine,
Mine it today, and you
shall forever prosper.

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To be

For virtue,
Do not be but clay to man
That any may touch and mould to what
shape they desire.
But like Bronze
Holding an edge for all
to form shape upon.

In character, a fool
Like water is,
Takes shape of it's container,
But like a still container,
A shrewd man
Shapes all that into his life enter.
The wise, my little one,
know when to 'be' water or a still container.

To spot a vice and flee,
Be eagle eyed.
Be shift of foot and
Procrastinate not
Lest thou taketh the liking of clay.

Let follies from others
Be thine learning,
And thou shall but thine own make few.
Thus a fixed North Star
Shall thee be
For man, as even a sailor,
To take his bearing from.

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The Protest

Humility I held as you your ear
Crying out foul to mistreatment
of my soul, dear.
You moved by my rotting situation as I lay me
down my soul.
Looking not, for you mined your own pleasurities
And I your 'inconvenience', worth the under look
Pleaded, whimpered and begged.

Today, I try again. Desperate for a listening ear,
Turn to my last and desperate weapon-
I strip and nude I stand there as
you curse and abuse but barge in.
It works, it works.

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Greetings, ladies and gentlemen! This blog is devoted to exploring the wonderful world of prose and poetry. I will avail you with deeper und...

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