I recently took a weekend trip to the country of Wales. I stayed in Cardiff and I was simply blown away by the beauty of the countryside of Wales that I decided that it was about time for me to take up my pen again and write a little poem about Cardiff and Wales.
There will be pictures in my travel section of Wales by the end of this week.
Hope you enjoy it. LOL!
O! Cardiff
In a twist of tales
I took a trip to the Country of Wales
Slapped from side to side by windy gales
I could not help but bite my finger nails
O! Cardiff
I speak with love blindly
You taste like a sweet wild cherry
The never-ending hills of houses are a beauty clearly
Through the land of valleys known as Methyr Tydfil
I saw sights of green imposed on me without tariffs
There was the largest city called Cardiff
Enticing me luxuriously to a weekend of mischief
A parcel of Castles
Castle Coch, Caerphilly Castle and Cardiff Castle
Reminds me of those days when soldiers battled
Surrounding green makes me ponder about sheep and cattle
I just desire green tea brewed from a pot of metallic kettle
O! Cardiff
My stomach now sings a soft jelly
As I think of a sweet girl called Kerry
Right now I'm in an ecstatic state of being merry
Cardiff the city of exuberant style
I gaze at the Millennium stadium touching the skies
And a 150ft clock elongates with a smile
While the Severn cross-way seems to go on for miles
With my fortress of endless wild dreams
The musical festivals tempts me with boozy steam
As I meet a young toothless fairy
Whose chest is so hairy and scary!
The Museums, the Welsh accent and jack union flags
The Cardiff bays, the Mermaid Quay are Cardiff's tags
Spectacular restaurants and the day passes without a drag
O! Cardiff what else do you have in your mystery bag?
The reggae men sing about a one night stand
Women think they are stallions each time they try out new positions
And I with wonder can all but understand
For those who shoot the Sheriff are on a mission
O! Cardiff
The alcohol has made eyes blurry and weary
I like to buy a house and dog named Kerry
Today I'm in an ecstatic state of being merry
The Welsh people are oh, very friendly
The wetlands, historical cinemas and films
And though with a friendly broken leg I limp
O! Cardiff you are still here to fulfill all my dreams
Copyright 2010 - Sylvia Chidi
Sorry I have been glued to Television lately watching the World Cup 2010. And I lost interest once Germany lost to Spain. But elsewhere I read about this Octopus that had being correctly predicting the results of the German game and I also read how a few Germans called for its roasting. LOL!
Well I learnt something new while the entire UK force was man-hunting one man at the expense of tax payers’ money and encouraging his suicide. I wish they put the same amount of resources and energy into other serious cases.
Well I learnt why the German football team lost and I also have a better understanding of why the England football team are not doing well on the International scene. It is not down to the Octopus - it is down to colours.
So you don't need an expensive football coach in 2014 for the English football team. All you need to invest in with a few hundred quid is new coloured vests, socks, arm bands and shorts for the lads.
Fabio - Are you listening? - We may even need to change the hairstyle of the players - Trust me it all affects the psychology of the opposite team.
Trust me they will win - I mean the Germans won each time they wore black!
If you want to win in life you must wear black, red or pink! or perhaps Orange!!!!!!
Pink is my Colour
Pink pants and rosy plants Pink blouses, never failing to arouse spouses
Pink hot feverish lips Passionate pants of pink Love letters dipped in pink ink
You see! You see!
Pink is my colour Pink is the sweet side of wild Quite mild Like a little lost baby child Of all the colours compiled Pink is romantic and disarming All pink roses are ever so charming
Pink is my colour The fruit juices I drink Are always colour pink With favourable odours Igniting my fire making me desire more and more Think! Think! Pink always links With erotic pleasant stinks Those flirty winks Combining with pink Creating an effect of kink, kink, kinky!
Pink is my colour Refined or raw Pink is my colour And the colour of my door Pink is my colour And the only colour I adore
Coypright 2006 – Sylvia Chidi
The Eurovision contest was really exciting yesterday. Sadly the UK came last. I just wish they could take this contest lightly and not bring in all these experts to write serious songs and arrange the choreography for the poor singers.
Ok perhaps this poem may help some of those countries that did not perform and please don't forget to thank me next year.
