She turns me on, the beautiful pastor She makes wish it becomes Sunday everyday How she tiptoes with her stilletos through the pulpit I wish to sneak into the vestry and see her dress up. I bet you have met not such an enticing holy at church.
When she opened a verse that day, A verse that left me dazed and bemused Her utterness said “Songs of Solomom 3 vs 4” I had no bible but googled it out to see It left me a smile and mouth agape.
She always preached love, love for Christ, But I took it all literal and said, love for a pastor. I looked forward for a time when we shake hands after, Then I be the last one of the church; Shake her hand, holding her palm to palm then smile at her Then I would stumble before her So she helps me up, saying countless ‘sorry’s’ And patting my cheeks, my blood blended.
Oh,such a beautiful lady pastor, Who would dare put on her grey mini- And wear lipsticks, shiny pink lipstick, Beauteous queen, if she goes to heaven, Then I won’t go to hell either.
Now I know the reason, The reason no man misses church Even Non-Anglican are Anglicans.
TODAY IS MINETODAY is mine. Tomorrow may not come. Next week, next year, I may not live to see;This hour I have. It is enough for meTo make by smiles, or mar by being glum.And so I strive to live this one day well,To tread the path of right as best I may,To speak the kind words that I have to say;Tomorrow I may be an empty shell.
Then I cling to another thought of saga,I can’t live well but I must perseive to make it my best lifetime story,Today’s echoes speaks to me,Yet you blame a rose that has pricked you know in default,Clout me!Clouds gonna change to no predictions,Waters gonna shed pricky cries,No solemn words gonna turn by my hearings;No new dawn gonna uncover same,So my TODAY needs the all I can now.
It holds a breathe to a thought of my afterlife,I think it a fail to heal my wounds for a worsening tomorrow, I walk to a present peculiar pathway towards the murky shadows of a deceitful tommorow,Yes!But this could be the perfect theme of my history,”And that’s how they lived”-a better today. To do my share to cheer my fellow man is todayTo do today what I can do to aid,To let none pass whom words of mine might cheer,Tomorrow they may not be toiling here,Tomorrow in the ground I may be laid.
With a smile written on my face,I live for what today has offered, tomorrow’s an uncertaintyThey say,tomorrow ne’er existsWe know not the hour that our summons shall come;We know not the time that our voice shall be dumb,Yet even as they, to our ultimate sorrow,We leave much that’s fine for that doubtful to-morrow.
Take me home, whence I came. Send me home tenderly whilst I rest and meekly fold my hands Take me back, for I have no reason to stay I can’t sing, I can’t walk, I can’t touch, nor can I be touched So, pack me up and send me to my maker. Each wound gapes wide by the second Take me by the neck, tie me up and wrap me in a box, Because I have no use being here anymore. Take me to the place I call home, There I shall find rest and purpose There I shall dine and drink, and laugh, and sigh I have fought their war, I have lived a lie Now I want to go home where I become myself, Where I get no judgement nor chastise. Here I sit, with a long drab face, no one to run to Now, dear reader, I think it is time to go home Take me by my hand, or push me to the door to my home I want to go home, so send me home.
Far in the eastern passage away a sudden light I have kissed the summer dawn The path gleaming already with a clear pale light At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east I hear the waves on the long shingle thrown Against the sea, stillnesss lone I feel so far and outcast from my own self The breeze at the shores had secrets to say The uneasy draught rises the roses are dun I am tamed in her, but she leaves.
The sea in summer sunrise Walled with desperate pines The feuder love we used to see In radiant hill and woodland dim I am drawn cold, I must turn again The sullen waters swell forward the sun Waiting a sign in the deep heart of me And by the tide alone, the water swayed May silent thanks be given anyway to God For it is better life than undue love.
How many times have we heard the phrase, “All men want is sex?” When I was 17 years old I was sure it was true. Now don’t get me wrong, sex can be wonderful at any age, but there’s something that is more important than sex, but it’s something that men have difficulty admitting and women have difficulty giving. This understanding has dawned on me slowly and became most evident to me in my men’s group.Like all guys, we are somewhat competitive and we all want to be seen as successful, but we also have learned to be honest with each other. We not only talk about our sexual successes, but also our failures, fears, and confusions. From the time I was young I learned that wanting sex was synonymous with being a man. In high school, I remember overhearing a girl I liked talking about a guy we both knew. She wasn’t complaining that he was preoccupied with sex, but that he “didn’t come on to me like other guys do.” She went on to tell her girlfriend, “He’s not being very manly.” The message was clear, “real men” want sex and if you don’t “come on” to a girl, you’re not a real man. This early lesson was validated through the years: Always wanting sex is the mark of manliness for many. It’s better to be turned down again and again and be seen as a jerk who is totally preoccupied with sex than to want something more than sex and be seen as “less than a man.so, what do men want more than sex? We’ve all heard that women need to feel loved to have sex, but men need to have sex to feel loved. Let’s look more deeply at what it is exactly that men are getting when they get sex. Sure, there is the physical pleasure, but there is a deeper need that is being satisfied. I call it the need for a safe harbor. The world of men is a world of competition. On the most basic level, males compete with other males for access to the most desirable females. Males make the advances and females decide which males they will accept. Sure, in modern times these roles are less rigid than they once were, but for the most part, whether we’re peacocks or people, we strut our stuff and hope it’s good enough to get us chosen by the woman we go after. Getting taken into her body gives us a sense of peace and homecoming that goes way beyond simple sexual pleasure. Of course, I’m talking about heterosexual men here. There’s a similar dynamic in the gay world, but here I’ll focus on men