You thought the learning was over
Chalkboard blowing chalk into the air
Teacher scratching discomfort into your ear
Chalkboard saying things you won’t hear
Class is in session, but the lesson’s eerie
Who brought horror into a classroom story?
Forgive how many times?
Tolerate how many crimes?
The toilet seat meets the dumped socks
In the quagmire of unadulterated ire
Where soccer games and that sucker’s booze
Meet to sink like rugged rocks,
Sink to spark disgust, a horrid fire
Where nobody wins, everything gets loose.
Class is in session, but the lesson’s creepy
Who brought gore into a “love”-filled story?
Keep listening for how long?
Say sorry when I’m not wrong?
The know-it-all yet mostly right attitude
Boils with the demands for attention
And contradicts those moments of little ruse
When the obvious vanishes in in-exactitude:
Hyperboles, irrational outbursts of emotion
Where nobody wins: everybody will lose
The School of Love is in session
“I do” is the entrance exam in grand pomp
Who brought horror into a classroom story?
Or gore into a “love”-filled fairy tale glory?
A cross! A cross! Who drew a cross on the chalkboard
Complete with dying man, scarred with hearts
Crowned in despicable desiccated dead plants?
It’s gross! Yeah, gross! This isn’t the promised reward
That movie with hearts had at the best parts,
When we watched and built all our horizon’s plans!
The chalkboard says He designed it
And tells us how to take it to make it
But why? why is the manual nailed with blood
To Roman torture perfected? Shall we bleed
To get the certificate at the end of this road?
“I do”, the ring, a dress, the suit… a casket?
Buffet, the ball, bouquet, …. a wreath?
Die in order to love?
Die in order to live?
You thought the learning was over
But you just entered the school at Golgotha,
Chalkboard blowing chalk into the air
Laden with a mother’s tears of joy
Teacher scratching discomfort into your ear
As creation is renewed in flesh joined at the altar
Chalkboard saying things you won’t hear
Unless you listen: class is in session. “This is how
You love one another”
(c) nyonglema
Guts over fear
Reality sometimes looks too real to be desirable
As clouds dance with darkness before the sun
A macabre dance that stirs rock and rubble
On every path before eyes that once had fun
The hairs of your neck crane to whisper to you
About chills felt before great battles, great losses;
Shoulders dropped, longing to be hugged anew
As when you scraped your knees while having fun
The whisper like wind dying on distant beaches
Lifts no spirit, but instead freezes passions
Till all is bland amidst the dreary dying fishes
On closed shores where once the tourists had fun
Every path is macabre, so only darkness is desirable
And new life which normally paints in smiles
Must be called anything: clump, parasite, not viable,
Unconscious, killer of wallets, pathway to lost fun
Anything to soften the blow of making it all end
For in an instant fun became burden, and leisure
Became a burden of 2 lines on a stick upending
Your life. Yes anything to take you back to fun
But does calling a lion a goat rob off its mane?
Or does calling a leaf a book rub off its green?
Or does seeking a way back out of the rain
Mean scarring your mind in a quest for fun?
Fear is a horrible counselor when emotions flare
Like alcohol flames upon an aching heart.
Fear will choose death when money gets rare
Fear will choose pain just because the path’s not fun
Fear will have you sell your all, over a mere tear
But hope is nothing like that impostor
Fear will take your heart to dash upon the stairs
But hope it heals your mind bereft of fun
Fear will say you’re too young to be great
Hope says pick up that cross, yes you can
Fear will brim your heart with fermented hate
Hope warms up the pain on a path to fun
Fear says shame will mark you all your life
Hope says “mum”, and loves you in tears and smiles
Hope lays flowers on the right path, plays the fife
As you walk forward smiling, fear nearly gone
Fear says maybe not, do what the politician says
Hope says life will love you in thick and everything
Hope calls you to take that little step that sways
Your life right again, and that of that little human being
Fear leaves. Hope takes over, the clouds can’t cover
The rays sipping through leaves to light up your path
Shoulder raised, not a smile yet for it’s not yet over
But you’re building steps up to a heart in a hearth
Warmed by picking hope over lies and fear intended
To lose you. Reality looks different when you turn
Your eyes beyond expedience to love as it burns
Bright. Light. Fun. Love. New life. New hope. New deeds
With a little life you watch grow. You love into glow.
And it watches in wonder as you grow into all it knows.
(c) nyonglema
De Oude Kerk: Exile
Rusty stones of rich history,
Clasping debauchery and misery.
The luster of lauds that built
So sturdy and sacred a monument
To human ingenuity is gone.
The glory of God has left this place.
When men for comfort seek the less,
Placing their trust in self to impress
One another, human ingenuity is gone
For adventure's the empty pews and
Hope is the incensed processions replaced
By tourists, for God has left this place.
Carved and chiseled with ancient craft
Shaped by sun and rain and stringent draughts
She stands forgotten , old brown, dead windows,
While bustle rushes past the oldest building
of Amsterdam. Just that: The oldest building.
Heaven once met Earth right here, in this place.
But incense's been traded for coffee shops,
The light of His abode molded by red on top,
And the pentagon, that once let in light
Looks on the stone streets where spirits die.
Oh how low the hope of man has really fallen,
Not to see what could be, right in this place
Where's your crucifix oh ancient bauwerk?
The tourist go in and out, I dare not
My tears well. Where's your light? Salt?