Songs of Eurovision
Last night I watched the Eurovision
And I would have given my distinction
To Moldova or Ukraine with intention
The UK, I may have failed to mention
Songs of inspiration
To me is Eurovision
Songs of imperfection
To me is Eurovision
Belgium played the guitar with such exciting tension
France wiggled their backsides and got amazing reactions
Songs that reach out and touch the nations
To me is Eurovision
Songs that are unique and command attention
To me is Eurovision
Greece and its five guys displayed masculine domination
This was a moment to share for an unforgettable duration
Songs that have vision
To me is Eurovision
Songs that impose on me to make a difficult decision
To me is Eurovision
Songs of fun and action
To me is Eurovision
Songs with dancers of fashion
To me is Eurovision
The butterflies that did not fly were part of Euros portion
And the German winner was really a nice likeable person
Songs of love and union
To me is Eurovision
Songs song by only beautiful women
To me is Eurovision
Copyright 2010 - Sylvia Chidi
Have you ever woken up on a lovely morning and experienced a blue feeling. I am sure the whole world has. This poem is a story and depending on your imagination you could either relate it to a person or you can relate it to the sun and the world hence I used the word sun-storm!
I am feeling blue
I woke up early this lovely morning
Trembling voices and my head is horning
But latest by the midnight hour
I want to feel like a majestic flower
I am feeling blue
My love wants to ride you
I am feeling sadly blue
In beauty and splendour of the earth
I still raise my eyebrows and fret
You my lady of fair beauty and black locks
Have trickled my world and crumbled my rock
And today while the sun shines its gold
In thoughts I know I should have been bold
And sun-stormed you with words of interest
Rays of my desire are scotched upon my chest
Tonight I shall dream off a world
That will leisurely come and go
Your scent, your lips, your smile
Hanging in that dark thin air for a while
I am feeling blue
These feelings of mine which are of great value
Sadly cannot transform into anything gloriously new
Order copy of my book now! - Click on icon below to take you straight to the book on bookstore website
You touch my pawns, rook, bishop, queen, king and knight
My heart is racing, I think this must be Gilbraltar love Alright!
Slave of Food - We are all slaves of food. When there is food shortage, we once again as humans become uncivilised. We become animals. Just recently from my recent trip I sat down in the evening with 2 Nigerian Chess players and 2 Spanish players in Caleta Hotel on the last day of our chess tournament which was mentally and physically exhausting.
We were so hungry and gloomy that when finally the starter(Salmon with a pinch of green salad) arrived, Mariano the Spanish chess player after cleaning his plate out let out a big sigh and with a feeble voice said, 'I am so hungry, I even eat the green' .We all burst out laughing so hard for minutes until we had tears in our eyes. And when the desert arrived we laughed our heads off again as we saw one large strawberry in the plate wrapped with a sauce served to each of us.
After we had eaten we were completely full of life again. So here is a little food poem!
Slaves of Food
Thick red blood veins bath in anger The stomach grumbles in idiotic anger A taste of food and out springs laughter Triumphant moods commence again after
And it can be argued We are all but slaves of food Digesting away between interludes Without food the mind is wholly screwed
We consume and wear different costumes With food for thought and food of all sorts We eat for the heart until it sets us apart While the crumbs are often sought by rats
The pleasure one feels after a congested meal That inner gratifying satisfaction is cheap but real Toast, eggs and beans and it is work and work Fruits, wine and cakes and it is talk and talk Coffee or tea and eyes are conspicuously awake A turkey roast and sleep is suspiciously at stake
We are all but slaves of food I conclude with fluctuating moods There is food for romance There is food for the fools Enjoy, eat fast, food never lasts, rewind and preview Hungry mouths elsewhere regularly wait for its rescue
Copyright 2009 - Sylvia Chidi
Now what is a food poem without a wine poem? After so many years of drinking wine I have particularly come to love the wines of Chile. If you are in a shop and you are unsure of what wine to pick then choose one from Chile. You simply cannot go wrong unless of course that wine becomes stale.
The best wine I enjoy from Chile is the finest Chile's Merlot, the Cuvée Alexandre. The taste is exotic and rich. You see a good wine can be compared to the likes of a good person. And right now the complexity of my mind lets me unwind so I have a little puzzle for you.
If wine becomes stale, can one repair it by using lots of fresh grapes and fermenting the two together? Has anyone tried it? Can we return stale wine to its original state? I mean a bad person can become good right! LOL!
Ok! enough of my riduculous antics, here is a little wine poem.
Sweet wine Lets feast and dine
Sweet wine Tickle my taste buds Sweet wine Sharpen my senses Make them finer than fine
Sweet wine Red and white stay in line Till I give you the sign That you are mine
(It is strange we live in the 21st century and even in developed countries there is
still a high degree of sexism, racism and discrimination) This poem will not go down well with anyone who discriminates, is a macho control freak or a macho pig.