and women. Many of us remember the early school dances we attended. If you wanted to hold a girl in your arms, you had to make the long walk across the room with everyone watching and ask the girl to dance. If she accepted, you were in heaven. If she refused you were in hell. The key here is that you must make yourself vulnerable to rejection to hold and be held by a girl. By the time we become adults, we’ve already been battered and bruised by the world of competition and rejection. We long for that safe harbor where we don’t have to pretend to be something we’re not in order to be chosen. We long for someone who sees us for who we are and wants us anyway, who can hold us and touch, not just our body, but our hearts and souls. “Always wanting sex” is part of the male persona we wear to show we’re manly. What we really want is a safe harbor where we can take refuge, relax, and be cared for. In other words, we want the feeling of being nurtured that most of us didn’t get enough of when we were children. But admitting these needs makes us feel like little boys, not big strong men. Better to be manly with our sexual desire and then once we’re inside her body, we can relax, be ourselves, and be infused with love. That’s the hidden desire we have when we have sex. One of the things I love getting from my girlfriend, is to lay in her lap and have my scalp rubbed. This is one, wonderful, safe harbor. I don’t need to have sex in order to have this need satisfied. I just have to ask for it. Here, I’m being touched deeply, accepted completely. I don’t have to perform or prove myself. I just must be willing to be deeply vulnerable. ◊♦◊ Just as it’s difficult for men to ask to be held, nurtured, and touched; it’s often difficult for women to give that kind of intimacy. There are three main reasons, which are often subconscious: First, women have their own conditioning about men being men. If he doesn’t want sex, they worry that they may not be attractive enough. Second, a man wanting to be held and nurtured triggers feelings that they are dealing with a boy, not a man. I can’t tell you how many clients I have who say things like “It’s like I’ve got three children in the house. There are our two sons, and then there’s my husband.” Women want a man but worry they have another little boy. Third, women fear men who don’t feel manly. They know that the most violent men are men who feel weak and powerless. They’ve often had experiences of men allowing themselves to be gentle and vulnerable, only to have them respond with anger and rage later. It takes a lot of time and maturity for men to admit to themselves that they need a safe harbor where they can be nurtured and embraced by a woman. It takes a lot of courage to let his woman know he may want sex, but more important is his need for security, love, and nurture. It requires a level of wisdom to know that allowing ourselves to be as vulnerable as a child may be the manliest thing a man can do. For a woman, she must also go beyond her own conditioning and be open to a man who is making himself vulnerable in new ways. She must have a great deal of self-love and self-confidence to accept being a safe harbor. She must also have the strength to protect herself when his shame at being vulnerable turns to anxiety, anger, or depression. It isn’t easy for men and women to take these kinds of risks, but the payoff is a life-time of deepening love and intimacy
WHEN HE DIED When he died,it was the end of life for us- Not by death is the body killed,though Not by the ceasure to breathe But by the dissipation of the legacy,and sire But when he died,we cried ceaselessly That no one held the other,drab faces,solemn hearts and long cheeks If only God would give him more breath,just for a day So I tell him what I now wish I said Or did with him,what I now wish I had done with him But when he died If left us lessons, That to be happy,we must stand side by side We’re hurt,we fret,but no ocean of tears shall return them It was hard to understand it! Oh, the dreary nights we’ve cried But if by death,God punishes He then has done it so well For when I get to heaven,or when I finally see Him I’ll ask him why,and he’ll answer Spending time together, I realized Is what means more than all Earthly goodies could When he died They put a good man into the ground They left a great man in there to stink They said good things about son of man who’d sired us all They put him in a wooden box and threw soil over him When he died I thought, Not such a good and wise life should be taken But when he died We found the depth of loving since the day that he died Duncan Kiplimo
You know,we all have congenial tastes for art The MEDICINEMAN,one you knew not of Gray he looks,his youthfulness dissipated His eyes pale and his skin skinny and sags Near him was his daft blonde and gorgeous mistress One who owned a grocery store,who pulled a cart One whom he taught; ‘No just a little’ ‘warm or cold?’ ‘Sugared?’ There she lies,herself lifeless underground Next there was the DOORMAN and the doorman’s dog His life spent summoning taxicabs, He turned back a pizza delivery of me-own some day Well,there he lives,his lips loose Thick drools of saliva issuing from within them He sits,as if to ask “Lord,a little bit more time,then I’ll come!” Not be forgotten the youthful PROFESSOR Waiting for his share, Trying to make his speech exact And his audience finding it overnice, Well,he died. Now, then,dear reader,fortune has decreed That you, this evening, shall be first to read, Oh,who would even consider reading a poem But if ye must heed,know to act Before you spread this page and begin. Uncle D Duncan Kiplimo
Don’t look at me with such blazing eyes For if I look into them I’ll have a fire in my soul. Your eyes are red and hell like, Your utterances are shrill and deafening. Daughter of my sister, keep looking away For you are full of war.
You are just seven But when I touch you, you grin Like you are seventy-two, You have forgotten, that I am your uncle The one you peed on his white jeans Then gave a soft laughter.
I bend like a genie above you But your nights with me are a poison You relish stings, fed with hate, You are like a daughter of a syphilitic fool Heading hintings of death in your eyes Your blood is moved, Move to the underworld.
Your current looks and deeds Make me need no daughter for a child It’s good you were born while I was young, So you be a forewarn to my future family. These all I say not because I hate you But because of how revolting you look, Dark and omnious.