The colors around ignore my pain.
Sin's for sale. Oh woe be all that
Took God's glory out of this place
(c) nyonglema
de Oude Kerk - exile in full view
DINTS
Divorce, severing hope and mercy from promise
Is a desert of dust-laden rushes of sand:
Not loud, yet sapping health and all peace.
The quiet hides despair's gold-veiled bland
Solution to the problem of evil: Suffer!
(c) Nyonglema
Interesting take: A Homily on Marriage
The Battle for Witnesses
The war cries deafen in thunderous dust:
Churning Earth with mortar,
Bullets pelleting dead soldiers,
Muzzle flashes barely visible through the crust
On their viziers. War scars
Will form years after marching orders
For those who must live with memories of the lost.
Now, expletives at pain inflicted in the battle.
They tumble, we crumble,
Bone fractures, cursed mumbles.
Blood’s a minor distraction in this macabre hustle.
Eyes half open, mouth blown off,
The bodies in cursive in troughs:
Friends will mourn friends in memory of this tussle.
OR
thank God for the life of the fallen —
Who, rosary in hand, went forward
With the proficiency of the Bard,
Wrote, even with axe threatening, for our calling
Into the New deadly Way,
That brings life for aye,
That speaks truth to spear, arrow, or cauldron.
The great news of Life abundantly given.
Nero, Napoleon… all failed!
The martyrs live even impaled
For victory in human view isn’t so in Heaven.
(c) nyonglema
Good intentions, without a moral compass, can be detrimental.
Immaculate Conception
For spirits rare, a vessel rare
Chosen one, chosen for the Heir!
He shielded you from Adam’s stain
Eve’s gain he made you to disdain
Loving mother, hear this misery
Oh Immaculate heart carry
Our sincere confession of faith
To Jesus, even just a wraith
(c) nyonglema
PS: This is part of a longer prayer to be released in time for the Assumption 😉
Kery James – La Rue ça fait mal (translated)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0aLlrEEH4c
Verse 1
You’re using ink, I’m inking with tears
Missing those links cos I saw their flesh tear
I’m from the hood not the set of Jaws,
Hid my prints doing my childhood chores
Whatcha thought, bro?
In these black holes, whatcha saw bro?
They offed my homez, and then torched the corpse
I’m carrying the lead that beats your hardcore
Pre Chorus
I don’t turn gangster once in a studio
Six feet interred, that’s how curtains close
Fireworks flare, shells, lifeless ‘n silent
Try using tears to feed fire hydrants
Chorus
How deep these streets hurt (x3)
How deep these streets hurt, we might’ve got used to living with dirges
Verse 2
You paint with ink, I’m painting my strife
Ain’t got a mirror, bro I’m using my knife
My heart’s too dense to buy your mirage
No daydreams in this dark garage
Whatcha thought, bro ?
In your black holes, I know what I saw bro:
They offed your homez but you just can’t be sure
You’ll be in denial till you meet at the morgue
Pre Chorus
I don’t turn gangster once in a studio
Six feet interred, that’s how curtains close
Fireworks flare, shells, lifeless ‘n silent
Try using tears to feed fire hydrants
Chorus
How deep these streets hurt (x3)
How deep these streets hurt, we might’ve got used to living with dirges
Verse 3
To all who’ve lost a loved one to a firearm
To the mums living like without their arm
To the dads crying out their heart’s solitude
Waiting to die, totally destitute
Years of education now stuffed into a box
When you tote steel, you’ll one day have to pop
The hood’s booty calling, you want a fine ride?
Dude you’ve got sugar mixed up with cyanide.
Chorus
How deep these streets hurt (x3)
How deep these streets hurt, we might’ve got used to living with dirges
(c) nyonglema
Mustard Seed
Light a fire upon the raging fire?
The wood shudders and writhes in pain
As fumes scoff at the deadly ire
Dancing about the dying twig, and it's plain:
Why add more fire to fire?
Seventy seven times seven is huge,
But sometimes barely sufficient to quell,
For forgiveness of the Scrooge
Is the silence of a storm-tossed city bell;
But this would cull the deluge:
(For the twig is now bent over,
Both sides seeking trust in combustibles,
The dance of shadows now groovier
Human life precious, now just expendable,
From a spark to a supernova)
That we had that mustard seed!
Barely perceptible, yet full of potential
Calling us eagerly to heed
The Master laying bare the essentials:
Grow faith, reach the mustard seed,
Hold the cycle of hate at bay!
With one act of kindness, a precious flower
Growing in the concrete today
Is the start of the end of destruction's power
Mustard seed. Mustard tree. Today.
(c) nyonglema
Literal questions idiots literally ask
Is Schrödinger’s cat dead and alive? Does evolution explain the start of life? Can naturals make 2 + 2 five, Or bacteria make a metal fife? Is it safe to go piñata with a hive, Or ignore and let a fungal infection thrive? Can a human claim to have dog feelings? Or the rind of oranges be potato peelings? Can a wheat plant bear maize seedlings In Antarctica, Iceland or the Straits of Bering? But there is dumber yet: Who sowed the farmer? Who sewed the seamstress? Who baked the baker? Who raked the gardener? Who fried the chef? Who dyed the stylist? Who fabricated the engineer? Who programmed the programmer? And the worst of all: Who created God? (c) nyonglema
waghni 