'tip' by the hypesters

'tip' by the hypesters
interesting...

I's like WORD!

I’s like word!

Eyes all bulged out in a mind choking on what they heard…


I’s like take it!

I’s like, burn!

I’s like dance…


Burn n*gger!
Dance…

Burn!

Dance!

Burn!

Dance!

Burn in the toppling fat fires of your fierce material desires you proud miserly fool!


I’s like shoo! Go home, back home back to Godhead…

Child’s like ‘NO!’

dwellers of 'The Fifth Grove.'

Dwellers of The Fifth Grove...
To those in your guise...
From where they fall,
Your shadows will stand erect from out the inside of those walls.
To dirty dance entranced in the sound of your demise…
Solid enough to be grabbed and hurled to the ground,
Hissing towards that dry hardness,
Where they will hit and shatter into hundreds of silent pieces, and then merge with the souls of our feet to sickly walk the paths to which we’re all bound…
These ghosts are now your children.
Food for the hype…
Riddled by the many trends fashioned from the latest hatred in this era’s slave trade.
Building blocks for the old hollow that shifts in fancy word jugglery to praise the dead with failed attempts to corrupt Absolute Truth…
And the divided dogs will bark themselves to bits in that night,
Fed by a fear of hunger, became fools who’d kill for this incredible stereotype,
As mad colorful beings stand in the white to sh*t this darkness into sight…

motherly love

Motherly love,
What with brief relief from that which you might have not understood.
Though We may prostitute ourselves,
With the hope that in the end, It will not all mean a thing…

Give freedom,
A name fit for that wild girl child without a wish to be won,
Yet feed on their passion to will,
And kill us all off,
With the hows of how they became beautiful when ‘The Man’ finally gave them back to our world,
Armed to the tooth, with Molotov cocktails, and the isms of femininity,
To burn their woman down to that crisp of toasty brown,
Back to the filth out of which they were formed,
With clenched fists, and smiling teeth,
Before they were all declared found.

Forever Lost

Forever lost, let your forevers be over so you may start anew without a hidden cost.

As the ripples begun to crack revealing a beautiful, intricate network of pathways leading ultimately to death,
Stood ‘crazy’, struggling to catch my breath, self reflecting rejecting the title of MC so I could clear see sound revealing the true me lost deep in the dark of this depth.

See,
I know you think you're young and want to floss with the girls...
But man you're wasting time and getting tossed by the world...
You’re readily accepting strife on the bodily platform of life,
Steadily chasing the hype with your mind in place of a knife,

Miserly wasting this life, struggling to worship a wife.
Hungrily snatching at night, hurriedly scheming of heights,
Deep in the thick of this cut, dead in the depth of your gut.
You dance in illusion and refuse to submit to the light,

Destroyed in the thick of the fight, totally robbed of your sight,
Maddened with greed as you kill for your meat thinking its sweet and so eager to savour the bight.

Yes!

Forever lost, let your forevers be over so you may start anew without a hidden cost.

Mouthfuls of nonsense!
That’s how stool escapes the eaters’ breath and confess to his ignorance complex!
So don't say a word coz I know what you're bound to say next...
Stinky, disturbing animal like sounds, sound describing exactly how you've become bound, come to embrace the madness you've become.

Tight wound!

Full-fledged lies forming freely at the tips of your fork tipped tongue... fast!
Carelessly shooting like unskilled hands holding a gun, shooting at the self, calling it fun
Openly boasting of a wealth you never had!
Mad crisp after the sense objects…

Thoughtless…

Forever lost, let your forevers be over so you may start anew without a hidden cost.




And nudist women raise nudist children.
Proud of what it is they know they do not know they're doing,
Born to be raped within the dirt of this material manifestation,
Smoothly swooning beastly men who know exactly what they're doing.

Je suis Africain

I Am An African by Wayne Visser
French Translation

Je suis Africain
Pas parce que je suis né là-bas
Mais parce que mon coeur bat avec celui de l’Afrique
Je suis Africain
Pas parce que ma peau est noire
Mais parce que mon esprit est occupé par l’Afrique
Je suis Africain
Pas parce que je vis sur sa terre
Mais parce que mon âme est chez elle en Afrique

Quand l’Afrique sanglote pour ses enfants
Mes joues sont tachées de larmes
Quand l’Afrique honore ses anciens
Ma tête se baisse par respect
Quand l’Afrique pleure pour ses victimes
Mes mains se joignent pour prier
Quand l’Afrique célèbre ses triomphes
Mes pieds dansent pleins de vie

