Invented the Drip form of poetry. Never stop feeding your passion.

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  • tega_benny 76w


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    Dehiscent confessions
    of serous emotions,
    absolving deflations
    of straining wistfulness..

  • tega_benny 77w


    From the bowels of my Loch Ness
    Trapped in the belly of my own darkness
    Wolfed to never ending dolors
    Drained of strength and breath, I cried out to the surrogate of prayer

    A battle with the invisibility of delirium
    Sunrise to sunset, mauling henotic elysium
    Condensed in the cavern of barrenness
    Body and soul led seperate lives in unawareness

    A thousand deaths I died to rise
    In rampage to dethrone my swarm of flies
    Daunted allied with dauntless
    Streaking tar onto courage, I dishonored spineless

    Came the baptismal day of rebirth
    Renamed, acrasia I bore, fangs unearth
    Erasing the night, brandishing phantasm in a duel
    Growling and roaring to lacerations refusing to heal

    Howlings drowned moanings in cataracts of redemption
    Invigoration unlocked the gates of detention
    Morningtide fell like dew on my desert
    I swallowed the dark, spewing hopes of brave pellets

    All the way to revelation, recognition treaded
    By the pool of Bethesda, mysteries disbanded
    Bathing in the coolness of refreshness
    Confounded agonies laid in calmness

    Right there, in the sparse fetters
    Plucking spikes of deep end jetters
    The sign of victory flowed in from rabi
    And eyes beheld the gold of komorebi

    Image Credit: Thitipon Dicruen

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  • tega_benny 77w

    Even if you are good at nothing else,
    know how to stitch your future.

  • tega_benny 78w

    Don't rush headstrong
    with the enthusiasm of electricity,
    take the time to light up your clarity.

  • tega_benny 78w

    Happiest birthday beloved Mirakee, the day I walked through this door, I discovered a blessing, and I say, thank you. ��❤️❤️��������

    #cees_hbm_chall @mirakee @writersnetwork

    Aimlessly, I left my shire after a long trial
    In search of something unidentified to my shortcomings
    Saddled with a hobo bag of nothing
    Buckled in a scrunch of hooey letters
    I set out into the world, to share a leftover story with the unknown

    A kind key showed me a door I'd never seen before
    On it was written, "mirakee, a writer's paradise and home to all"
    It was a trouvaille harbor, as I stood by the entrance, unsure of my qualification
    And another sign read, "every pen speaks, if you can listen, because poetry lives in the heart"

    I unstrapped my satchel and sat with different faces
    Who spoke of love and life, of war and more
    New words welcomed warmly
    Poesy told me of many secrets and mirakee never stopped smiling

    I was a phoenix, living the life of a penguin
    All I knew was to waddle, oblivious I could soar
    I found wings and took off to the peak of passion
    Mirakee shouldered my thoughts, with the gift of a wonder pad that could never run out

    A mistaken port that has become my querencia spot
    Always tender, full of hope, my comfort zone
    No matter how far I wander from time to time
    I will never forget,
    I will always be close,
    I will always return,
    as there's no place like home.

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  • tega_benny 78w

    When it gets lonely and dark,
    look up to the sky,
    and if you can't see the stars,
    look into the mirror.

  • tega_benny 79w


    Interstellar hearts and astern faces
    Watered in the persistence to wax
    Living life full of whimsical goals
    Everyone deserves a little space to breathe

    Standing on the path of fate
    Pulling empty nights in nagging dreams
    Trailing tranquil thoughts truly tender
    Reminiscing erstwhile green days

    Forging onward bound
    Brooding on a chance for revival
    Above the maudlins of darkness
    Burning those doubts that never tire

    A road to every possibility
    Rekindling deaden spirit
    Living life through the eyes of emotions
    Pleasing one moment, next to scourging

    So forlorn in this repeating loophole
    Release those incarcerated treasures
    The Lord bought us love and paid for faith
    Hallow'd hope abide outside Zion walls

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  • tega_benny 79w


    She just sat at the corner of the bend
    Huddled in a ball of plain vanilla drab
    I only noticed the figure because of her hair
    It was rather odd, like a mushy éclair

    She eyed me slyly, although very slightly
    Nothing was amiss, just a regular street urchin, I thought silently
    The breeze was blowing up a hiccup
    And I felt a little chilled beneath my crop

    I knew I should donned something warmer
    But it didn't seem like the weather would throw such a temper
    It was getting dark by now,
    With just few speckles of sunlight clustered here and there in mows

