I AM THE ART OF FREEVERSE.

How are you holding up?

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Tue, 31 Aug 2021 20:42:00 +0000

Its been a while. Parenting just takes you on its own path.

I have missed you all. Dearly.

In Loving Memory Of David Foster Wallace

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Fri, 05 Sep 2014 08:49:00 +0000

Getting Back here makes me feel too Rusty.I have been wondering what i should share with you all-the wedding,the young marriage,my unborn child the straggling Business,Successful farming Projects-I just have too much to say and yet i suffer from the biggest epidemic that ever hit Africa.PROCRASTINATION.[SIGH!!!! ] not Ebola.

Finally i have managed to drag my lazy ass over.The best thing i try to do when i find my self in such a dilemma is follow up on Inspirations.

Today i decided to review some of the extracts from David Foster Wallace the American novelist, short story writer, essayist, and professor of English and creative writer.I am a big supporter for short verses but this has a grip on me.I thought i could share it with you all

Special to MORE INTELLIGENT LIFE

This is the commencement address he gave to the graduates of Kenyon College in 2005. It captures his electric mind, and also his humility--the way he elevated and made meaningful, beautiful, many of the lonely thoughts that rattle around in our heads.

(If anybody feels like perspiring [cough], I'd advise you to go ahead, because I'm sure going to. In fact I'm gonna [mumbles while pulling up his gown and taking out a handkerchief from his pocket].) Greetings ["parents"?] and congratulations to Kenyon's graduating class of 2005. There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says "Morning, boys. How's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes "What the hell is water?"
This is a standard requirement of US commencement speeches, the deployment of didactic little parable-ish stories. The story ["thing"] turns out to be one of the better, less bullshitty conventions of the genre, but if you're worried that I plan to present myself here as the wise, older fish explaining what water is to you younger fish, please don't be. I am not the wise old fish. The point of the fish story is merely that the most obvious, important realities are often the ones that are hardest to see and talk about. Stated as an English sentence, of course, this is just a banal platitude, but the fact is that in the day to day trenches of adult existence, banal platitudes can have a life or death importance, or so I wish to suggest to you on this dry and lovely morning.
Of course the main requirement of speeches like this is that I'm supposed to talk about your liberal arts education's meaning, to try to explain why the degree you are about to receive has actual human value instead of just a material payoff. So let's talk about the single most pervasive cliché in the commencement speech genre, which is that a liberal arts education is not so much about filling you up with knowledge as it is about "teaching you how to think". If you're like me as a student, you've never liked hearing this, and you tend to feel a bit insulted by the claim that you needed anybody to teach you how to think, since the fact that you even got admitted to a college this good seems like proof that you already know how to think. But I'm going to posit to you that the liberal arts cliché turns out not to be insulting at all, because the really significant education in thinking that we're supposed to get in a place like this isn't really about the capacity to think, but rather about the choice of what to think about. If your total freedom of choice regarding what to think about seems too obvious to waste time discussing, I'd ask you to think about fish and water, and to bracket for just a few minutes your scepticism about the value of the totally obvious.
Here's another didactic little story. There are these two guys sitting together in a bar in the remote Alaskan wilderness. One of the guys is religious, the other is an atheist, and the two are arguing about the existence of God with that special intensity that comes after about the fourth beer. And the atheist says: "Look, it's not like I don't have actual reasons for not believing in God. It's not like I haven't ever experimented with the whole God and prayer thing. Just last month I got caught away from the camp in that terrible blizzard, and I was totally lost and I couldn't see a thing, and it was 50 below, and so I tried it: I fell to my knees in the snow and cried out 'Oh, God, if there is a God, I'm lost in this blizzard, and I'm gonna die if you don't help me.'" And now, in the bar, the religious guy looks at the atheist all puzzled. "Well then you must believe now," he says, "After all, here you are, alive." The atheist just rolls his eyes. "No, man, all that was was a couple Eskimos happened to come wandering by and showed me the way back to camp."
It's easy to run this story through kind of a standard liberal arts analysis: the exact same experience can mean two totally different things to two different people, given those people's two different belief templates and two different ways of constructing meaning from experience. Because we prize tolerance and diversity of belief, nowhere in our liberal arts analysis do we want to claim that one guy's interpretation is true and the other guy's is false or bad. Which is fine, except we also never end up talking about just where these individual templates and beliefs come from. Meaning, where they come from INSIDE the two guys. As if a person's most basic orientation toward the world, and the meaning of his experience were somehow just hard-wired, like height or shoe-size; or automatically absorbed from the culture, like language. As if how we construct meaning were not actually a matter of personal, intentional choice. Plus, there's the whole matter of arrogance. The nonreligious guy is so totally certain in his dismissal of the possibility that the passing Eskimos had anything to do with his prayer for help. True, there are plenty of religious people who seem arrogant and certain of their own interpretations, too. They're probably even more repulsive than atheists, at least to most of us. But religious dogmatists' problem is exactly the same as the story's unbeliever: blind certainty, a close-mindedness that amounts to an imprisonment so total that the prisoner doesn't even know he's locked up.
