http://slow.writerscafe.org/ArTof_Mind The original writings of author Opeyemi Jide-Ojo en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776033969 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Future’sthis, Fate, clasping her fingers tight around time’s neck,Choking lifeout of what we all understand to be the normal scheme of things-We have passed this way beforeWe know what we saw:This is the wayThe normal scheme of things And for allthe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1908757/ For unburiedoccurrences, fatal flaws and mistaken judgements,Scars thatrun deep behind open wounds-Traveller,wanderlust- itchy feet-And voiceswhich have refused to heal:Such is thenature of all who passed this way,They wentfar as their feet could carry them;No mor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1892762/ We were on our way to Forgotten Country; a land of misplaceddreams-We never knew what was going to happen; only Heaven did. It was the beginning of a new month, in the year twothousand, zero hundred and seventeen. The keeper rang his presence aloud in thestreet while the rest .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1892760/ Of heaven’s breath and royal tastes,Morning born, and ‘vender scents,Whispers tied in dayspring dew,My place in you, is new born day. For wanderlust I should scour several lands,Push my feet till they weary of the travel-And I should have roving eyes, nev.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1493302/ At noon, and the sun blows hotterthan blood from a gaping woundSprawling into the street, fourhoses spraying widely across the roadWith their taps left open- Ishould contact the old man watering his plants,And indeed I have done so, butalas! The old man is dead.Now it is a fe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1493300/ The lines are blurry, he cried to me, for when he had gone to search the streets he found them all deserted, with no soul, save for the disembodied sounds that came from the trees, the street lamps and the dark corners.The lines are blurry he said, for when he had come back he had his face white as .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1441887/ Do we believe in stars? For we have goodreason to,As one wakes up at the crack of dawn- orwell before dawn,The one time waited much for, and indeedwe,For we waited and watched with time as itcounted slowly,Then quickly, until the one time waitedmuch for arrived with it.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1413090/ The soft ones cry out for the coming ofdaylight,And our night passes but in one swiftmovement- like there was no night,Only shadows of darkness wrapped around ourgraying form,We with our heads bowed beneath our kneesAnd we mumble prayers that are neveranswered,Or so we&rs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1409836/ Suffer their hands to bind them to their feet,Theirs are the ones that danced the dance of time,Tune of the ages-For time bore on their breaths, rasping puffs,Music indeed. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1409296/ I hear the warning but I can’t,It’s more like I'm turning my back on you-While I see the finger, I cannot denyI willingly spurn your help and I cannot comply.Your word I kick against the dust, my dust,Like one who’s offered water but still cries ofthirst.W.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1409290/ Or perhapsthere's a name for it, ‘Paradox of truthand twisted thinking’ and the pen has woken to stab me now in the face- Iwoke to meet its fine tip in my face, facing squarely, the truth of what I’ddone, and though I’m wont to deny I simply can’t, not if I want.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1406782/ My pen has two sides- one for writing, the otherfor stabbing me in the heart repeatedly and without repent; some pen that is,and not surprisingly too because it’s my best pen, one I wrote many of me with.Yes many of me, and I've written a great number, great enough to fill a dayw.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1392307/ Sit at paper and stare at the wall with pen tucked safely in your hair,I want to run away to where I will not be seen, not even by me,Run from my own skin and out into the winds,Take on the feel of the air, and the body of earth,Let the clouds cover me with rain and wash me away from me-For the flam.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1381401/ What does memory have in the presence of thought and history?Perfectly in harmony with the two if you ask me, though I wonder when thebalance tips in step with either of the three. There is perhaps something thatbinds all three together; something that rather unfortunately has become myundoi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1375665/ Through watery eyes Isleep, the back of my hand utter wet from tears,Mind running, heartracing, as I move from one scene to the next,From one dream to thenext,And I hear thewhispers, voices calling out in the darkness of my room,I'm as fearful as I canremember- if I ever am.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1375657/ Shallthe earth scald our feet before we learn to move?Movein the rhythms made by our wandering hearts, the tears flowToour hands in rapturous ecstasy- Weare accepting realities outside our consciousnesses, and we are wont for thepurging, the cleansing of our souls from the clut.