The Blue In Momma's Eyes
Blue memoirs fall from her sky eyes
As blue memoire fall from her eyes
right down where I slept, I picked it up.
My memories, they tingle me,
like flashes of a cinema screenplay, I see;
A field, goalkeeper in orange, a striker
dress in red jerseys, and
a blue soccer ball shot up into thin air
by the striker after raising and bouncing
It incessantly on the green field, tosses it.
though it didn't seem broken outward,
yet wailing inside in silence as it falls
at least for goalkeeper to pick it up
am that goalkeeper, I did caught all
droplet with my eyes--you go on ahead and
guess who the striker be, no not Maradona
or Pele Cos my momma is the blue ball.
I see a red rose, I see my momma
having many thorns on her petals,
Some few bruised weakling spots,
Yet she blossoms singing "silent nights".
I picture her embattled face, a
brownie nightingale, with a bleeding beak
Singing lullaby in broken tones, and though
non can write down her lyrics yet tending
to her nestling---with iced dank brown
camera eyes, painted in the horrors of an
African nativity, in the claws a taboo.
if a woman crosses another man the
gods are left to strike off her doom. But
the man, a moonlit journey walker on other
blank sheets, striding other lawns as he chooses,
but the gods ain't strike no mane So his taboo is but
an illegal legal practice on nativity.
Below a Link 2 watch it on my YouTube channel
https://youtu.be/EVnF_Zusyf4
|