The point here is that I think this is one part of what teaching me how to think is really supposed to mean. To be just a little less arrogant. To have just a little critical awareness about myself and my certainties. Because a huge percentage of the stuff that I tend to be automatically certain of is, it turns out, totally wrong and deluded. I have learned this the hard way, as I predict you graduates will, too.
Here is just one example of the total wrongness of something I tend to be automatically sure of: everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute centre of the universe; the realest, most vivid and important person in existence. We rarely think about this sort of natural, basic self-centredness because it's so socially repulsive. But it's pretty much the same for all of us. It is our default setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth. Think about it: there is no experience you have had that you are not the absolute centre of. The world as you experience it is there in front of YOU or behind YOU, to the left or right of YOU, on YOUR TV or YOUR monitor. And so on. Other people's thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real.
Please don't worry that I'm getting ready to lecture you about compassion or other-directedness or all the so-called virtues. This is not a matter of virtue. It's a matter of my choosing to do the work of somehow altering or getting free of my natural, hard-wired default setting which is to be deeply and literally self-centered and to see and interpret everything through this lens of self. People who can adjust their natural default setting this way are often described as being "well-adjusted", which I suggest to you is not an accidental term.
Given the triumphant academic setting here, an obvious question is how much of this work of adjusting our default setting involves actual knowledge or intellect. This question gets very tricky. Probably the most dangerous thing about an academic education--least in my own case--is that it enables my tendency to over-intellectualise stuff, to get lost in abstract argument inside my head, instead of simply paying attention to what is going on right in front of me, paying attention to what is going on inside me.
As I'm sure you guys know by now, it is extremely difficult to stay alert and attentive, instead of getting hypnotised by the constant monologue inside your own head (may be happening right now). Twenty years after my own graduation, I have come gradually to understand that the liberal arts cliché about teaching you how to think is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed. Think of the old cliché about "the mind being an excellent servant but a terrible master".
This, like many clichés, so lame and unexciting on the surface, actually expresses a great and terrible truth. It is not the least bit coincidental that adults who commit suicide with firearms almost always shoot themselves in: the head. They shoot the terrible master. And the truth is that most of these suicides are actually dead long before they pull the trigger.
And I submit that this is what the real, no bullshit value of your liberal arts education is supposed to be about: how to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone day in and day out. That may sound like hyperbole, or abstract nonsense. Let's get concrete. The plain fact is that you graduating seniors do not yet have any clue what "day in day out" really means. There happen to be whole, large parts of adult American life that nobody talks about in commencement speeches. One such part involves boredom, routine and petty frustration. The parents and older folks here will know all too well what I'm talking about.
By way of example, let's say it's an average adult day, and you get up in the morning, go to your challenging, white-collar, college-graduate job, and you work hard for eight or ten hours, and at the end of the day you're tired and somewhat stressed and all you want is to go home and have a good supper and maybe unwind for an hour, and then hit the sack early because, of course, you have to get up the next day and do it all again. But then you remember there's no food at home. You haven't had time to shop this week because of your challenging job, and so now after work you have to get in your car and drive to the supermarket. It's the end of the work day and the traffic is apt to be: very bad. So getting to the store takes way longer than it should, and when you finally get there, the supermarket is very crowded, because of course it's the time of day when all the other people with jobs also try to squeeze in some grocery shopping. And the store is hideously lit and infused with soul-killing muzak or corporate pop and it's pretty much the last place you want to be but you can't just get in and quickly out; you have to wander all over the huge, over-lit store's confusing aisles to find the stuff you want and you have to manoeuvre your junky cart through all these other tired, hurried people with carts (et cetera, et cetera, cutting stuff out because this is a long ceremony) and eventually you get all your supper supplies, except now it turns out there aren't enough check-out lanes open even though it's the end-of-the-day rush. So the checkout line is incredibly long, which is stupid and infuriating. But you can't take your frustration out on the frantic lady working the register, who is overworked at a job whose daily tedium and meaninglessness surpasses the imagination of any of us here at a prestigious college.
But anyway, you finally get to the checkout line's front, and you pay for your food, and you get told to "Have a nice day" in a voice that is the absolute voice of death. Then you have to take your creepy, flimsy, plastic bags of groceries in your cart with the one crazy wheel that pulls maddeningly to the left, all the way out through the crowded, bumpy, littery parking lot, and then you have to drive all the way home through slow, heavy, SUV-intensive, rush-hour traffic, et cetera et cetera.
Everyone here has done this, of course. But it hasn't yet been part of you graduates' actual life routine, day after week after month after year.
