Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
~W.B Yeats

These Genetics Stuff

So you didn’t get a prom date?
“It’s because of this stupid acne,” you cried
Well, blame these genetics stuff:
They are your true enemy!

So she just broke up with you?
“I’m not a socially gifted person,” you assumed
Well, blame this genetics stuff:
They are your true enemy!

So you got pulled over by the cops last night?
“It’s because I’m black,” you complained
Well, blame these genetics stuff:
They are your true enemy!

So your body is wracked with pain?
And you can’t even get out of the bed!?
Well, blame these genetics stuff:
They are your true enemy!

So you are basically overweight?
And there’s nothing you can do about it!?
Well, blame these genetics stuff:
They are your true enemy!

So you are now in your late 80’s?
And you are so terrified of him, “the grim reaper!”
Well, blame these genetics stuff:
They are your true enemy!

© Edward Chacha, 2010

A Monster Crush On Her

It could be the way she smiles,
Or perhaps the look on her face;
Whatever it is, I care not to explain:
All I know is that I have a monster crush on her.

So tomorrow to the City of Angels I will sail,
For there’s a part of me that wants to see her;
And possibly shake her hand, and say, “how’s it going?”
For I’ve a reason to believe that she will kindly receive me.

And so I’m going to Los Angeles California to see her,
Whether she turns her back on me, I have nothing to fear;
For I can't see myself loving nobody but her:
And yes, even Grim Reaper himself can’t help but desire of her.

The Remedy of Love

Is more than lighting few candles every now and then,
Or a romantic walk along the beach while holding hands.

The remedy of love is to cry with her when the night falls on her,
And laugh with her when hidden ecstasy overwhelms her.

It is making love to her in unexpected new places,
Yes, on the bathroom counter, or outside in the rain.

It is doing all the thrilling stuff that turns her on,
Possibly an hour of foreplay while squeezing her nipples:)

And if she ever gets old and starts feeling insecure,
Don’t love her less; tell her that she is beautiful.

Oh, Mystical Woman!

She slipped in my room unannounced wearing nothing underneath,
Only light silky sexy lingerie exposing her extraordinary beauty.

Her face shone radiantly as she elegantly walked towards me,
“Torment me,” she whispered as she kissed my neck tenderly.

I stretched my neck and whispered gently, “I will try baby,”
She smiled affectionately as she brushed her moist lips against my ear, “kiss me.”

So we kissed; and it felt like someone had just sucked all the air out of my lungs,
Oh, mystical woman! What shall I call you? ‘Magical,’ is what you are.

Unspoken Feelings

I can't help but wonder if in that place,
There was a room for a heart less than whole:
I will never know how the touch of your skin feels,
For I am so afraid my heartstrings will soon be exhausted.

I don’t know exactly how to express my inner feelings,
But I suppose it is too late now to dream of us:
Just for a moment's passing in the stream of time,
You will someday see how complete you'd have made me.

But now I see that I must give up what I most need,
I must go back hiding in my broken skin:
I must now stop chasing the elusive shadow,
And more so, dust off myself and start all over again.