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Welcome to Day 16 of the 2012 April Write – the Poets Jubilee Olympiad.

The other night I had a dream, and this is where the inspiration for today’s title came from.

Visit the facebook group later on, to see what I wrote, as I don’t want to influence what you come up with next.

So what ever this phrase means to you….  Your topic and title for Day 16 is:  “Sound Off”                                                                                                                      






5 responses »

  1. Justice Clarke11:24pm Apr 15
    Barnacles on my Pen by Flowetic Justice
    They came to him with their eyes open
    in the guise of friends
    concealing the footprint left by the shoe of the plunderer
    spotters all
    revealed as leaches on the poets wall
    proclaiming tales of agony and pain
    for all who would stand and listen
    hear them now
    false victims to the charade
    but the poet was swayed and was not afraid
    he came with arms open as always
    for he too came from a place of hurt
    where the tears fell fresh and the river of sorrow boiled hot
    but these pretenders suffered not
    they just came to read what the poet bled
    cared not for the heart and soul of the man
    only of what he wrote and what he said
    imitation is not the fairest form of flattery
    it is the weak minded the talent seeking
    who have no spark in their own battery
    and their mental cells have died long ago
    strangled in the noose of fleeing fleeting thought
    so they ride the cuff of the ones who walk above them
    vacationers of the empty pages
    seeking to take from those who have truly been touched
    to catch what falls to re invent the former
    and the mark of the thief still taps them all the while
    swimming in the ink of the poet
    as his ship cleaves its way through the waters of conception
    as if they were here without detection
    some cannot even see
    that their creations are but mere shallow copies
    of the words they could not create on their own
    from his poetic collections
    to his daily status
    they steal slivers of his freshly baked pie
    feeding on what has been taken
    and re written
    even those who have had their own single feminine thoughts
    sicken the writer to his core
    for they show no appreciation
    no concern for what he feels
    only for what they attempt to steal
    so many hands grabbing for his earthly inventions
    attempting to cease the revolutions
    of his daily worldly intentions
    but believe in the poet
    for he shall strip away your guise before the reading eyes
    and leave you bare as what you are
    parasites of the write
    trembling shivering and quivering raw
    for you have no tile of you own
    no seeking mind to touch the stars
    no soul to fill with anticipation
    no ears that hear the silent rods of dawn take form
    just another faker
    wishing they could don the hat of the real baker
    but his mind is too deep
    his shoulders too broad
    and the recipes of his mind far beyond their reach
    the time for tolerance is done
    the poet will and must walk alone
    no more literary closure for the posers
    for they shall and will be destroyed
    and the wrath of the poet has never been more real
    more earnest and more true
    he will crush those who seek to find fame from his flame
    without him they would be nothing
    wielding words with the weight of air
    nothing to rise from the dream like smoothed cream
    no talent to share no words to compose
    just the fickle trickle
    of the drops dripped from the withered rose
    for your own ink is tainted with the ingredients of others
    but I shake you from me
    for you are no poets
    no writers
    and certainly no friends
    for in the end all you ever were or ever will be
    are barnacles on my pen
    Thoughts of a Single Man 2012 tm

  2. Justice Clarke11:37pm Apr 15
    Poker Face by Flowetic Justice Clarke
    In after thought I wonder just who you are
    why you came to me as you did
    under the guise of someone who had been hurt before
    some one I could believe
    its so sad to think that you were not as you seemed
    the portraits of a nightmare
    rather then the shadows of a dream
    just who the hell do you think you are
    some one on a pedestal shining bright like a shooting star
    you are far from that
    just another poser wearing the shelter of a liars hat
    I must admit you got me good
    for usually my defenses are up and I rely on my gut
    and my senses are enough
    but I allowed myself to let down my guard
    trying to believe that people are not so empty
    and the game of love not so hard
    but you were the one
    who knew how to play with knives and daggers
    and attempted to leave me scarred
    what is the point of the phone calls like we were heavy and hot
    when you knew that it was just a matter of time
    before they stopped
    you see I am a decent man
    I only talk to one woman at a time
    but you never respected that
    my character or my mind
    but a piece like this will revel you as what you really are
    nothing of value
    like new paint on a middle aged car
    and you will never get to far now
    you will see others become un blind
    as the poet comes to post her place
    letting mankind beware
    of your hollow poker face
    There you were
    spewing fantasies about us mingling between the sheets
    like that would leave me vulnerable and weak
    like you were something sheik
    but you are nothing but a shaved female canine
    whose greatest trick was to learn to walk on two feet
    how sweet and innocent you tried to sound when you would call
    preaching of past painful memories too hurtful to recall
    but they are as empty as the shallow short comments
    you left upon my wall
    telling me how you were so hurt by other men
    and you were used weaving lies of how you cried
    when you were mistreated and abused
    but that was just fiction
    written for entertainment like a college thesis
    so you are not laying in a bed of roses
    just a woman wet in a sack of feces
    some one like you does not deserve to be made love to
    just skinned like the other vermin
    I wouldn’t even ejaculate on you
    just cover you in urine
    I would never want any woman to be struck
    but those like you who scratch the itch on the rash of betrayal
    make my shoulder twitch
    like I could slap the teeth from your lying mouth
    and leave you like the slut you are
    out in the club or giving free grinds and hugs
    waiting to drop to your middle aged knees
    for another velveteen rub
    and now you are gone and all I can do is shrug
    I hope the next person you play with
    leaves you laying in the gutter where you belong
    as a symbol for all women who like to do men wrong
    so others will learn how to really see your kind
    and note her traits
    and never fall victim
    to the empty poker face
    You came into my life like a passing breeze
    and went away with such ease
    delusional you are
    do you thick you are the only one
    who came and posed falsely
    attempting to deceive the single son
    you really have some nerve
    like you are the only woman out there
    with breasts hips lips ad curves
    pitching that curve ball like I could not see the swerve
    what is it with some women
    why is that all they are about
    they just like to mess with the mind of a man
    roll the dice and then cash out
    or do you think you are desired by all because you skin is pale
    while those average looks of yours fade
    more every day as you reach for your coffin and it’s nails
    think we as dark men
    are foolish of heart men
    never that
    or was it just to get your self off
    with some dirty naked and suggestive pictures
    sent with the intent
    to keep me from getting soft
    sorry to say that you severely failed
    like I would not know your favorite past time
    is sending your pu**y through the mail
    or so when the night when you were bored and alone
    you could play between your filthy thighs
    until you let out a filthy moan
    you hand wet with your funky foam
    you could never even understand me
    your feeble brain could not truly comprehend what I think
    and to believe I wrote a piece for you
    and wasted my valuable ink
    never again
    and this last time will be the end
    no more precious moments
    handed out to charlatans and whores
    undeserving of my pen
    well the light of reality is hot
    and shall set fire to you forked tongue
    cleave the acid from the mouth
    where those crooked words fell from
    so you and the home you have is built
    on a house of cards will fall
    and then perhaps you will know the pain of real scars
    rather than the stains of bathroom stalls in bars
    and the fires of goodness will outline and roast her shape
    and men will stand and cheer at the loss of another curr
    disgusting and un trusting
    demon spilled semen filled
    filthy poker face
    Thoughts of a Single Man 2012 tm