But it will be. And many more dreary, annoying, seemingly meaningless routines besides. But that is not the point. The point is that petty, frustrating crap like this is exactly where the work of choosing is gonna come in. Because the traffic jams and crowded aisles and long checkout lines give me time to think, and if I don't make a conscious decision about how to think and what to pay attention to, I'm gonna be pissed and miserable every time I have to shop. Because my natural default setting is the certainty that situations like this are really all about me. About MY hungriness and MY fatigue and MY desire to just get home, and it's going to seem for all the world like everybody else is just in my way. And who are all these people in my way? And look at how repulsive most of them are, and how stupid and cow-like and dead-eyed and nonhuman they seem in the checkout line, or at how annoying and rude it is that people are talking loudly on cell phones in the middle of the line. And look at how deeply and personally unfair this is.
Or, of course, if I'm in a more socially conscious liberal arts form of my default setting, I can spend time in the end-of-the-day traffic being disgusted about all the huge, stupid, lane-blocking SUV's and Hummers and V-12 pickup trucks, burning their wasteful, selfish, 40-gallon tanks of gas, and I can dwell on the fact that the patriotic or religious bumper-stickers always seem to be on the biggest, most disgustingly selfish vehicles, driven by the ugliest [responding here to loud applause] (this is an example of how NOT to think, though) most disgustingly selfish vehicles, driven by the ugliest, most inconsiderate and aggressive drivers. And I can think about how our children's children will despise us for wasting all the future's fuel, and probably screwing up the climate, and how spoiled and stupid and selfish and disgusting we all are, and how modern consumer society just sucks, and so forth and so on.
You get the idea.
If I choose to think this way in a store and on the freeway, fine. Lots of us do. Except thinking this way tends to be so easy and automatic that it doesn't have to be a choice. It is my natural default setting. It's the automatic way that I experience the boring, frustrating, crowded parts of adult life when I'm operating on the automatic, unconscious belief that I am the centre of the world, and that my immediate needs and feelings are what should determine the world's priorities.
The thing is that, of course, there are totally different ways to think about these kinds of situations. In this traffic, all these vehicles stopped and idling in my way, it's not impossible that some of these people in SUV's have been in horrible auto accidents in the past, and now find driving so terrifying that their therapist has all but ordered them to get a huge, heavy SUV so they can feel safe enough to drive. Or that the Hummer that just cut me off is maybe being driven by a father whose little child is hurt or sick in the seat next to him, and he's trying to get this kid to the hospital, and he's in a bigger, more legitimate hurry than I am: it is actually I who am in HIS way.
Or I can choose to force myself to consider the likelihood that everyone else in the supermarket's checkout line is just as bored and frustrated as I am, and that some of these people probably have harder, more tedious and painful lives than I do.
Again, please don't think that I'm giving you moral advice, or that I'm saying you are supposed to think this way, or that anyone expects you to just automatically do it. Because it's hard. It takes will and effort, and if you are like me, some days you won't be able to do it, or you just flat out won't want to.
But most days, if you're aware enough to give yourself a choice, you can choose to look differently at this fat, dead-eyed, over-made-up lady who just screamed at her kid in the checkout line. Maybe she's not usually like this. Maybe she's been up three straight nights holding the hand of a husband who is dying of bone cancer. Or maybe this very lady is the low-wage clerk at the motor vehicle department, who just yesterday helped your spouse resolve a horrific, infuriating, red-tape problem through some small act of bureaucratic kindness. Of course, none of this is likely, but it's also not impossible. It just depends what you want to consider. If you're automatically sure that you know what reality is, and you are operating on your default setting, then you, like me, probably won't consider possibilities that aren't annoying and miserable. But if you really learn how to pay attention, then you will know there are other options. It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down.
Not that that mystical stuff is necessarily true. The only thing that's capital-T True is that you get to decide how you're gonna try to see it.
This, I submit, is the freedom of a real education, of learning how to be well-adjusted. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn't. You get to decide what to worship.
Because here's something else that's weird but true: in the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship--be it JC or Allah, be it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles--is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It's the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It's been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.
Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they're evil or sinful, it's that they're unconscious. They are default settings.
They're the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that's what you're doing.
And the so-called real world will not discourage you from operating on your default settings, because the so-called real world of men and money and power hums merrily along in a pool of fear and anger and frustration and craving and worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom all to be lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the centre of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talk about much in the great outside world of wanting and achieving.... The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.
That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.

