Sunday 30 September 2012

KNEES:



On African corn crumpled knee, she does the ever ancient deed,
Of planting in the shallow drought, the single arid-stunted seed,
Hoping that this little grain of hope will not turn to sickly weed.

The child weeping in the lonely corner on knees castigated,
By the cruel cold floor and the even colder stare, berated,
By stern tutor & other kids, not knowing why he´s so hated.

The woman scrubbing on housemaid´s knees red and raw,
To eke out meagre cents, for her family to have a bit more,
Her knees may creak, bleed & hurt, but it´s her heart that´s sore.

The soldier far away, on bended knee weeps silent manly tears,
One hand on his gun, the other on the body of dead friend of years,
“Why this bloody war?” he asks, “filling us with pointless bullets & fears”.

The beggar on his grubby knees cracked with hard pavement´s cold,
Besides him, his empty begging bowl and his shivering dog tired and old,
Doffing his hat & says, “A penny for one of life´s loser sir, may I be so bold?”

The black-habited nun at vespers, genuflecting to her silent God above,
Praying for forgiveness of a sinless life, and for the world she asks for love,
And for a peace that goes far beyond the wings of the gentle peaceful dove.

The Hindu, the Muslim, the Pagan, Buddhist, Sikh, Taoist and many more,
All on bended knees in temples, mosques, pagodas & upon deep forest floor,
For it is upon our humble knees that we adore and to our Deities we implore.

SAHEL:



The seared cindered shell,
The dry waterless well,
The endless burning shell,
The dust in which they dwell,
The wind´s sad sorrowful bell,
The child´s wailing death knell,
The beast lying where it fell,
The people have nothing to sell,
The future of this place; who can tell?
What will happen to beautiful Sahel?

PHIL:



He´s the dark swarthy stealthy panther of the wild poetry world,
Chipping away at words like rocks, & like diamonds released, hurled,
Inviting folk like us to dream, absorb, wallow in, to relish and enjoy,
Just ask his little Kiguli army, every fortunate girl and lucky boy.

He is the printer and painter of all that is inked, scribbled and scribed,
Leaving us saturated satisfied and sated, with his poetry drunkenly imbibed,
He is of the elusive tribe of the poet so wonderful and so completely rare,
Men may wax and men may wane, but with Phil nobody deems to compare.

On Saturday nights he lets down his hair; he´s the ebony prince of Kampala city,
Where the beers are cold, the music is hot, and the girls are so terribly pretty,
Out he goes, leonine and so slinkingly sassy at the nights on primitive prowl,
And this feline Phil with his eloquent tongue, has the gift to make the ladies growl.

He is the smiling man with many elegant facets and a myriad of handsome faces,
He leads his friends, his pupils and all who know him into a dance of many paces,
Phil is our daily smile, our dose of African sunshine and our necessary daily pill,
He´s our mentor, our laughter; our far-away cyber friend, he´s our dearest pal Phil.

Saturday 29 September 2012

A B C OF LIFE:



A- Anxiously anticipated, astounded autumn arrival and I appeared,
B- Birthed, born, blotchy, baptised bonny babe, beloved & be-teared,
C- Crampy, colicky, cushioned cots, crawling & cringingly caterwauling,
D- Doddering, daring, deafening drummed gifts & daddy´s little darling,
E- Elves, Eeyore, exercise, evening ever-afters and happy endearing endings,
F- Flappy fishies, floppy ears, first failings, first fancies and frosty friendings,
G- Going to school, gongs, gingham, grandparents and golden gingerbread,
H- Haircuts, hairy-hemlines, happy halcyon hilly-hikes and hot heated heads,
I- Illnesses, Indians, ironic irritations, itches, irises and ice-cream licking lollies,
J- Jelly-beans, joyful Jack and Jill, jumpings and jittering jitter-bugging jollies,
K- Kites, kittens, kindergartens, kin & knowledge, then kinky kurls and kisses,
L- Loves lingering, loves lost, links and letters full of needs, pleas & near misses,
M- Maidenhood, marriage, motherhood, mad moods & many mystery moons,
N- Nursing, nannies, nursery rhymes, nativity plays, naivety & nattering noons,
O- Opera and organza, oregano & olive oil, orchids and orange scented orchards,
P- Peony posies, and peppermints, palms and prayers on pretty painted porches,
Q- Quinces and quails eggs on quaint quiet quilled quilts & quarrelling quartets,
R- Runcible-rhymings, riveting readings, rubies and raged running ringing rivulets,
S- Sweet summer sighings, sexy soul sisters and steamy scintillating Spanish siestas,
T- Tickled touching, tears trickling, titivating tiara-tides & tantalizing tabloid fiestas,
U- Undeniable unity in unrivalled utopia under unconventional urbane umbrellas,
V- Virtue violated Valentines by violent men and a varied variety of vulgar vain fellas,
W- Wet winter wool weddings, wendings through winding willing watered waterfalls,
X- Xhosa Xmases taken from Xeroxed catalogues & seeking the ever elusive Xoanon,
Y- Yellow suns, Yule-logs, yoga, yummy yeses, you and yesterdays that have long gone,
Z- Zesty zeal, Zen, zircons, zithered opus leading to zilch & the zenith of zephyred Zion.

Thursday 27 September 2012

LABYRINTHED LUNACY:



Life confused with reality, madness & waking dreams,
Of unrealised plans, ideas and long standing schemes,
The lilac-lipped labyrinths of lyrical laughing lupines,
Languid linguini dinners serenaded by the sad bells of lutines,
Loopy-lidded dogs, red-conked clowns, colours going round,
Crazed laughter, rainbow tears, the screeching without sound,
The pain of sleepless dreams & wakeful sleep, dances & daunts,
No present, the future laughs in my face and past mockingly haunts,
Are you a reality, or is this just my own imagined nightmare?
As I ask what, how and wherefore do I go? Please tell me where.