ISN`T IT A LOVELY DAY?

Isn’t it a lovely day?

When you say hello to the man in the street,

When you can stop a sad little child to weep,

When you can help the old lady cross the road,

When you can help those who must carry a load.

 

Isn´t it a lovely day?

When you say good-morning & how-do-you-do?

When you can ask, “ Can I do anything for you?”

When you can say, “Hey you’re looking good today”,

When you can say, “You´re fine doing it your way”.

 

Isn´t it a lovely day?

When sun shines, wind blows or the raindrop falls,

When we´re good to each other & break down walls,

When we see a flower, a tree & a bird on the wing,

When everything in life just makes us smile & sing.

 

LITTLE SCOOPS:

Down by the wadi, where the rain once fell,

Few mere droplets, scarce enough to fill a well,

Wept tears of man & sky, forming clay & mud,

Mingling, the backbone of Africa´s old dry blood.

 

Scoop by small handed scoop, for tiny little sips,

Down dusty little chins, sad wasted water drips,

Quenching arid throats, with dark & murky swills,

Drinking for life, from dirty liquid that sadly kills.

 

Tin by tin, gourd by gourd, all moisture now abating,

Hands cupped, lips chapped, vulture silently waiting,

Sun scorching, beast prowling, silence, drop by drop,

Earth & knees, in prayer cracked, “Please Lord let it stop”.

THE LETTER:

Dear Mama, I hope this letter finds you well,

I send it to you from this land of hot living hell,

Where red sand mingles with dead men´s blood,

Where tears, the only moisture, turns dust to mud.

 

Dear Mama, how are my sisters & little brother?

I´m sorry about the old car, did you get another?

Tell me, how are the animals & how is the farm?

I try to keep safe & out the way of gun´s cruel harm.

 

Dear Mama, how is your health & are you all alright?

Please don´t forget to lock all the doors at midnight,

I have made good friends here, so don´t fret for me,

I am doing my duty, so that future men may be free.

 

Dear Mama, I must go now, but I just wanted to say,

At night, for us all here, will you please, for all pray?

For me, but too, for the man I shoot, spurn & shove &

Send my letter to God & ask, that he turn hate into love.

 

THAT OLD DAY:

Whatever happened to that old lost day?

To that day where children used to play,

To that day where sun once brightly shone,

Where has that old lost day hidden & gone?

 

What happened to the day of whispered love?

To that ebony night of stars shining up above,

To that lost old day of promises & soft caresses,

Is it hidden beneath time´s petticoats & dresses?

 

Whatever happened to the day of baby´s echoes?

The day where raindrops entwined with rainbows,

The day of little voices saying, “Mama I love you”,

Is that day hidden behind your old eyes of blue?

 

What happened to the day I once called you mine?

Has it gone far away to that “Once upon a time?”

That day in time, has in hours, now waltzed away,

Tell me, whatever happened to that lost old day?

 

THE POETRY OF BIRDS:

The poetry of birds is scribed in ink with silken feather,

Etched in blood on parchment, velum, upon old leather,

Wending, waxing & waning, from ink-pots, in spiral spill,

Falling softly onto virgin page, from moving errant quill.

 

Lover´s odes & sonnets, upon nightingale´s sweet tongue,

Serenades trilled in joy, from blackbird´s dawn-filled lung,

Heralding in all new seasons, the tiny songbird gaily sings,

The poetry of birds soars to heaven, on soft & velvet wings.

 

Rhymes & rhythms plucked, on cacophony of musical song,

Caressing breezes in verse, in tales & stories, short & long,

Humming souls soaring to heaven, upon soft & plumy words,

Poetry, offered prayers, within the warbling hearts of birds.