I know that this stuff probably doesn't sound fun and breezy or grandly inspirational the way a commencement speech is supposed to sound. What it is, as far as I can see, is the capital-T Truth, with a whole lot of rhetorical niceties stripped away. You are, of course, free to think of it whatever you wish. But please don't just dismiss it as just some finger-wagging Dr Laura sermon. None of this stuff is really about morality or religion or dogma or big fancy questions of life after death.
The capital-T Truth is about life BEFORE death.
It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:
"This is water."
"This is water."
It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world day in and day out. Which means yet another grand cliché turns out to be true: your education really IS the job of a lifetime. And it commences: now.
I wish you way more than luck.

Just...

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Mon, 18 Aug 2014 13:11:00 +0000

Its been ages.Its time i broke my Silence. Ohhhhh the Things i want to tell you.The things i want to Share.
I have rested enough.Hope you are all well,i have never stopped following Yall.I have Missed you.

AN EXTRACT FROM FIRST WEEK OF A BREAK UP BY RAFEAL CASAL

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Wed, 10 Oct 2012 16:10:00 +0000

See I keep wanting to invite you over but love can’t live here anymore, she might bring her children. Jealousy, and Neglect. Those who run around my crib always breaking shit and I can’t seem to clean up fast enough. They tend to ruin romantic moments with questions and lies, and I can see their children when I look into their eyes. It’s you and I. Not sure when we had them, but now they live in the next room. Always barging in talking bout they having nightmares and can they sleep with us too? Jealousy dreams about deceiving so that’s what we do. Live out each other’s nightmares until were bed full of problems and solving’s not an option cause’ solutions ain’t new. Neglect keeps me in bed talking bout I don’t love her like You and Jealousy. I know I must’ve told her that but both of them still look so much like you.

