Poems by Jayfred Austin

Thinking out loud

Initially I never understood the depth of PORN sorry , Pun, till I discovered that poetry is a Penis.
A Dangling and wobblying SAC of muse, ready to CUM out with MILKY ideas for a juicy write.
The veins carved on the penis are the figures of speech.
They give Freak-tion to each PORN-Sin sorry Pun Scene.

We insert the words,
In and out our ink goes.
Till the holes in the the lines are filled.
The readers are left MOANing to each lines.
Till they CUM-ment on the BOOTY sorry BODY of the poem.
Why do I make the EROS that I make?.
I think am LUST for words.

All great poets are PUN-stars.
Like Micheal who was an ACE in the PORN world.
His words passes orgasm like THE THING IN BETWEEN MY LEGS.
His Muse had this Foreplay between his abstracts characters,
Re-living the lives of each story they tell.


1. Why did you call the Nigerian youths lazy?, Have you spent more THyme cooking jobs and we are still Lazy?.
2. Mr President CURRIED his words as “a YELLOW stain to his white RISE”.
3. Little wonder the Naija youths remembered him the mysterious RAT-attack which he diagnosed as MEDIA-cal illness.
4. The lazy youths brought out their TWEETing pill hidden in the belly of their phones.
5. After instigating an INFINITY WAR of words, Twitter became the politicians DEAD-POOL too.

6. WAKANDA president carries his country like a BLACK PANT-Her resources he has mismanaged like his health.
7. In benumbing CRISIS social media has been our CHRIST(s), saving us from Depres-SIN-g.
8. When Aisha spoke, we all HARL-ed the QUINN for her SUICIDE sq-WORDS that sentenced her to the OTHERROOM.

9. The leaders promised to be DEER for us, Not in the CAGE, but outside laughing at us.
10. Our lips were sharp like KNIFE, we always left a CUTTING remark on social media.
11. Nigeria is not really 58, just a country with a golden jubilee of suffering and 8 year old babies crying.
12. We are busy TOYing with our own emotions same way we reach orgasm with sex DOLLS.

Malady of Addiction

Malaria of modern appetite makes me a mad lion,

Eager to gulp entire forest of hard-drugs; Codeine, marijuana (that makes me un-marry Joanah);

Tramadol (that trapped my psyche and makes it dull).

“Life is short. It’s long and simple” – dangling thoughts;

But whenever

I wear the almighty lens of hard-drugs,

I teach philosophers how to feel life’s offer.

“Is it long or short? Is it simple or as hard as my drugs?”

I think it will never be as hard as my drug,

For only a puff makes it (life) more balanced

Like an unduly satisfied fool misquoting the moment.

“Commingle with us, join our cesspit and you’ll be fit

To run our fractured race of modernism, wasted in haste!”

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