Je suis Africain
Parce que ses ciels bleus me laissent sans voix
Et que je suis plein d’espoir pour son avenir
Je suis Africain
Parce que son peuple m’accueille comme un fils
Et m’enseigne le sens de communauté
Je suis Africain
Parce que son état sauvage abreuve mon esprit
Et me rapproche de l’origine de la vie

Quand la musique de l’Afrique bat dans le vent
Mes battements de coeur suivent son rythme
Et je deviens l'essence du son
Quand les couleurs de l’Afrique éblouissent au soleil
Mes sens s’abreuvent à son arc-en-ciel
Et je deviens la palette de la Nature
Quand les histoires d’Afrique se racontent autour du feu
Mes pas marchent dans les siens
Et je deviens une empreinte de l’histoire

Je suis Africain
Parce qu’elle est le berceau de notre naissance
Et nourrit une ancienne sagesse
Je suis Africain
Parce qu’elle vit à l’ombre du monde
Et explose avec une luminosité radieuse
Je suis Africain
Parce qu’elle est la terre de demain
Et je reconnais ses dons comme sacrés


Creative Commons 2005
Translation by Cyrille Jegu & Clemence Viel 2010

African Dream by Wayne Visser

AFRICAN DREAM
By Wayne Visser

My Africa!

As white-hot skies give way to bloodshot red
I breathe a sigh and rest my laden head
As dark descends and blinking stars pierce through
I close my weary eyes and dream of you

I dream a dream of genesis
Of teeming wildlife on the plains
I hear a tale of Eden’s bliss
Of sparks of knowledge fanned to flames

I dream a dream of beating drums
Of painted caves and hunters’ bow
I hear the voice of ancient ones
Who weave the web of what we know

I dream a dream of exodus
Of journeys over land and sea
I hear the song of restlessness
That swells with longing to be free

I run with cheetahs, graze with deer
I hunt with lions, know no fear
I soar with eagles, hide in dales
I swim with dolphins, sing with whales

I throb with music in the air
I see the swirl of rainbow flair
I feel the stomp of dancing feet
I sweat with fever’s tropic heat

I gaze into the firelight
I sit in silence, pure delight
I listen to the elders’ words
I rise upon the wings of birds

The rivers are flowing
The brown dust turned to green
The harvests are growing
In my African dream

The fathers are yearning
The mothers’ love redeems
The children are learning
In my African dream

The peace-buds are blooming
The hope-streets freshly clean
The love-stalls are booming
In my African dream

As visions fade, all blurred and bled
My world unwinds like loosened thread
As daylight breaks and jet sky turns to blue
I wake refreshed with glorious dreams of you

My Africa!

woke up today

‘The arrivals’ portal codes have been over ridden,
Here’s to my super connection nodes in the stamp of life from which they rendered sober vision…’

Lone-gone-cold-turkey-‘quick-snaps’ clear stand the crackling fire,
Best beat the hearts heartbeat and blow this breath through a longhorn-horn to warn you few and upon call your messiah, chayote grown version of a tame Tarzan stands the harsh outback and sends his cackling laughter… ‘Casual-counters’ consider him a coot brute of no use for he wont save their virgin born captive

‘Woke up today and saw how it comes, it creeps.
It comes in a bottle or can,
To poison the remnants of suns as the children of forgotten man…
Tames the women wild, hearts and all,
And takes rule of the palm of my hand’

A portion of hell took loose late after a ‘so tired’ unsuspecting mother discovered her hard earned papers’ worth in proper possessions was in sorts of stunning waste… the mother stood to momentarily marvel, murmuring moods at the maddening mess in a stupendous and angered state, shelved her marvel in silence, shrugged, muttered a stutter and surely shuddered…

‘I now know who my Mother is, that is; I’ve come to know her person.
I am my Queens physical memory and the blood of my King,
If I come to forget why I’m alive in this vision, and where from my soul has been,
Her struggles strife would surely worsen.’

From this then stuck his hand into one of the sporadically timed spontaneous wormholes to retrieve this tired soul, grounded solid, bound earthly, the tamed Tarzan retired bound for dimensions beyond the minds perceive…

‘She goes by name of Woman, Queen whose Son’s by Fire-hidden,
She goes by name of Daughter and Flame,
She paints her face in Green, Red and Golden stripes…
She calls them Art of Woman.
I heard…
She wakes to cry then blinks to see the thief we eye,
Then wipes her face with black again, to call this Art by Woman.’