If I were a girl
I'll wake up each day
I'll tell myself to go and learn at school
No fancy mini-skirts, No acting cool as a fool
I'll play it safe with a boy
Simple jokes and simple joys
I’ll stand-up for only love and equality
Not for some stupid momentary flattery
These silly lines inspire only immorality
If I were a girl
I think you would understand
How it feels to be constantly disrespected
Treated as a feminine reject even if an intellect
Thought off often as a sexual object or project
I swear I’d be a much tougher woman
I'll take out my dustpan, Let everyone
Start slowly again from where it all began
But I’m just a girl
It feels like a pitiful spell
To be forever taken for granted
Whether I’m multi-skilled or talented
If I were a girl
There will be no wedding bells
Until I'm completely educated as well
I'll always take care of me
I'll always hold onto dreams
And any boy who says he loves me
Will have to work with me as a team
But I’m just a girl
And I don’t want a life of hell
I want to play with cars and not just dolls
And besides a boy I always want to be an equal
By Sylvia Chidi
November 7th 2008 - Americas President
I was so glad when I read the papers today to come across an article that shares my thoughts. Here are some of the quotes. For the past couple of days I avoided the newspapers as I was not interested in this over hyped news about Obama. But to open it today and read this article made me feel good.
Quoted from the newspaper 'SUN' (Newspaper printed in Britain) Page 31 - 7th November 2008 Jon Gaunt)
'I'll be straight with you, I didn't support Obama and I don't want to rain on his parade, but he will need more than fine words and brilliant speeches to pull the States out of this financial mess.'
'But one thing that is really getting on my nerves is the constant reference to him being black, he is mixed race. And we commit a disservice to Barrack's family, especially his white mother and white grandmother who brought him up, if we write his white background out of history.'
(Black Identity)
(Mixed race identity)
(Mariah Carey - Often referred to as a black Maverick - born of a white Irish mother and a man of Afro-Venezuelan descent.
November 4, 2008
(A new breed of mixed race
or shall I say identified as Black Identities by the media and by ignorant/uneducated people.)
Malcolm X & Martin Luther King, Jr - both assassinated - these are the real black identities
Black or White - Political Correctness
Black, black is beautiful All colours are meaningful But Obama is not black, he is mixed race
Hamilton is not black, he is mixed race
Think about it; absorb this at your own pace
I'm weighing the two Like I always do In all fairness, in this world of madness This is what I call 'Political Correctness'
Obama is not black but mixed race Take a look at the color of his face He is light skinned, not even dark But they chose to call him black
I'm weighing the two Like I always do With a white mother and a father that is black The ignorant masses prefer to refer to you as black!
Copyright - Sylvia Chidi
Obama as President - He is mixed race not Black!
Today history will be in the making in America but what really puzzles me is how both white and black people believe they are voting for a black(Obama) and are feeling cool about it. White people are feeling cool so that they not associated with the terminology racist. Black people are cool thinking finally someone that represents their race and identity has accomplished an impossible feat.
Just the other day Lewis Hamilton won the Grand Prix and was referred to as a Genius and a Black. Has the world gone mad today? First he is not a Genius, he needs to be consistent with his performance over a period of years to be even considered a genius. Michael Schumacher is the racing Genius and Lewis is nowhere near his capability and ability.
Secondly is a sibling product from a white parent and a black parent really black? You tell me? How foolish can this world be?
Then I realized it is the media, misleading the ignorant masses as they try to reshape the new black race/identity that is acceptable globally. In other words, to be successful as a Black especially in the White Community, you need to be mixed race is what they are practically saying?
Can you see the woman in me?
I am a woman Generations of life are born out of this mother I am a woman So often my wise opinions and words are smothered
And with open honesty I speak with modesty Your sweet kisses flatter You are to me all that matters
But sometimes when you look at me I wonder what it is in me that you see I suppose you can tell That I got brain cells
But I ask, Can you see the woman in me? Is it a task for I wear no masks? You try to keep me pencilled in a flask Can you see the woman in me?
I am a woman with pride My strength is a strong tide My road is forever rough to ride But when it is time to take sides Behind dark walls, you run and hide
I am a woman with love With pretty assets that curve And when you give me the shove I feel a thousand boxing gloves Have hit me deliberately from above
I question, Can you see the woman in me? Come Sex, my name is always mentioned Some Vex! When I try to be me and free
Copyright Sylvia Chidi- April 2008
October 2008
I read somewhere Mr Fuld, who earned US$500 million at the Lehman Brothers, had accepted full responsibility for his actions ahead of the downfall of Lehman. He also handed out unspeakable bonuses to a few executives just before the downfall.