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1340961/ Doyou greet the sun good morning on a sunny bright morning?Thisis the exit from night’s strong grasp,Andthe terrors that put us to sleep-Weslept in fear, covered in the horrors of our own imaginations-Wehad seen fear so much we had become it.Nowwe meet the sun i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1321831/ Thereshall be no wordsAndthere shall be times of silence, periods where the dark seeps through the veinsof those left alive after the coming spit-out,Whenthe end of systems come to be, for the rebirth of all that should be,Andthere shall be no words, for words should cease to b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1321317/ I watched me kill myself with a knife in my back…I watched me kill a man with a knife in his back.I watched a man kill a man with a knife in his back.I watched a man kill me with a knife in my back-And the dreams keep changing, same face, different voices.Such is the end o.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1315432/ The dark calls in beauteous silence,Vast deep expanses covering secrets-The silence is most endearing,Like a soul calling to her lover.And I should answer, same spirit callingOne to another, and a certain love of the silenceBetween us, silence of lovers shared-The dark is most beautiful.And I can on.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1289596/ As simple as sundown, and she came at night, masked by shadows spelled thick by the dark's atmosphere. She was my evening dream, creeping slowly up my mind with me oblivious to her effect.We spent the evening in the locks of the other, hand coiled and fingers twirled, with the feel of her cool skin .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1288727/ Myinfinitesimal self in the world’sspace“… and I'm just onewhisper in an ocean of voices…”Really I am, and it’snot such a bad thing to think, is it? I wonder this to me, as I think on theturn of events my life has taken over the past few years... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1259017/                                                                 Thisis the stranger I’d love to kiss,Of the delightsome ord.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1256554/ Sounds as blackas the night of this tale I hear, and I wonder the matter that made this allup, wonder the heart that conceived this so, perhaps I might dare to provide anexplanation for what occurred on that fateful day; alas it was the day I fellprisoner to that which afflicts me so, but fo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1249868/ I’m stuck in the hallway,Hanging between dreams andconsciousness,Losing the meaning of life itself,yetFilled with a thousanddefinitions.I’m lost in the memory of thepast, prisoner to it, Ever wishing for a non-existenthope;I only but catch glimpses of it.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1247640/ The name "Noodlehead" sparked something off... and I love noodles (pun intended) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1247416/ Theair around me feels still,AndI’m surrounded by sounds;Whispers,thoughts, I shudderAs Ifeel cold and there comesA washof memories. In theMidstof these memories, a Figureappears, strikingly familiar,Anothermemory itself: It is theMemoryof the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1247410/ This poem is dedicated to Frieda P, inspired by her "Dances on a cloud" http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1247323/ Awesome grief spelled out loud by choking silence-golden,But may I ask, 'to whom does the voice belong,The speaker or the listener?’Nevertheless, the attention so claustrophobic, I curl deeper into my fortress-nothing. Just an empty largevoid.And Iwait- waiting for shad.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246998/ Thejourney begins, at the threshold of reality,Growingup into the beginning of the other side of reason,Eternityjust took its first step into time,Thusbegins the countdown to the future.Butthen, what future? Could it be a futureLaced withfrivolities and grandeurAn.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246994/ Distance calls meand I answer; I do not know whyA voice callingout, like the faint whispers on breeze-Indeed, is it?Beneath the reach of my mind,Fathomlessdepths; I just know it’s there.I leave me whileI lay asleepTo the solepossess of myself,Departing, led .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246985/ At hell’s gate westand, winded,Exhausted fromdays of runningFor the time ofthe salvation,As it was oncesaid:                           .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246915/ Themorning glows,Echoesof blackness’ last survivors crisscrossThelast shreds of the night skies,Whileother creatures wait-we,For thetime of The Deliverance.Unknown.Devils. Shadows that haunt our very deep,Memoriesthat make us cower and writhe in pleasurabl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246889/ Black lights! And my shadowsAre brilliant,A figure emerges from the flames,Smoke, a true reflection of me,Hazy, confused,I live? Die?Death is but an abstract concept,Nonexistence lying in the middleofMy mind,Formlessness reigns supreme.Hell blows me cold... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246883/ Truth bears one with falsehood,Reality sharing with illusionsCreated by the lost part of me-And all what I claim to be meIs merely a collective issue of warpedrealities.And I ask: what is all the beginning?Beginnings mix with endings, andAll I think are merely processes.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246694/ Wellonce upon a time, I guess. Once upon a time and there is the beginning of theexistence of it, and all there is to it begins in its own clever system ofstarts and endings- it was the end of one and the beginning of another, and theprocess once more begins anew. Well it begins with the ver.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246693/ Itslife is like an oath, an oath of secrecy taken to protect its most deadlysecrets, secrets gathered from a long and not forgottenpast. These secrets threaten its existence, with the meanings drawn out fromthem, what with new codes and statutes. It lives a terrible life, followingalong a .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246691/ And I fear I won’t be heard…The guilt eats like termite-infested wood andI should burst with apprehension,My memories will kill me…But I’m suffering from delusional nightmares.Because I’m separate from my memories,Far flung summers lost in the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246690/ There is a place in our hearts that staysempty no matter what we do to fill it up. Our attempts at wholeness leave us acomplete shadow of what we hope to be true, against our better natures. For tothe hopeful, there cannot be anything other than that which is hoped for, andthe subject is rea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246689/ And so this continues my tale ofmemories, and that happy reminiscence of the events that surround my existence.While I think on what should befall me at the end of this tale, like I had anycontrol over the matter, I might choose to ignore same and continue as if I hadno care for the outcome .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246688/ The idea sounds funny, maybe weird Iknow, but that’s just what it is, memories from a world I’ve never been to. Nowthe question is if I haven’t been to the world how can I have those memories?To be honest I don’t know, all I know is I have the memories. But planted by.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246687/ Eternity had me locked within its grips;I was its vow…Such was the story of the man I’d love tocall a drifter, sifting his way through the mess left in his mind by all hechose to live for- perhaps he died for them, do tell. But such was the mannerin which he conducted his ex.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246686/ Feed me from cold hands, My sun burnt mind cries foul grief- Thus goes a long night.                                                 http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246684/ Pieces of ink pieced together,Peace,And the very thought of it. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246683/ Wingsfly south,Carryingwith it, echoes of lives long buriedAnddeaths long lived out-miserable existencesLaid bare, wingsin formation, flying south. Criesflock north, not caring who they hitAlongthe road to the eyes they were sent.Pathos.Chaos in vile gl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246679/ And I have borne thecursed hands of night. This is the sorrow, and ofthe solemn voices that cry out in the mid night plea,Please, and save me frommyself- the voices kill me so,Reminding me ever soslightly of those vows I had vowed to makeAnd not keep, vows I madeto the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1246675/ I wonder what this has to me, From the beginning of the dream to the birth of the sin, the pleasure is all mineThe pleasure is all mine, the pleasure is all mine,And that's all that rings- the pleasure is all mine.Now i'm drunk on the songs I've taught myself to sing,Songs riddled with lust til.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1245360/ How does the story start? From thebeginning as usual? No that’s too not good; it’s not as easy as you think. Thisstory starts from so many sides altogether. It continues from November, butwith one new twist- not twist, that’ll make an evil air of it. Call it ablessing much .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1245340/ And this is themoment, or moments,When knowledgeloses its savor, and the very taste of allWe could holddear becomes bland. Then we could just say to ourselves-This is the timewe’ve all been waiting for,When things beginto redefine themselves,We redefineourselves.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1187678/ Now I think with the eyes that should seenothing, and truly they do not see, for the very love of blindness; theblindness has me shut to the rest of the truth I should know, for had I known Ishould not think the thoughts running through my head now. But the question is:what should I have kno.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ArTof_Mind/1187677/