Journal Extract : Father Vs Dad (Through the Eyes of a Lone Soldier)

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 13:05:00 +0000

The words ‘dad’ and ‘father’ are very similar on the surface and yet, I think to many people they hold very different meanings;Growing up I had a father,a father who made sure and went out of his way to make sure that i was provided for.He woke up every day to go work and make sure there was food on the table and returned every evening to read the paper, take a bath and sleep.Once in a while,he took time to talk to me about grades,degrees and how he hoped i aimed for a PHD.As much as that was important i wanted him , not to just talk to me but also take time to Chat with me,know me and befriend me.I wanted him to take me to football matches,and tell me the different stages of pre-manhood and Manhood like how to shave,love and wear a Suit.I wanted him to tell me about the thin line that lies between love and pain and how a man should walk and talk,i needed a comrade-to hold my back in war,talk to me about my first time,my first girl and what to do when she broke my heart;Instead i grew up a Lone soldier with a father and had to walk my self through the tests and Challenges of being male.Not having a bigger brother, i needed a role model- someone i could look up to and say to my self "I WANT TO BE JUST LIKE YOU WHEN I GROW UP".Honestly i grew up with a father but i needed my dad more.I hope for my little girl and little man i get to be more than father. I love my Father but i greatly miss my Dad.

An extract from my Journal

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 10:28:00 +0000

I don't like the way i act toward Peaches.I constantly experience her as a very attractive woman,and yet the whole time i act like a polite eunuch.When i feel my maleness sexually,i want to consciously decide whether to act it out.When being an asexual nice-guy is a pretense,it is also self-betrayal.A decision can come from strength or self doubt.I see now that i want every act to be a self-affirming choice.

My feelings may demand action but they do not require it,I am free to choose what my body represents.To act out does not "get it out".In fact,acting it out often re-enforces the emotion and imprints it more deeply on my mind.One thing only is predictable about emotions:They will change.I don't have to "Honor" every passing feeling as if an opportunity for self-fulfillment were actually slipping from my grasp.

A Note to My Self

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Mon, 14 Mar 2011 06:30:00 +0000

Anxiety,fear,panic is running away mentally,not physically.There is something over there in the corner of my mind,some thought,some image,that i don't want to look at.Fear is based on the belief that i am safer not seeing,like a child closing its eyes as the ball comes towards it.Awareness is the 1st step to freeing the mind.I must not only hear the fear out but question it closely as to the answer it is suggesting.Just as with Nightmare,most fears will fall by the weight of their own nonsense-Once they are bluntly seen

Now,Being my self includes taking risks with myself,putting a side fear,taking risks on new behavior,trying new ways of thinking and being,so i can come to know how it feels to walk hand in hand with my self.

#Notes to Myself

Lately I've been struggling,Spiritually and emotionally.I have been thinking of my self and what path i should take or what path i am currently on.A struggle between Poetry and photography ,Between God and Me,But mostly between taking a leap of faith and Fear.

Lonelines Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 12:31:00 +0000

Call me a liar

Say it to my face

let it sink in

let it marinate in

my rage,let it drown

in my loneliness.

What a fool i was-

For believing there

was someone here;

I need to feel it,

all the way in,stab me with

those words,like a dagger,

turn it,get some flesh

let my tears flow

let me shout out all the pain

till there is no more sound in me,

till there are no more tears in me.

Look at me,as i lie there,mute

In my tears.Bend down

towards me look into my eyes and slowly

whisper these words to me

"You are Lonely,you are alone

in this small world of yours"

...to be continued

Behind closed doors

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 05:06:00 +0000

Sound is burried
here,silence is
embraced.
its just me-
nothing more
and nothing less.

Thoughts of
broken promises,
memories of
a love forgotten,
tears of
a heart broken.
But still-
a scent of you,
fond memories
of you.