    I walked on purposefully, whistling a tune from an old rugby
    I needed to get home before the white lady got whinny
    The street was scanty, save for few vehicles that drove by
    And other pedestals, waddling in a span file

    The footsteps were tethered on tiptoes
    Or so I thought, but I sensed a quizzy chill go down my neck, settling below
    The wind hadn't picked up another blubber
    And the temperature was none the redder

    The sensation never left my gut
    And the rhythm was a lot more deft
    I turned back to scan my surrounding
    But it was no more than I'd been imagining

    I was close to the house now, the gate was just up ahead
    I could see my window where I'd left it open in a whisk of speed
    I felt safe and relieved
    And all I wanted, was to shower and crawl into bed

    It had been a frenetic day, from one end of the office complex to the other
    Trying to get my documents together for the content developer
    So deep and caught up, I was, in my cogitation
    When nightfall followed me up the porch, needless of invitation

    I never saw anything but apprehension did not leave me
    I turned the lock and skedaddled in, sending the bolt to the marquee
    Feeling secured, and out of the cold
    After a mild dinner, I slumped on the soft mattress to slumberland

    Half sleepy and suddenly feeling watched,
    Just a silly mouse playing tricks, I mused
    I turned on the bedside lamp to find my aggressor
    And lo, there she was, the gemine from the corner, staring straight at me, ghoulish eyes, missing irises, blanched in pallor and horror

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  • tega_benny 80w


    Am making an extremely late arrival, I only pray I won't be kicked out, didn't want to miss this, and I wouldn't be at peace unless it's submitted, I hope am pardoned.

    The line - "There's someone in my head but it's not me" credited to George Roger Waters.

    My gut is frozen and twisted
    They come for me all prepared
    My shrieks are seized and outwitted
    They say my skin is a sin to be abated

    I am kneaded in the corner
    Decked between the pawn and the prankster
    The joke is on me and the rory color
    They say the rumor is out, about a blackish odor

    My mouth gags to an internal executionary
    My head is a bowling droff for attery
    My neck is nosed to a sunken ancestry
    They say vassal brass is a voguish jewellery

    I am an attenuated runner in an abaft race
    I am a pendulous yoyo, pinned in a devenustate chase
    I am a deformed embryo from the womb to the mirror's lase
    They say beauty is not some dark phase

    I shook hands with the harvester ant
    Only to be clipped and plucked from the plant
    Scattered and wasted as a basket of bad fruit
    They say black berries are gastroenteritis infectant

    I eavesdrop from my carcass
    I hear the holler and the fire crackers
    I discern pearly dented angels singing the bingers
    They say the baptistry of purification is the geyser

    My soul is exorcised with embrocating pallets as a by-product of dark matter
    Barrels of bloodcurdling bubbles flow from my inner
    Deluging to the sides, uncontrolled, without stopper
    They say washboard in running water makes blemish cleaner

    There's someone in my head but it's not me
    Because they say the dead don't see.

    Image Credit: to rightful owner.

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  • tega_benny 88w


    Oh, John keates
    I feel a pang of moledro
    How unfortunate we never did meet
    An epic intro sans this classic retro

    From the hills of the moorgate
    Strung on the furcated road of apothecary
    Conceiving a fervid tenderness for a quill mate
    You followed the voice of Lord Byrons poetry

    That April day at Wentworth place
    Fawning to the dream of her charming trance
    Seated with the plums in the nursery space
    An ode you enshrined her sublime grace

    By the hour, you courted the nightingale
    Drenching your melancholy in the grecian urn
    Gathering forlornness and ecstasy in a bale
    Exotoling praise due to each turn

    Darkness and depression swiveled your eyes
    Plunging your soul in the brines of the red sea
    Consciously present albeit absent to ties
    For the opiate of elysian, you withered in apnea

    A stripling of twenty and five
    Chundered hellion in "the eve of saint Agnes"
    Ruminating the bloom when doom would arrive
    "La belle dame sans merci" , told your agonies

    Blighted by the skewer of tuberculosis
    Terror and turbulence consumed your weakness
    Martyred to surrender to paralysis
    Rome bore withness to your early recess

    A stranger in quietus
    "Here lies One whose Name was writ in Water"
    The entreaty in the twilight of your fall, to cetus
    To lay in anonymity, in elision of an epitaphial glitter

    The opulence of your pouring soul
    Roused a hunger only verses could regale
    A fond tendre for the nightingale, unroll
    Charmed as did you, to a melodious and timeless gale

    A remembrance of your sweet and sour tale
    Impelling passions surged
    A flame unlived and pale
    Dangling forever in minds thus stirred.