Surly some sprites sprout to the amusement of my eyes reflection,
So as to see the bridge of the nose that boards this pass to the grass,
But not what sees the slightly pronounced bridge of their noise soaked thick by the hardness glass hustle, and the illusion that then cracks when they pass…

‘I’ve seen the sky for what it is from where it lies in the west and kept to the rising sun,
Looked in the mirror to see if we were really there, truly here in fear…
Looked if we wished to see, then they looked now you neither see nor hear…’

So after realising his opponents’ move, he reversed time to counter his opponents’ move, only to reverse time again to counter his opponents next revised move without his points convincing prove…

‘Now what’s your perception? Your meaning in Africa that is, not the land I hope… she is a people, those that first came with the memory of God and is by them close to the name of God and that’s the point she proves…’

Poem: Wild Love, by Wayne Visser

WILD LOVE

For some, love is tame

It is cute and cuddly

Like an adorable pet

Tail-waggingly happy

Purringly content

I have known this tame love

It did not last

Now, I know a different kind of love

A love that is wild

That is nervous and ferocious

Skittish and temperamental

One moment, it trusts enough to approach

The next, it bites the hand that feeds it

Such wild love can never be tamed

To cage it is to kill it

Any attempt at domestication

Denies its true nature

Wild love is sometimes fierce

And sometimes it is shy

Yet always it returns

Again and again

Seeking acceptance

Each time a little less afraid

A little less aggressive

Wild love always hurts

But the wounds it inflicts

The pierce of fangs

And the rake of claws

Are nothing but self-defence

For wildness is never malicious

This love comes from the shadows

It is born in the wilderness

It hunts in jungle and canyon

Prowls across desert and plain

Soars over ocean and peak

It is ever vigilant

And breathlessly alive

Wild love can never be conquered

It cannot be bought or won

Only earned, with patience

Patience that teaches understanding

Understanding that builds trust

Trust that creates safety

So that love’s caring instincts can take over

In love’s wild embrace

Defence gives way to protection

Aggression turns into passion

Fighting becomes playful

Wounds have a chance to heal

Even so, love is never subdued

To love is to risk injury

Flesh wounds are part of living

Bleeding is part of loving

And loving without restraint

Or fear of consequences

Is the way of the wild

Creative Commons 2010

Waiting for the Drums

I’m still waiting for the fanfare
And the drums
For the banners and the sparklers
For the road signs
And the markers
Still waiting for the pricking of my thumbs

I’m still waiting for the bugles
And the bells
For that raucous benediction
That will justify my fiction
How much time I’ve wasted
Waiting for the drums

Fiona Jamieson 2003

Poetry Meets Digital Art

I was honoured to be recently contacted by Tina Quatroni, a New York photographer and digital artist. This is what she said:

"I was surfing the internet on this snow day and came across your poem Life in Pieces ....you had my breath! I read it and reread it..and became completely inspired to do an abstract digital art piece. That is mainly how I create..something must bring me a muse."

Tina also did a second piece of art:

"I have been creative today..been snowed in here in NY so see one more I did to your poem Empty Spaces! It is a little on the dark side..but I really felt it captured an emotion that I felt when reading that poem.

I must say, I like both pieces. Life in Pieces is about things falling apart and the rediscovery of purpose. Empty Spaces was written for a friend who had lost someone close to them.

I also like the idea of different kinds of art inspiring one another. For example, I find painting extremely inspiring (galleries are among my favourite places in the world), but I probably express myself better in words than on the canvass.

This is one of the reasons why my poems are all published under a Creative Commons License, rather than Copyrighted. That allows great artists like Tina to spark off of my creativity, and vice versa.

Thanks Tina, keep answering the muse!

Life's A Gamble by Wayne Visser

LIFE'S A GAMBLE?

By Wayne Visser

Some say that life’s a gamble

In which you win or lose

You deal the deck

You place your bets

You hold your breath

And then collect your dues

But life is not all chance

Nor game of fight or flight

Sometimes the dice is blank

Sometimes the cards are white

Some say that life’s a classroom

In which you live and learn

You make mistakes

You take your breaks

You grow your soul

And so the wheel turns

But life is not all graft

Nor school of tests and grades

Sometimes there are no lessons learned

Sometimes there are no accolades

Some say that life’s a journey

In which you wend your way

You choose a path

You make your hearth

You walk your talk

And rise to meet the day

But life is not all quest

Nor march from A to B

Sometimes you move in circles

Sometimes you only dream

Creative Commons 2010

http://waynevisser.com/poem_lifes_gamble.htm