For years i have
prayed here
for years i have
mourned here,
only to the audience
of these four walls
and the mockery
of loneliness.

Behind these
walls i birth myself
for tomorrow.
Behind these four
walls a MAN is made:

I Miss you

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 19:44:00 +0000

Its been 326 days
18 hours and 22
minutes .

i miss you
i want you-
to touch you
and kiss your full lips
i want to burrow
in your arms
get lost within
your breasts
i want to hide
from you and
let you to look
for me
i want to sink
in you,move my
hand to stroke
your flames-
not tomorrow
but tonyte
this nyte

its been 326
days,19hours
and 45 minutes
and i still miss you

Silence

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 16:17:00 +0000

Sometimes silence is the loudest noise:-Ive missed you guys a lot,my life went on a journey,a journey ill document for you in Poetry.
Love you all.R

PS:Ill update on Monday thank you.I love you.May the Pen stay strong

Purpose

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 13:35:00 +0000

Forget about love

forget hate

forget hurt

forget her.

Forget about rejection

forget heartbreak

forget loneliness

forget betrayal.

Forget about mistakes

forget tears

forget pity

forget sorrow.

Forget about faces

forget fears-

above all,forget death

but please-please ,

do not forget

to LIVE:

Pain (Part II)

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 19:59:00 +0000

This poem is not about love-

or writing my verses

all over you.

This poem is about you-

about that voice in you

that is always silenced.

This is about the tears

you cry behind the

bathroom door.

This is about you

strangely

staring at yourself

in the mirror.

This is about that child

in you that is oppressed

and rejected.

This is about questions-

unanswered questions.

This is about forgiveness

and reasons why you wont

let go.

This poem is not about Love-

No- this is about YOU-

This is about PAIN:

Untitled (for the poet in me)

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 18:55:00 +0000

I need you Poetry

I need you Poetry.

I forgot-yes i did,

Left you with teary eyes

and a brocken heart-

I never bothered to take

one last glimpse at you.

I forgot the similes

and metaphors

that walked me through valleys.

i forgot you-yes i did-

thought-i dint want you

anymore-

put my pen down

and threw away the paper-

i thought i knew what i wanted

that i forgot to see

what exactly i needed.

I need you poetry, yes I do.

I need you to keep me in your

Verses-I need you to hide

me in your ink.

I need you poetry -like

the breath that runs through me

I NEED YOU POETRY.

Ps:I wanted to call it quits and let go of you guys-i thought my issues were bigger than poetry,but i was wrong.i need you guys cos you have helped me write better.For Lulu,the walking man,angel shishi,funms,kookie jar and all the rest -Thank you all.

Untitled

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 16:08:00 +0000

Come,come,come;

come to me

My poet-my lover;

when it hurts,

go ahead

and tell me,

when this world

takes you by the

throat-

run to me

and ill be there

always.

Who understands

you better ?

I am a gift to you-

i am your comfort

in distress,

So bring it all to me

My lover-My poet.

Ps: am thru with Exams thank you all for the support and patience-Bloggers rock!! lets take this world with the pen.Love you all Robyn

For You

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 04:39:00 +0000

Am only Gone till october 9th due to University

Exams.I miss you all and have alot to write you.

Robyn

Untitled

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 06:55:00 +0000

She covers her eyes-shyly,

and begins to sing;

words one by one

open up-as a petal

from a flower-

that is blind to its own

beauty.

And i

in a moment of

self conviction

sit still and listen;

through an embarassed

gesture

comes a senile love song-

a favorite of mine

words made up-

words

perfectly put together-

a song from closed eyes.

Silence (Revised Edition)

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 19:06:00 +0000

My Silence,

haunted me-

My silence,

had Noises-

so i gave it a mouth-

i gave it a voice.

Now,

Silence has a life;

Now silence

haunts me no more.

