Poetry

THE SUICIDE NOTE

I stopped writing the moment you left.
You were my inspiration for every single word I thought of.
I loved the desire of your eyes when they looked at me.

Many a time, I felt your hug was the safest haven (tears flow from eyes).
Since you left,
I’ve swum in reverie thinking we were a thing,
Thinking we were a bliss,
Thinking we were better than hatred’s abyss,
But I dreamt of a fallacy—we were just a fling.

Days birthed—crawled—walked into the lair of years,
And years gave up the salt for new dawns.
Love, I still held you close to my heart.
If there was something I did,
You should’ve told me,
But you chose to walk the aisle of the dumb.

Why, why did you leave?

My love began and ended with you.
Death is whispering its silent, ebullient, melodies in my ears

Pen drops in pain—moves to the noose.

‘the silent estate welcomes a new soul’

©TurksonQuills

Poetry

LOST IN BETWEEN DAWNS

…I thought ’tis one of the odd days of love
Where the curls of your hair will walk away from me,
And still, respond with a wink.
Where dashing for the doorknob
Was just a way you expressed anger and disgust—
It wasn’t.

At least, it could’ve been voiced—this breakup,
Or probably said over lunch,
But it came with a beep—
A text laced with thorny swords—
A text as deadly as a serpent’s venom—
A text, midget-like, but full of pain.
It whispered it’s over,
For another sits on the heart’s throne.

At that moment…

I’m still lost in between dawns

©TurksonQuills, 2021.

Poetry

WHY DOES SHE COME

Why does she come, when she knows my love is nothing, but hell?
Why does she come, when she knows I have nowhere to dwell?
Why does she come, when she knows I own neither gold nor pearl?

Maybe, it’s love—I guess so,
Or she just likes my eyes’ glow.

I can’t tell,

But I know, in a sec, our love will fade away,
And we’ll become a memory of yesterday.

I don’t want her lips to utter, “Had I known”
Before she realises that she’d always been alone.

You see, everything about me isn’t real,
So I need her to change how she feels.

Tell her, please tell her that I’m a mistake,
And all I can offer to her young love is heartaches.

©TurksonQuills, 2021.

Poetry

I YEARN TO CALL YOU BEAUTIFUL

I have seen a lot
Been with a lot
Touched a lot
The fair and the dark.
The dark converted to fair
And the fair converted to dark .
But how shall I describe you?
For your skin’s ambience is like the countenance of a seraphim.
Your teeth sparkle
Even when the sun is shinning at his best.

How I wish to call you beautiful.
But they say ,
True beauty is from within.
Since I have not entered you yet ,
I shall refrain from calling you beautiful.

But exotic…I can!
For your hair’s smoothness and curl
And your sweet scented lavenda perfume
Makes you priceless.
Your perfectly coined calf
Makes me idolize your body each night.
My room might be dark
But surely,
Your waist shall give me light.

Come ,
Let us fry our eggs together this night
For I yearn to call you beautiful!


BY CHARLES ANDERSON
#charlesthelambentwriter

Poetry

SIMPLY AMAZING

My heart is lonely.
It awaits your presence—
Sunshine of my soul’s turquoise sky.
With you, life’s an Eden—a garden of smiles.
I love everything you—
Your flaws included.

My heart is longing for your presence—
Moonshine of my heart.
With you, I am in a ball,
Dancing my sorrows away.
Everyday with you defines paradise.

Nothing completes me more than you, Ohemaa.
You are a good handler of a home.
My kids will be safer in your belly,
For you etch good morals on indecent souls.

You come first before anything else—
The best life offered me.
My unborn kids will rain tons of curses on me if they aren’t your breed.
You’ll be to them a father—
One who disciplines with the rod of love,
And we shall be an example of quintessence—
Simply amazing.

TurksonQuills & Tirola

Glossary: Ohemaa (Ghanaian Language, Akan) — My queen.

Photo credit: Google images

Poetry

PAIN WITHIN

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Let me pour forth
The pain I feel within,
And the tears my womb harbour
Till I shrivel and die,
For whom I praise

Has sprouted as a whore
Amid beauties
That pride as monarchs.

Truly, I have experienced hell
In so many a way,
But your love defined a furnace
Which birthed hell itself.

Can I ever be revived again?
Time, please speak
Before karma visits this devilish nitwit.

©TurksonQuills

Poetry

WAILING QUILL

Have you ever seen words

That pierce the heart like arrows,

Or a nest inhabiting not birds,

But a crowd of bedfellows?

Maybe, just maybe a yes.

I met her on the sunshine of March.

Perhaps shining, but she was an angel of mess.

She seemed a perfect match

With glows of the august colours of petals.

Her aura defined betrayal’s serenity,

For her beauty portrayed meaning of lethal

Outlining its sin to love’s eternity.

She made my heart bleed

the inks of a wailing quill

© TurksonQuills

#SAFE

Poetry

UN OUI

Mr. & Mrs. Ayornu-Narh

POÉSIE 4564

Veux-tu m’embrasser
si mes lèvres te le demandent?
Voulez-vous sourire
si nos jours étaient un cauchemar?
Veux-tu me taquiner avec tes courbes
si notre lit parle avec des mots?
Voulez-vous voyager la soif
si ma poche ne pleut pas des océans de richesses?
Voulez-vous danser les étapes du mariage
avec moi?
Elle a répondu par OUI

✅TURKSONTHEPOET

AYES