WOMAN

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Woman
The art man can’t explain
Insuperably axienic with pure essence
The smell of a goodnight pleasure
An amiable treasure unexposed
Crowned with shades of wisdom
Man’s greatest pleasure
Transparent with a fierce spirit
With nests of tender emotions

Marvel and stare to get lost
Her hips compel your submission
Oh! The lips, total enchantment
Still her brain burns in her tasks
Here and there, she rolls in circles
Beat her drum, she’s fruitful
Forbidding extinction of our race
Now, take a bow for her
She is your QUEEN.

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WHAT IS LOVE?…

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To love is to feel
But feeling is like air
It moves and gets lost
Hurts and grows cold

To love is to heal
But healing is supreme
Only clean hearts can achieve
So we’re left with open wounds

To love is to fear
But fear destroys the bond
The uncertainty brings mistrust
And soon the downfall of lovers

To love is to dance
Because dancing sparks the charm
And let little lovers grow
Truth is, love is the shoe we often ignore

Copyright© 2016. Ruth Brodrick

Worry Less, Make Today Beautiful

Iread is not meant to only please the readers mind but to quench the thirst of reading…
This write up forsees the debt we bind ourselves to by staying bound to our mistakes, and helps us recover from it

Often, we punder about the mistakes we made while yesterday still lived
We let ourselves wallow in yesterday and forget it has become our past
We get so cooked up that we forget we have today to nurture and walk through
We ache ourselves for things we cannot change, so I ask,

        “Why do we make ourselves slaves to yesterday’s mistakes?”

As the clock ticks, it takes our today in its 24hour cycle, and at its expiration, it becomes yesterday
And in turn, yesterday becomes our past, and our past remains as our memory

We should refuse living in a world tied to the mistakes of yesterday because it holds no tie with today
It only enchants our soul to hallucination and fills our mind with worry and uncertainty
Yesterday came and made its mark, whether good or bad, and so will today
Let us not spoil the works of today by placing the ends of yesterday on its path
Sometimes, the reason things happen to us today is basically because we still live in the pain and mistakes of yesterday
Remembering them is no sin, but building walls around them so we can live in, is the greatest sin
Eventually these walls projects into today and causes commotions, and then again, we have today elope without fulfillment

As a new day begins, let us consciously make blank the pains of yesterday, so we can meet the demands of today
And if we still find it difficult to escape from yesterday, let us rather use it as fuel
Fuel to spark the desires to make today better than yesterday, so we can have a wonderful tomorrow
A wonderful tomorrow is one that is free from the worries of the mistakes that was made yesterday, hence today was better
We should not sit back and let the pain of yesterday ruin the makeup of today
Those mistakes happened to make us learn, so we can be stronger, wiser and better

The beauty of living is wrapped around the mind, a healthy and steady mind yields a beautiful life
Worrying about yesterday makes our mind unhealthy, how then do we expect to have a  beautiful life?
We actually cage ourselves when we worry, and unless we break free, today remains captured and enslaved
Let us work consciously to tame worrying about yesterday, its gone, let us let it go and set today free for exploits
Treat today with humor and love, for its a gift we exchange for tomorrow…

Make today beautiful…

By Ruth Brodrick. All rights reserved ©. This prose poem should not be shared or used without the author’s permission.

A Tale Of The Foolish

All that is left of us are plastics
We traded our gold for selfish moments
Hid our silver, but the merchants stole it
Our bronze, we turned into carved effigy’s
Sold to the streets for a penny-less penny
Buried our iron, hoping to be thankful after winter
But alas, the rusted bars rejected our wet hands
We got nothing to lose as we crave for more
Every broken piece of our glassy hearts
We carried along for acceptance
We were no longer found in the skies
Rather we dreaded in the fallen madness of fame

With decayed patches of our wooden soul
We strive to emit no more glamour
We watched our very own, perish before our eyes
We blame not the spirits, we blame ourselves
Our single greedy minds brought us here
Death found us wanted, yet too dead to die
Lessons we learnt, made us realize how foolish we were
We had it all, all the world ever needed
And we lost it all, all the world never had
Foolishness isn’t a curse, is only a mockery of our wisdom
We thought we solved it, but we only progressed the equation
This and that, here and there, we opted for a reason to live
We found none, because the reason we lived was vain

We fell, and we will all rise, at least so we believed
But we were wrong, so wrong!
We fell but not all will rise
For some still lived in their foolishness
Nothing can change the mistakes made in the past
We only got now to learn the rule of no more mistakes
We used the plastics, we made the jewel
Not of so much quality, but it had the basics
The beauty beheld, was the beauty of repentance
Truly, we are a fallen nation, and we’d still fall again
But we used the fallen to gain self wisdom
Even though we rose, our rising suffered
We lost it to the wisdom of the ignorant cups
For they will still fall, and lose it too
It still doesn’t give us any immunity
Because all we got left are plastics…

By Ruth Brodrick. All rights reserved ©. This prose poem should not be shared or used without the author’s permission.

Ajayi…

Buried within the woods he made
His dumb body suffocates with rot
His feet squeezed to fit into his works
His body mass too swollen for acceptance

Ajayi, the coffin maker was a good man
To good for death to have spat on
He never wished for the bad of his people
Even though he needed them to survive
Even on their sick beds, he prayed for them
He was death’s alibi and was ignorant to this fact
He made the coffins with strength and zeal
Yet he barely gained from it to survive
He made twenty coffins a year and sold only two

He forgot he needed them for his survival
His wrinkled hands could use the nail no more
He loaned out his gifted hands in remorse
And was stricken by the angel when the time came
Before his death, he sold twenty coffins
He was skilled because it was a tradition of his fathers
The first son was to take over from his predecessor
Ajayi was the only child of his father and was left no choice

Just like his fathers,one coffin was always left behind
For the death keeper must walk in death
And buried within the works of his hands
He was aware and kept the best for himself
Alas! When his soul journeyed yonder
The coffin had suffered the beat of nature
And was no fit for a man like Ajayi
He broke the curse, for he wasn’t buried in his work
But in the work of his wife, for she was a seamstress
And made for him a bedding of death
Taking the curse on her head and to her daughters
Letting the sons have a coffin free life

Ajayi the coffin maker, was a good man
And so was his wife now, the maker of death’s bed
A family to serve till death…

By Ruth Brodrick. All rights reserved ©. This poem should not be shared or used without the author’s permission.