In my own opinion that is ‘Bullocks’. Full responsibility is paying some of those employees out of his own pocket and allowing 99% of his assets to be stripped. This is modern day-light robbery in my opinion and there are so many like him that get more than one million pounds/dollars in wages annually for doing what?
Basically for doing what any average Jo on the street with a decent university education can do and that is why our economy is in financial crisis. Why should anybody even a genius be paid more than £1 million in wages annually? This is where Governments need to come in and need to set a limit on how much an individual especially in such financial organizations can make for themselves or we will find ourselves in a much worse situation globally in a couple of years even with all the global bail out plans that are set to be implemented currently.
Credit Crunch Punch
I had a hunch about the credit crunch Now it is making an unusual loud scrunch
I hear no sound of joy or laughter As the markets crash like thunder Take a look at the whole financial bunch Many made money on just a keypunch
Banks which once stood brave Are now begging to be saved With Governments pumping billions into banks Because many claim to have empty money tanks
People’s savings are wiped off the record Sit home! Sit home! Calculate what you can afford For fast is this growing curse flowing As the financial chaos wind keeps blowing
On each lip only two words are spoken Credit-Crunch! Behold the whole Financial Market is broken
I had a hunch about the credit crunch Now it is making an unusual loud scrunch Inescapably we all have to face the credit crunch punch
Copyright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi
Germany - September 2008
I was in Germany for a short visit recently and I happened to watch 'One shot at love in the evening on-line on MTV. I did not have much time on my hands so I watched the whole series from 10am until the early hours of the morning. I found the whole series entertaining and thought I compare the drink tequila with the actual Miss Tequila. Now everyone loves sex and I have decided to spice things up. Hence my latest poem "Bubbles of Love". I also have a few pictures of Germany to share with you. Read my web pages and you will get to know more about me, my adventures and my crazy poetry.
Bubbles of Love
Tequila, Tequila! I wish to confess
There is something odd I wish to express
One day I had one shot too many for a penny
As my eyes opened up to 'Bubbles of love'
Bubbles of love
Bubbles of love
This awesome beauty that you possess
Your tanned skin calls for a touch of caress
Bubbles of love
Bubbles of love
Your succulent lips demand a kiss of finesse
And let’s not forget the sexy curves you possess
Bubbles of Love
Bubbles of Love
I will fight with words not fists and head butts
I can't help feeling all hot with no second thoughts
These feelings I wish sometimes to suppress
Because I play my life like a game of chess
I know youthful beauty fades as that is its trade
But your beauty merely radiates over man and hand-made
Tequila, Tequila! I wish to confess
Sometimes I do things in a little excess
It is you I wish to undress in your nightdress
While your chest presses against my bareness
Rather than breaking loves number one code
By driving carelessly on slippery roads
For you I'll wear my heart on any of my sleeves
Kisses, romance, love, the whole lot we can achieve
I see only 'Bubbles of love'
Beyond your smile, beyond your sexy little curves
I see only 'Bubbles of love'
In you, a ravishing blessing from above
Tequila, Tequila! I wish to confess
It is you I wish and want to process
One day I had one shot too many for a penny
And in you I saw my little American Princess
Copyright September 2008 - Sylvia Chidi
Germany (Essen, Düsseldorf and Cologne)
Düsseldorf is the capital city of the German state of North Rhine-Westphalia. It is a beautiful town. Cologne lies on the River Rhine and is also nice in terms of its nightlife which includes a variety of restaurants, bars and restaurants. However these towns were not really bubbly during my visit. The streets were empty even during the weekends compared to the Streets of London or New York.
Typical German house painting, Statues and the River!
Awake in the morning!
I get so many emails asking me about my poems and where I got the inspiration from. Well I get it from everywhere!. For example, 'O! My little girl is gone' came to me after reading about a missing girl in the papers.
Last of all I would like to thank you readers for all your support, by your constant feedback to me via email and using some of my stuff on your websites/newsletters as well as performing some of my material on stage. This alone gives me enough inspiration to continue doing what I love doing, which is writing! Thank you! Thank you!
To all the mothers who have lost their daughter/s.
O! My little girl is gone O! My little girl, my heart is torn From the day that she was born Who knew so early she would be gone? As the truth lays hidden beneath the sun
My heart constantly aches While it lies fully awake Daddy's little girl full of hope, Denied the chance to develop Mummy's little girl full of scope, How can I, this distraught mum cope?
