Adeeyoyo's Blog

I write what I feel…




Gimme more, gimme more,
Cry the wealthy.
Gimme some, gimme some,
Cry the poor.

Our stomachs are almost empty
While you have acquired plenty ~
This world is biased, don’t you see ~
Divide the spoils impartially,
There’s enough for all to share.

Oh, no you don’t, the rich reply,
We work hard for what we own,
We don’t just sit around and moan,
We know that we must get to earn
Recompense for all our work.


©Denise G Allen, 26 February 2014 10:16




Good and evil,
God and the devil,
Hope and despair.

In our need to survive
Hope keeps us alive;
As the cool waters flow
Hope keeps us afloat
In the sea(-son) of life.

Hope is frail, pale,
A shadow without substance,
Hollow as an empty bowl
Until, filled with God’s promise,
Trust is born in our soul.


©Denise G Allen, 24 February 2014 10:02




Adulation warped his image:

Mirror-perfect it seemed to him,

He was bigger than all,

Better than all,

Even the law.

But pride goes before a fall.

He flew too close to the sun

Like Icarus of old, and

Despite all his gold

He was consumed

By the flames of his own



©Denise G Allen, 21 February 2014 07:17


White Noise


Lying peacefully in the dark

…Soaking up the white noise,

Listening to the earth breathe,

…Softest rustling in the trees,

Gentle twitters of the birds

…As they settle down to sleep,

The sharp crack of a small twig

…Magnified a thousand-fold

In the stillness of the night.


©Denise G Allen, 20 February 2014 06:22


Last Weeks of Summer


I know you are loath to go

And I am sad to say farewell,

Let us enjoy our last few weeks

Of sunshine days and balmy nights,

Mozzies with their itching bites,

Coolest clothing every day,

To move unhindered along our way.

Too soon, I feel a bite of ice

In the early morning air,

So pleasant now but, as time

Moves on, ‘twill change

Its nature from a nip to a gnash

Of its icy teeth to send us shivering,

Longing for the warmth so lately gone,

And we must wait through the long,

Cold months until you come again.


©Denise G Allen, 19 February 2014 15:20




I found myself face down, prostrate
Upon the rough and stony ground
While all around the air was bright
With multi-coloured shining light.

I hid myself in shame from Him
Who understood and called my name,
A sinner with myself to blame.

He raised me up from where I lay
And filled me with His holy love ~
I felt His warmth surrounding me
And His compassion condoning me.

Take me, O Lord, for I am yours,
Remove my scars and heal my sores.
And be my God for ever more.


©Denise G Allen, Monday, 17 February 2014 01:04


The Promise


The mares of night

Thunder ‘cross the skies,

Thousand volts lightning bolts

At their heels;

Clouds light up

Faces of the dead

And the chandelier falls to the ground

Without a sound.

Bedlam rules the world

While Hope hides away

Waiting for the day,

For the sun to rise

In the eastern skies

And wash our souls…

Time is running out ~

Running-running-running ~

Racing towards the new world.


©Denise G Allen, 15 February 2014 05:39


Black & White

Blinds (pun intended)

(pun intended)


This was written just after Turning the Tide.

Black & White

Black and white
Shadows and light
The colours of night
Contrasting shades
Opposing views
Conflicting ideas
Divergent beliefs
But if you consider

They are us
And we are they
All mixed up
In many ways
Even piano keys
Need each other
Can we not learn
To live together

Image and poem: ©Denise G Allen, 12 February 2014 08:31


It’s long been written

Wonderful poem from the Book of Pain’s John Etheridge.

the Book of Pain

Poems have conversations between themselves
about us behind our backs, and what’s worse,
with total strangers. Yes, they lie meekly
enough on the page where we place them
but this is all a sham, because among themselves
they bunch into cabals and define us and measure us
and to be honest, find us generally wanting—
although wanting of what they’re not sure.

Still, their words know that we isolate
and abuse them, split and twist and lie with them,
that they are hard done by, that they get old,
jumbled and confused, get left places where
they ought not to be left and ‘re-purposed’
out of retirement when they should be left alone.
And too, they get lonely and search for
solace and meaning between where they are
and where they aren’t, but mostly where they should be,
but again aren’t, and how they sum up.

Usually they don’t, sum…

View original post 174 more words


Turning the Tide


Please don’t call me ma’am, boy,
Please don’t call me ma’am.
It makes me older than I am, boy,
So please don’t call me ma’am.

Please don’t call me boy, ma’am
Please don’t call me boy.
I am a grown man, ma’am,
So please don’t call me boy.

Bad habits of a time gone by,
Hard to break, make no mistake;
A mind make-over is taking place
And very soon there’ll be no trace
Of muddy footprints from the past.


©Denise Allen, 10 February 2014 09:38