ThemmyWryt

It’s just few weeks when I grapse my breath
The feel of oxygen makes the warm atmosphere pleasing.

The food that gives me energy
The fluid I’m drenched in effortlessly
Feels good to be alive even though it’s dark.

Lights I’ve not seen
Yet i remain thankful for the movement of my limbs.

Later did I know that I won’t be chosen to see the light
I’m left unborn to ponder
If my fate is as of hate or regret.

I loved my carrier though I didn’t see her face
She made me feel comfortable for the time though it was short.

I only wish I could feel her touch,
Pull her hair
Touch her face and make her smile
I love her but I don’t know if it’s mutual for her.

The choice she made
Didn’t give me chance to make mine
I saw the light but I was only a stream of blood down her thighs.

My voice she heard but only as a splash on the floor
And I tasted life but as a dirt on a rag.
My choices was swallowed by the ones she made
When she kept me unborn.

Witty Gladiator

It’s Wednesday morning
You awake to the sound of the trucks passing by your window,
The smell of dust mixed in odour, and the terrible singing of your next door neighbor who believes she’s going to audition on America’s Got Talent and be a star.

You look at the time; it’s just 7:15 am.
You think to yourself “I’ve got enough time to read my Bible, get ready for work, and eat breakfast.”
You take your Bible; you read 1st John 1:8 and realize that God’s promised He’s going to forgive your sins if you confess to him wholeheartedly.
You think to yourself, “I can go ahead ‘enjoying’ myself more.”

You get outside; you realize there’s no hot water to bathe and it’s already 7:35.
You decide that bathing with cold water this morning won’t kill you, so you jump in the bathroom.
You appreciate how the cold water brings to life your spirit to sing.
You begin singing. You sing loudly. You sing annoyingly. But you suck at singing.
You disturb your neighbors with your average voice and go off pitch every once in a while.
You get out of the bathroom. It’s 8 am already.
So you decide to skip breakfast and eat “cold bowl” at Ma Kebeh’s spot right near your
Office on Ashmun street.

You call your boss to tell him you’ll be late today as you get stuck in traffic at Vamoma on 26th street.
As you pass, you enjoy the way the breeze beats your face this morning as your lower your windshield to cuss that bike boy who just missed your car’s bumper.
You cussed him. You cussed him good. But you know he wouldn’t just let it stay that way so he cussed you back too, and you laugh and say to yourself, “These Monrovia bike boys will never change.”

You get to the office at 8:45 and your boss hasn’t even left his house.
He’s a typical example of a Liberian boss.
He comes in at 12. Signs into the log book with 8:05 and you think to yourself, “If only I could rip his head off.”
He leaves at 12:30. Goes to eat lunch at Royal Hotel with his “side-squeeze.”
He gets paid a week before you, and for doing nothing, but there’s nothing you can do about it so you just leave him be and focus on your work.

You go to eat at Ma Kebeh’s.
The food isn’t even ready yet. So you sit. You sit long. You wish you could just rip her head off, and make her stop the plenty talking and just focus on preparing the cassava leaves torbogee she has on the fire.
The food is ready. So you eat. You eat well. You even ask for “take away” and you savor the Liberianness in Ma Kebeh’s cooking so you compliment her. You would even give her a hug if you were thinking straight. But you’re not. So you go back to your office.

You wait till evening and leave at 5:15.
You wish you could go have fun but it’s a Wednesday so you ride straight home.
You get there, shower, get in your pajamas, and you realize you had a great day!
You decide to keep the “take away” from Ma. Kebeh for “cold rice” the next morning so you put it in your fridge.
You lie on your bed, close your eyes, and then journey off to Disneyland in your sleep, and dream you’re in a Broadway Musical.

Magic_Jenny

When Freedom raised her glowing form
On Montserrado’s verdant height,
Unfurled her standard to the air
Yeah, She tore the azure robe of night And set the stars of glory there.
Freedom, O sweet Freedom

But then, freedom in Liberia
Isn’t really free;
We often pay a price
If not our pride, it’s our dignity
To keep our Liberty.

Freedom in Liberia
Isn’t really free ;
Remember those we loved,
Who fought for us, and died;
And those we never knew
For whom others mourned and cried.
Now, you see that

Freedom in Liberia
Isn’t really free ;
At home our “war” for freedom
Is sadly overdue;
We’ve let corruption stage
A sad and grievous coup.
We’ve allowed it wear glamour and walk the runway of livelihood.
I stand with this quote;

Freedom in Liberia
Isn’t really free ;
No longer can we brush off
Hatred and greed,
Lust for self-wealth and power;
We can’t, we won’t concede.

Complacency is weakness
They say you either comply or complain
But we as Patriots, can’t afford to die a life living like this;
We have to act on wrongs
That cannot be ignored.

We must give up some time,
Spent on other pleasures,
To restore Liberia’s freedom,
To keep Liberia’s treasures.

Money spent on expensive cars
Must now go to our cause:
Get rid of the offenders,
Constitutional outlaws called honorables

Freedom in Liberia
Isn’t really free
It’s up to Liberian patriots;
It’s up to you and me.

Tealee A. Brown

Lighting up the dark,
Destroying all forces weaponed against you,
Winning every battle,
Overcoming;
You are not a force I want to reckon with.