She walked the path of immense beauty With this intense world in her little pocket O! She was a little girl, a young pretty cutie O! Her sweet memories, how can we forget?
And I can cry no more Like I used to do before Day and night I suffer in anguish O! My little girl, my little young Miss Day and night, you I can no longer kiss I hope that in heaven her heart is at peace
Gone is my bundle of sweetness And days of walking her to school Gone is mother's display of fondness And days of fun with her in a pool
O! My little girl is gone O! My little girl, my heart is torn I think of all the things we could have done! As a proud parental mother and a child While life's tide rolled in-shore mild or wild
Gone are the smiles and rosy cheeks And her nice little mischievous tricks As I sit there, ponder and begin to weep Gone is the time she starts to read books! And makes efforts to improve upon her looks
And I will miss all her little cuddles And playing mud and splashing puddles And I will miss her sweet voice And all her loud playful noise
I ponder on what could have been This no longer remains to be seen O! My little girl, who knows the truth? I shall think of you everyday by the hour As my own priceless beautiful lost flower
And the favourite saying like mother, like daughter Has forever lost its fertility to mature any further! O! My little girl is gone! O! My little girl is gone! From the day that she was born Who knew so early she would be gone?
Copyright 2007 - Sylvia Chidi
One of my favourite poems I wrote was when I had a glass of red wine one erotic night and I was imagining how one would express love and desire to someone they liked. Hence my book which is copyrighted, I have titled 'After Red Wine'
Baby Love, walk with me Baby Love, walk with me Hold my hand Set me free With a single red rose, under a tree
I love your big beautiful blue eyes And the way you wriggle those thighs In the middle of the night I endlessly fantasize Kisses, touches, moans - my dream comprises
Baby Love, walk with me Please! Baby Love, talk to me Please!
Every single elegant day Your centre stage is on display In my own loving Romeo play They say dreams do come true Will you appear suddenly out of the blue?
I love your long beautiful smile Long and beautiful as the River Nile Your mesmerizing face tells many a tale With successful conquests I wish to hail When is it time for us to set sail
Baby Love, walk with me Please! Rock me gently Please!
I love your dazzling strong hands Kisses, laughter, adventures – the whole brand It is this love of you I softly demand Your eyes speak, they understand
Walk with me Please!
Baby Love, walk with me Kiss my lips As I close my eyes
Unlock my heart with your key
Set me free With a single red rose, under a tree
The next poem is based on some literature I read. There was a famous poet many years ago that used to entertain his king and some of his poems were comical but made mockery in a very degrading way of women.
Praise Women
Praise them! Praise Women! I read his words, then I cried, O these lies How can a woman’s love lie only between her thighs?
Foremost I admired him, his work was set on another stage Later I concluded his words of women were words of rage
Praise them! Praise Women! For on the faces of all women you can trace The elements of sacrificial suffering in their gaze
To hear him say women are libidinous Is not hilarious, rather I deem it as outrageous
The women we all know have it tough Every aspect of their life is embroiled with rough Life cycle periodic pains and yet enough is not enough Their agonising vaginal birth anguish isn’t a bluff
Praise them! Praise Women! Why curse the women that raise thee Wait for you blindly in love while you are at sea Aid you in your visions of where you want to be! They bring us joy, love and peace Something I request no one to dismiss
If only he could see their potential essence He may have appreciated their very presence On earth, women’s love is the voltage of balance The very reasoning of all kinds of romance They give rise to our population By endless copulation and multiplication Which in turn gives rise to all the nations
Praise them! Praise Women! We need them in our mist! For without them we cannot exist
Praise them! Praise Women! Praise onto the women that raise thee!
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
Now please read the book section for more information on my books. Here is a glimpse of the second books cover which is a compilation of my best poems.
One of the first poems I wrote came to me by accident. I was driving on the motorway to work and suddenly the idea of writing about a happy drunk dawned on me. I wrote it and recited it to two of my brothers and they loved it. They were going to recite it to girls as if it was their own lyrics. So here is how it goes!
