Welcome to Word Play Wednesday!
Word Play Wednesday is a weekly feature of written and spoken word poetry. I will be sharing my written and spoken word poems in addition to poems by other wonderful Poets both past and present. If you are interested in sharing some of your poetry, feel free to buzz me and we can work something out.
I hope that you enjoy reading and listening to our thoughts, feelings and rants and in many ways relate to some of them.
Enjoy!
This week I will be sharing a poem I recently wrote . It was inspired by a painting of a middle aged woman sitting on a couch, lost in thought and I wondered what she was thinking. This is what I came up with. I hope you like it.
Middle Age
You are,
Astonished at the way the years have taken flight.
Surprised at the sheer size of your thighs,
Bewildered at the way it sneaks up on you.
It moves,
Like a thief in the night,
Stealing beautiful dreams, in exchange for this nightmare called reality.
With sharp teeth It bites,
Never lets go,
Draws your blood with bills, bills, bills and more bills.
No one ever tells you this.
No one ever tells you,
Love turns sour,
Days grow shorter,
and sleep, is a good day.
But a little sleep,
A little slumber,
A little folding of the hands and the rent is due.
And then children.
Children are not always as cute as they make out to be.
Though you are in awe of these beauties you have made,
You are consumed by their constant needs.
Mama can I have?
Papa, I really neeeeed..
New clothes!
New shoes!
New books!
New toys!
Etc etc etc.
This complicated mixture of pleasure and pain.
Takes all your impulses and ties them up into routine.
Leaving you to wonder,
Why you raced yonder,
Why you didn’t bask in the safety of your childhood longer,
Why you didn’t linger in the excitement of your youth.
Woe to you who made this adult life look as glamorous as it’s not.
Woe to you who made this look like an easy game.
When I say game, I mean,
Like monopoly where the money is not real or,
Like chess, where you have kings and queens that rule over no one or,
Like scrabble, where you make many words that never end up as poems,
Like the two daughters of the horse leach, it constantly cries, give! give!
And it sucks you in.
Never says enough.
Like the barren womb that refuses to house a child.
Like the fire that erases an entire village.
Like the earth that is not filled with water.
Like the grave, that always makes room for yet another.
This is a scam!
This is a hoax!
A mirage!
And now,
You know for sure,
That mum and dad
were super heroes.
6 children and more to feed,
and with less
You can barely find your feet.
Nuff respect to all who have walked this path and come out victorious.
Those are the real MVPs.
You hope, that some day,
You would look back on this time,
You would remember this poem,
and laugh out loud.
At how silly all this was.
As you sit beside a cozy fireplace,
Reading stories to grandchildren.
-Biyai Garricks
Copyright © Biyai Garricks
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