Chica

The days are too young to tell a tale
The nights are too insecure to sing
The stars are too bright to shoot
The waters are too cold to boil
But whenever you sleep,
Sleep like there’s no yesterday
Sleep like there’s no today
Sleep like there’s no tomorrow
Cos your heart is safely guarded
In a very good abode
And hopefully,
the days will have tales to tell,
the nights, songs to sing
the waters, excess to boil
And the stars, meteorites to shoot

(c) Prince Kenny JR.

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Park and Ride

There are awful autumn days
and there are funny and rebarbative autumn Tuesday mornings
with its never-ending rains.
I’m long done with King Leopold’s Ghost
and at the crossroads between Lille and Wechelderzande
with the minutes closing on in the nearest half hour,
comes a noble man
who saves the day,
not in an apple-polish manner,
just an unusual goodhearted and so considerate man,
whose thoughts are noble and blameless.

Little Princ(ess)

She’s outgrown her ideas
Of whom she had to be
Maybe you’re torn between
The past and the present;
today and tomorrow

So let’s unwind not without wine
And hold unto our spine
like the winds of summer
Abrupt, a comeuppance
For hoping for the sun
So let’s begin the fun

Eyes,
Sealed off by local tapas
And familiar breweries
Taking stock of her pallid self,
On a Friday evening,
Caressing her thoughts to take
the weekend by the horn.

On Being Us

we are quite far from our middlescence
lurking on, pushing on
and stravaging sometimes

let them call us lotus-eaters
and poke fun at our demeanour
let them stare and label us bumbleshoot,
hampering their manna-rains

dudgeon, that’s what they feel
cos we muckrake them,
and they think we love throwing shade,
and that we take pleasure in the spotlight,
penning what the constituents feel

let them rant and continue to
call us age-old lotus-eaters.
we won’t mock their potbellies
and their shabbiness
cos that’s what they seek to trigger

we are still quite far from our middlescence
pressing on, carrying on
and still stravaging sometimes

the beau idéal, that’s not what
we seek to become
but let’s man up,
by pushing on what’s truly right

Inferno

Maybe she will be remembered
as the girl from East-Flanders
Courteous and well kept among others
You’ll forever be remembered
as the girl torn between the past
and the present
Maybe I’ll only be remembered
as the chap you held hands with
Or maybe I’ll always come to mind
whenever you see Omar Sy
Not because we’re brothers

She will always be remembered
as the girl with sunken eyes
or perhaps hollowed cheeks
I know, I’m sometimes bad
when it comes to choice of words
I know I won’t be remembered
as the boy who births awkward silences
You promised me,
so I pray you keep your word

She’ll be remembered
as the girl with the entire world at her humble feet and a golden heart
And anytime you think about Venice,
I hope I won’t be too distant a memory
Your heart has fought battles,
won, drew and even lost some
Let’s pray the latter is soon forgotten
But how do you forget
the sound of a bird that sings to
you every morning?
How do you mend a wounded soul?
So, you will be remembered
just like how you left,
in your toggery, with a hurried hug and a forced smile
Swift, and there you went

I will always remember you
as the girl who, while eating tacos kept asking why I aligned
the Coca-Cola bottle and the glass every now and then
Maybe precision was the word
you were looking for
Or maybe both of us were searching for
So anytime I think of precision,
you’ll be next in thought
Inferno

Not For His Words

Don’t fall for his words, poems,
poetry or whatever
Please, please don’t fall for his poems,
they are just unsaid words,
unfinished sentences and sometimes deserted
thoughts
Maybe some day, maybe some day,
maybe some day, maybe some day
he’ll muster all the courage in this world
and pour out his heart to you
Maybe one day, maybe just one day,
he’ll turn the coin on its head
Maybe some day, maybe some day,
maybe sooner rather than later,
maybe sooner rather than later,
he’ll refuse to beat about the bush
Maybe sooner rather than later,
he’ll hit the nail right on its head
Maybe some day,
you’ll finally hear the sound of his gavel
So please, please don’t fall his words, poems,
poetry or whatever
They are just words yet unsaid,
words that lie asunder,
words with no assigned meanings
He is good with words and subtle at heart
So maybe he is just searching for the right words
So don’t fall for his words

Suchomski

Maybe you’re the quintessence
of all our dreams
the perfect picture we’ve been
told about
a breath of fresh air
with a genuine heart and a
pure conscience

As the tides change,
maybe you could guide us to
be stalwart
And vary from our old ways,
of which we’re not proud to manifest

Maybe you are all that we have,
with your resilience, your grit and your kindheartedness
As we are somewhat still in pursuit of more

As months blur into years,
maybe you could once again
just breathe new life into us, Suchomski

For Her Never To Be Born Son

A precarious early autumn afternoon
not too hot and not too cold
if it were to be water,
it’d be called ‘lauw water’
maybe in our sister language

we sing no odes for children
and never dirges for unborn babies
this wasn’t the druthers of Ms. L
as you are the eponym of her
recent talks
but again, we sing no odes for children
and never dirges for unborn babies

so scale the heights wherever you are
Ms. L is aching now and so are we all
maybe you just came to embody
the brevity of human life
but we sing no odes for children
and never dirges for unborn babies
So keep clambering up wherever
you are

(c) Prince Kenny Jr

Goodnight 

The tides are evolving
like the susurrating winds of change
so if you can live up with yourself,
why run?
Darkness has set in
the lights are now faded memory
what baffles us, is the sound of the night
similar to a hiss of a snake,
not so lucid as a meow
The adjacent neighbours are also asleep
they are in wonderland, perhaps in dreamland
do they even dream?
they already bade farewell to the night
maybe, just maybe they are in unison with the night
maybe, just maybe they can’t let go,
let go of each other
so this is not their final goodnight
and this is also not my final
goodnight

Cold Feet

Let me caress you henceforth
so I may fill you up with warmth,
whenever you have cold feet
don’t allow your heart to skip a beat
Cos some are in dire need of cold feet,
to make their hot summers complete
so some even go to feel the waters of Crete
So call on me as and when you have them
As I will stand firm
I don’t want to seem to rhyme
but you’re worth more than a dime
But just whisper my name always
as you take aim
cos it’s only for you that I came