Without trying,
You are gorgeous,
You are unnatural,
You are a gift!

The vibration of your strength is not,
For the faint hearted.
A shinnning star,
Forever shooting;
I am in deep love with you.

An Alpha,
A butterfly;
Wild and free.
A warrior, a queen,
Standing stronger by the day.

Woman,
O Wonderful Wonderful Woman!
You are an Athena,
Strong and resilient!
You are a warrior and you should know this!

Choices

We cry out for peace, equal rights, and justice.

 

In hopes that the leaders we chose will choose to choose us as we have chosen them.

That the ones we trust will trust that we trusted them enough to put our lives in their hands.

That they’ll understand we are not the animals of the land but its people.

That we are the not the slaves tied to the chains and whip of the poverty that was used as a weapon by previous masters.

 

They should remember that we spoke with our votes,
that the change we wanted to see is embedded in the ones we chose with our hopes.

 

You should see that it was we, under the rain and the sun chanting your name.

That it was us on whose shoulders you stepped to climb the ladder of success you are today.

Believe that we loved you once and still love you today but there are issues to be discussed so let’s discuss it today:

 

We need our roads to feed ourselves.

We need our lights to brighten our worlds,

Our education to break us from these chains that bind us,

Our security to secure and protect us.

 

The Power is ours by your words, ‘’Power to the People’’, which empowered our lives and we use it now.

By your words, we should not suffer but rather gain hope that we will rise,

so here we are at your door.

Pleading you do for us as we did for you not so long ago.

 

We have changed one leader in hopes the next would be better
’’Change for Hope’’, you told us.
‘’Change for Hope’’, we aspire to have.

 

Let not our hopes be in vain.
In these veins, we bleed the blood of our suffering and nationalism.
Our love for country and patriotism.

 

We will not result to hurt this land.
Though we are hurt,
nevermore will this land suffer at our hands.

 

These hands which bear the hard work of the people of this land.
These hands to which guns were given to hurt each other.
These hands in surrender we cried for the peace which is prevalent.
These hands with which to the polls we went and ballots were cast in your lead.

 

Let these hands not be idle.

Create for us the jobs to participate and not to spectate in our economy,
Mr. President this is our plea.

 

Do as you said to us you would.
With changed minds, we wait on you.
And hope our dreams of a better Liberia will come true.
‘’Change for hope’’, we have.
In hope, we the people cry.

Saint Serge

I usually don’t get intimate with my poems,
but this is for those that feel consciousness is all that I write.

I met her at a sports bar;
she wore a tight dress that made her tities appealing like candy bars.

Normally, I would have just sat there and admire her,
but I had to walk over to get her name and number.

When I reached over and said hi,
she responded with a smile.
She liked the way I stared,
but wondered why I didn’t make my move earlier.

I haven’t been in anything serious since my last relationship,
so I wasn’t befriending her for love, but for companionship.

She mentioned being a fan of my poetry,
so I knew to choose my next words carefully.

She had just caught her boyfriend cheating,
so we kept conversations about loosing life’s precious things.

I share a condo with my brother,
so after hours of flirting;
she took me to her shelter.
We took a shower once our clothes were off,
and then she behaved freaky by gently biting my neck and shoulders.

She was super horny,
so it was a challenge for me to keep her happy till the next morning.

She never met a guy that licked it like I did,
so the things I did with my tongue had her speaking Spanish.

Once I got on top of her;
I placed her feet in the air.
She liked the way I kissed the tattoos on her legs,
so she bit her lips softly while rubbing her toes against my chest.

I am slightly below the average size man,
but my skillful penetration
had her thinking that I raised a mandingo between my pants.

I loved the way she called me papi,
but I had to placed my hands
over her mouth just so the neighbors didn’t hear her scream.

The next morning she fed me breakfast in bed,
so I felt rewarded like I won best male porn star of the year.

We didn’t call it a one night stand,
so I left my numbers on her night-stand.

She promised to call me for a re-up,
and asked if the next time she could invite a friend over;
with a smile, I said,
‘See you later’.

Mandesco

Times fly, but it never said good bye.

We smile, when there is a brand new life.

Sometimes we cried, when our love once died,

but remember, that everyone will slide.

 

Times fly, like shooting stars in the sky.

Times pass, like early morning sunrise.

Years back, you used to be my butterfly,

nowadays, you like snake in a green grass.

 

Times fly, like it never passes by.

With life, I give thanks to the most high,

by having you for long time in my heart.

At least I can say that I’ve tried.

Times fly, and will never say goodbye.

Mamatty Ofori-Antwi

Walking through the streets of Monrovia
Jubilation and happiness was all I saw
It was the first time in seventy-eight years
Liberia’s first peaceful transaction of power
Boom! Boom! Boom! The bass drums went
They were so loud, the birds began to sing
“That hurts”, cried the drums
The drums looked so tired and frustrated
The people danced like they never danced before
Finally, they said bye to social exclusion
They shouted through the streets of Mamba point
Muyan! Muyan! CDC Muyan! Muyan
The first African to win the ballon D’or had won the Liberia presidential election
Now Liberia has a successor to Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, the first African Female President
The country has been through a lot
Climbing the hills
And descending into the valleys
It is my strong belief that Liberia will rise again
Rise up Liberia!