Poetry

I’LL LOVE A DANCE WITH YOU

I’ll love a dance with you
Under the moon,
With your scarlet lips on mine,
Your caress
Slithering its tentacles on my body,
And your waist swaying on my reverbs.
I’ll love a dance with you
Under the embers of the February’s moon.
You, yes you, my bride and pride,
Your dance, your waist beads, my joy.

©TurksonQuills❣️

Poetry

THAT’S ALL I WANT TO HEAR

I dug till I met the crust of your smile
And realized it wasn’t mine.
You should have told me
‘Cos I’ve fallen so much that
I can’t find my way home.
Hey, you should have told me.

“I wish I could show you the way out,
But I love you so much that
My heart’s jungle wants you lost in it.
Yes, the love you saw behind my smile wasn’t yours.
I can’t hide that truth.
I’ve been lingering around
Believing he will return as promised,
But he sent a matrimonial missive a year ago.
I didn’t know how to recover
Until you irrigated my tattered soil
With the rains of your love.
I’m forever yours.”


That’s all I want to hear.


©TurksonQuills

Poetry

IF TEARS COULD ONLY SPEAK

I lived the moment I died.
I journeyed the moment I slept.
I knew places my legs touched not.
I drank the dew of the moons,
I got lost in the open,
And I fed from tables’ remnants

I used to be revered by million smiles
To be held by pristine solace
To be called honey.
I used to be…
Nothing more than this but I had parents.


They pledged to themselves seven lifetimes together,
They pledged to themselves the golds of nirvana,
They pledged to themselves forever and a day,
But now, where are they?
Unpledged, you guessed right. Such is life, uh yh.

I was parcelled like a pearl to a swine
When I was ten (I’m a girl).

I dreamt of savoury appetencies,
I dreamt of London bridge,
I dreamt of fantasy’s reality
While I dined with the rays of the sun.
I dreamt of…Uhm… let’s just end here.

I died the moment I was born;
I lived the moment I died,

But life itself is an antinomy
Of what is unknown.

I wish to celebrate my dad.
Sorry, cancel that line.
I wish to celebrate my mum.
Sorry, cancel that line as well.

How can I celebrate them
When I have a fatherless child? (from a rape).
It seems my destiny is intertwined with theirs.
Should I leave my girl to follow suit?

If tears could only speak…
Advise me ‘cos the pain I’m going through…

©TurksonQuills, 2021.

#helpagirlchild

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

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