MY FAT FART FOR ART (An Idle reply to Oyoo Mboya – Special dedication to QUENCHER & SANGIZ) A day comes When critics Turn addicts A day comes When foes Turn pals A day comes When haters Turn likers A day comes When snobs Turn scouts A day comes When losers Turn winners BUT… A day comes When winners Turn whiners The day has come I have turned ART Into a loud FART A fat fart! Smell this riot fart! I’ve played my part And killed your art Oyoo mboya Kill yourself Jules Githui Hung self! Timss tims Gulp Acid Calton Ingoi Go beserk Hilda Og Go strip 400+ retards??? What pride! Dark prudes! Lost minions Wallowin & Squirming In molten hate Jealousy Of a thousand years Compacted into Useless comments Lost Boys! Sick girls! Tribal lunatics POY! Dead twice *** **** *** **** F.R.E.E P.A.R.E.N.T.A.L A.D.V.I.S.O.R.Y If you want to teach poetry You don’t have to mention me Or abuse those who like my posts That’s just a sick proof You’re seeking cheap publicity Mercy Afande Forgive me for arguments I never argue for Stacy I NEVER WILL I only have a burden… I’m carryin a generation of intimidated poets Whos the likes of Oyoo and Shakespeare has killed They feel poetry is a minefield of Dos & Don’ts Uongo! Bure kabisa! The past has nothing for you Forget Mboya and his ilk I repeat to annoy Shakespeare IS DEAD… These poor and blind disciples of a dead era These poor boys and girls Keep digressing from TOPICS of concern (To fellow Kenyans) and instead Drag us thro the maze of inconsequential chaos Some dare lie in public Eti they don’t read Stacy Yet criticize her for what she writes What nonsense! Such dishonesty! Museum oddity Their rants I have cremated Their sting I have de-poisoned I make new words And new rules Teach who poetry? Poetry can’t be taught Poetry is just caught Said my literature teacher His name is Shakespeare But he’s still dead So? Write without fear Post without fear Like without fear Comment without fear Make them faint Lost for words Till they fall dead Bereft of ideas To stop you! Make them diarrhea When you abscond Their cryptic posts And let them trend alone With 10 likes And 1000 useless comments And to drive them insane Talk in your sleep and shout POETRY IS POETRY!!! Make them bloat And swell with dismay When you go into the streets With mini-skirts Placards hoisted Screaming… My dress, my poem My style, my poem My goofs, my poem My rap, my poem My song, my poem My speech, my poem My prose, my poem ©Stacy iDLe Replies. (If you are new here, see my poem: 42 REASONS I DON’T DATE BOYS)
Posted on: Mon, 17 Nov 2014 14:47:46 +0000
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