Showing posts from November, 2017

Old wind house up the snaky charming river,
My mills to the breeze of change they rotate
Slow or faster
Just as the moody wind of a sombre day
Lazy, calm, ambitious and furious
For reasons still questions
These cogs, electricity to generate
Electricity for the keyboard, the keyboard for the artiste, the artiste from the mind
The wind for the mills, the mills for the yearn, the yearn for the tailor

      Jeez! What a designers veneration!!

This wind… what a fuel
Not like these carbon fuels
These blades...
Turn Might blades turn

The village lamp needs to glow… brighter
Tomorrow I must dream

Hard floors
Rickety doors
Downgraded chores
Pockets with pores
Tomorrow I must dream
A dream bigger than the world
Trillion dollar dream
If  I vividly I had to contrast

In the dark forests
On slippery branches I’ll swing
Slowly on the quicksand
Under the furious  suicidal high ocean wave,

High above the uncompetable Everest  I’ll fly
Less a grain of worry 
Polished and sparkling with hope,
My wings, fins and grip stronger shall grow

                                                                                                                               I  TRUST

Night bird, these owl eyes must witness

                                              This conspicuous dream

                                                                 In pregnant daylight

                    To silence these silent cries

Contagious illusions 

  Contagious illusions

        Discarded solutions 

Unravelled confusions

Arm twisted ambitions

Blind seers

keen deaf listeners

Derailed dreams

              hearts joyfully and                                    quickly pumping to                                        dead lies

what a murky sphere?
What rickety vessels
On a million mile sail
All th

Sparks will fly

hearts will burn... to ashes

like a wild church on fire

for straying from themselves

For being too hard to love

choosing opinion

Marrying ego, divorcing altruism

The beautiful little voice within 


infidels of our own souls

The plumbers Pipe dreams  

 I, my bottle of oak-matured  Irish whisky and the old mahogany pipe
A party not joined by my thoughts
nae my owl eyes
I can feel the elegance emanating from the reefer hazily rising
To the calm peaceful warm airs.
In the back of the retina the null void spaces
I can see the wisdom of the aged pipe
For wisdom and experience are
                                                   of blood Glitzy tomorrow on a dark today
Sunshine after the storm
Love and the world not into the head
Bed of thorns
Soggy floors and surfaces

Stand or seat?
I hibernate in queer spaces
And rest in strange places like a bird of night
Reminiscing In the clean sanitised UNDEFILED airs
Where no breathing creature’s ever been
Constructing these castles
Painting the sketches of conscious dream like a desperate artiste
With mad hope of selling his soul on leather to the blind eye

Summer flowers

Summer flowers, I wanted to jot a poem about you

The way you bloom like poppy in the summer heat  

An addict would call you Osama


                                    To A revolutionist obama

                                  Yes we can!

You fell on ma path the last rains to the tropical heat

And colored  ma pathway

I pick your scent like satelite radar in the gentle breeze

For am just but a wolf on the hunt

Miss lavender…

Those jacaranda purple lips
How you caught my attention

On a young virgin night

Down the old post road

Under the shaky creaky dim streetlight

Triple lingual poem
Nahisi njozi nipo naye Toto ngozi oh my eeh Nyuma mama wee Gracious playboy This girl precious My heart, spacious Umwoyo gwigwe mulilo gusambanga  shee Niva ni amatsi ndivila lliva mama wee