Drunken Life I wake up on a Sunday Morning To the sound of cars horning Smelling of booze And a particular ooze
No wash, no breakfast, no amount of food Can put me in my desired frame of mood All dressed From yesterdays mess I am ready to visit my favourite spot This is where I once fought
A pub with loads of alcohol Where I can stand up all mighty and tall Six pints of lager And I stagger But hold on it is not yet over For I am in Dover in my Rover Prepared for a sleepover from any type of hangover
I am now boarding a ferry As I am high and merry To Calais a land of gold For the old and bold so I am told I am hoping to smuggle without a fine 6 cartons of cigarettes and 6 cartons of wine
This is the life of a sadistic drunk It’s quite a contrast from that of a monk
6 shots of spirits And I am ready to vomit So I sit while I take out my kit A special small emergency bucket So I can pour out my juices like a rocket
People in the city Look at me and feel pity As I beg for change What a shame at my age I still want more For this body is hardcore
This is the life of a sadistic drunk It’s quite a contrast from that of a monk
With a bottle of beer in one hand I wave it around like a magic wand My head is spinning I am no longer winning I slumber to the street My body has given up in defeat
This is the life of a sadistic drunk It’s quite a contrast from that of a monk
I find myself waking up in a cell Just as I dreamt that I fell It is cold and freezing as hell From my face you can easily tell
A policeman says to me By the way I forgot to mention Six more cautions And you will spend the entire winter season In one of the worst prisons
Please I say, I will not do it again I may be stupid but I am definitely not insane I am immediately released As if infectiously diseased
Outside I think of some gin and tonic And start to begin to feel quite erotic Stop I say for today I need to take a break For my life is at stake
This is the life of a sadistic drunk It’s quite a contrast from that of a monk
(Pictures by Shyandokht Nadianmehr(Copyright 2007) & Sculpture by Lesley Pover)
C.P. Cavafy
(1863-1933)
Ithaka
Translated by Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrar
As you set out for Ithaka hope your road is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Laistrygonians, Cyclops, angry Poseidon-don't be afraid of them: you'll never find things like that on your way as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body. Laistrygonians, Cyclops, wild Poseidon-you won't encounter them unless you bring them along inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope your road is a long one. May there be many summer mornings when, with what pleasure, what joy, you enter harbors you're seeing for the first time; may you stop at Phoenician trading stations to buy fine things, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, sensual perfume of every kind- as many sensual perfumes as you can; and may you visit many Egyptian cities to learn and go on learning from their scholars.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you're destined for. But don't hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you're old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you've gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich. Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you wouldn't have set out. She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won't have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you'll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.
This is a poem about the political race in America
America! America! The presidential race is on America! America! History is made when the race is won
The President is about to be displaced These words are spoken with a lightface In this little head, thoughts fight for space Looking for evidence and clues to trace
Who can outpace? Who can outrace? Who can deliver not grass but grace? As the president is about to be replaced
The agenda could be gender In a political race of all races The winner could be older and bolder In this political footrace Who does America embrace? Which candidates do the people erase?
Who cares? Who fears? This change is about to and will take place As the president is about to be replaced
No one cares if he is black or white Or if the other man is too old to fight No one cares if she is a woman It is either the democrats or the republicans Anyone can emerge as that political face As the president is about to be displaced
America! America! The presidential race is on America! America! History is made when the race is won
Copyright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi
Disaster strikes anywhere
I rather tell you a joke
Or give you a little poke
But disaster strikes anywhere
Here or there, far or near or elsewhere
I have cried my own fair share of tears
As disaster unfortunately strikes anywhere
Hanging uncomfortably in the air fresh
Is the uninterrupted decomposing of flesh
And no one knows tomorrow
Nor the impact of such horror
That has befell the people of China
Not excluding the people of Burma
Deliberately raining a song of sorrows
People are always quick to judge and they are very gullible. Remember there are always more than two angles to a story. And why do we judge? It’s simple, for many reasons. Sometimes because we trust someone, someone is our friend, there is also the element of ignorance, immatureness, jealousy, inferiority complex, vanity and the list goes on. My poem Justice does not cover this subject widely but it talks about justice.
Do not judge." There is a righteous kind of judgment we are supposed to exercise—with careful discernment (John 7:24). When Jesus told us not to judge (Matthew 7:1), He was telling us not to judge hypocritically. Matthew 7:2-5 declares, "For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?
For those who reap us of thousands of grand’s Lavish their wealth on treasures of the land Justice often does us no right on this stand For it gives the culprits only a helping hand
Justice is sometimes wrong Justice is meant to be honour Justice is sometimes strong Justice is meant to be society’s formidable cure
With words I can create drama With written words I cannot stammer But Justice will do us no right in this drama For I am called black but I got a white mama
In vain I see no reasonable sense In this precluded abstract nonsense And as Justice wears again its white robes I sincerely hope that it will always accurately probe
(Black Identity)
(Mixed race identity)