The Little boy (Revised)

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 17:13:00 +0000

I once knew this little boy

he used to be happy

he prayed everyday

and had no problems.

This little boy loved himself

and was loved

he believed in himself

and loved to write.

I once knew this little boy

that i dont know anymore

He was stolen by desires

clothed in pain,

drowned in tears

and heartbreaks

and filled with self pity.

I once knew this little boy

that got lost in me.

Quest

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Sun, 12 Jul 2009 09:54:00 +0000

Take me

to a place so far

away.

Take me

to a place

where i am greeted

by the scent of

morning dew.

where-

like i boy

i can dance to

the rhythm of the rain

and

listen to the whispers

of the wind.

Take me

to this place;

a place

ive only dreamt of

and written about

in poems.

Take me to this place

and leave me there

to rest.

Take me-

to place so far from here.

Ps:Dedicated to the walking man(i hope you love it).Thank you for your criticism-it has helped me write better.Am still workin on my punctuation.

Untitled

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Tue, 12 May 2009 14:14:00 +0000

Africa-

Write your name only

This is your moment

Your time under the sun.

Africa-

Don't write the name of any god

Don't write the name of any soul

Don't write the name of any man.

What have they done?

Africa-

Look at them with their void stares

These are the same faces that

abandoned and

fled from you.

These are the same faces that

raped and

molested your children.

Africa-

this is your moment

write your name only.

A letter to God

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Tue, 05 May 2009 08:54:00 +0000

Dear lord
What will a prayer
From a little man like me do?

Will it
Stop my brothers
From killing each other in endless,
Senseless wars.
Will it
stop,help that little girl
That cries at the empty
breast of its dead mother
I need to know Lord
I really need to know.

Will it
Provide solace to that
Mother that lived to
bury her child
will it
Voice the pain of my
Sisters-

that are

tortured, raped
And some burnt

alive in
The midst of what

we call civilization

Dear lord
What will a prayer
From a little man like me do?

Journey

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 14:42:00 +0000

The curtain drops
your show is over
your last poetry recital-
beautiful faces
all disappear
You pack all your
moments
in the bottom
of your suitcase
cover them with
your memories
a huge
"we will miss you card"
with the signatures
of all your
fellow poets.
you pack all of
them
cover them with
your memories-
piles,piles and
piles of them.
you close the lid
tightly
(you have everything
from a stay abroad)
you head back home.

Back home
you unpack.
everything lies in
disarray
exposed,vulnerable,
silent.
But-

as you rearrange
the new shelves
you have created,
suddenly you notice-
how everything looks
different,
you notice how everyone
has changed-
Even the face in the mirror.

Untitled (to the African Child that is never heard)

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Tue, 03 Mar 2009 14:23:00 +0000

In the vast
of her
emptiness
she sits
with
welly eyes
on
a cold hard
pavement.

Silently-
uncontrollably
she weeps-
involuntary
tears.

On her skin
are stripes
of moments
in her life-
raw moments
overshadowing
the ripe moments-
leaving behind
a path of pain
well marked
upon her face.
no one cares
to even stop,
look
and notice her.
no one
cares to lend
an ear-so
she just
weeps
and weeps
and weeps.

(Dedicated to little Roselyn-i noticed)

The Actor

noreply@blogger.com (Robyn.K.Y) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 15:18:00 +0000

Noises
people-with
empty stares
confused adoration
stifling screams
they applaud-
i take a bow
the show is over
curtains drop
today's tale has ended.

Beyond the curtains
i hear fading screams-
i place my hands tightly
against my ears-
drag my body on my elbows
and cry out
"Lord let them go away please".

Time collects in one place
my soul stifles a scream
all this pain,
all these broken moments
become a reality,
am betrayed by my own silence.

And now
With my teeth,i
pick up pieces of me-
piece by piece
part by part.
So
Tomorrow
a new day will unfold,
Tomorrow-
I will play a new role.

To the activist,Lulu ,angel, Emi ,shishi n K