  3. .
    Zita Holbourne12:31am Apr 16
    If you’re upset that your pay’s been frozen
    Angry about your job being taken
    If the government’s stealing your pension
    And money’s too tight to mention
    If you’ve had enough of service cuts
    Disgusted by each door that shuts
    If you’re struggling to keep your head above water
    Can’t afford the cost of studies for your son or daughter
    If you’ve been bullied into workfare enslavement
    If you can’t even afford to pay your bills and rent
    If you’re suffering from poverty and deprivation
    Experiencing bullying and discrimination
    If you’re stripped of human rights
    Fed up and saddened by your plight
    Had enough of lying politicians
    And leaders that abuse their position
    Feel you’re ignored and taken for granted
    Feel forgotten and disregarded
    Feel you can’t cope with the attacks on you
    Want to take action but don’t know what to do
    Sound off, join likeminded people
    Know you’re not alone in the struggle
    Recognise the strength of unity
    Mobilise within your community
    Organise a campaign to defend and fight
    Rise up, resist and see the light
    Don’t wait to be asked, take the lead
    Demand don’t ask if you want to be freed
    If you’ve reached the stage where you’ve had enough
    Zita Holbourne, copyright April 2012

  4. “Sound Off”

    The Sound Off is the call to arms I hear
    The sound of marching means help is near

    Sound Off, One, Two… Sound Off, Three, Four

    The Sound off brings me images of war
    Battles, fighting, death and more

    Sound Off, One, Two… Sound Off, Three, Four

    The Sound Off signifies families are split
    Mothers from fathers, parents from kids

    Sound Off, One, Two… Sound Off, Three, Four

    The Sound Off still has other connotations
    I can have my say, let my voice be heard in orations

    Sound Off, One, Two… Sound Off, Three, Four

    The time is now for a different kind of arms
    Full of vocal intensity, I’ll be wielding wordy charms

    Sound Off, One, Two… Sound Off, Three, Four

    I’m tired of experiencing bad things that happen to me
    So I’m going to DO something about it, make changes to be FREE!

    Sound Off, One, Two… Sound Off, Three, Four

    ©16th April 2012 Angela Edgar All Rights Reserved

  5. Bayley Marina

    Are you ready to be counted?
    Can you hear the charge’s call?
    Will you be the one, who is ready stand for us all?
    I am just one man
    Yes I hear the call
    I’m not affected, so I will let them brawl
    And I am not the only man who can answer this call

    Are you ready to be counted?
    As fertile lands are laid to waste
    As the people stave and the rich man fills his face
    I’m just one man
    And the problems are so far away
    What people do they do? I mean, I have nothing to lose

    Are you ready to be counted?
    Do you hear the children’s cries?
    Tears of pain, not joy, will you wipe their eyes?
    Yes I hear their lament
    They moans are part of life’s bigger game
    But I have none to my name
    But all the same, I know someone will ease their pain

    Are you ready to be counted?
    Do you hear the children dying?
    Do you hear the mothers crying?
    Yes I hear all of this,
    But their problems are not part of my list
    I need a new car, locks on my doors and to move far from this

    Are you ready to be counted?
    As other people walk by, with blinkers on their eyes
    As the politician make plans, so full of lies
    You are just one man, it true
    But it doesn’t take long for one man to become two
    And two become four
    Or are you waiting for them to knock on your door.
    (c)April 2012 Marina Bayley


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