Whiteman bin too like Blackman
Ye come for long take Blackman
Make ye ninga for long time
Di gi ye big taste for lime
When ye want go ye spoil place
Like nko di chakara place.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Chop Chop Club
Chop a chop bin be dia mimba
For get chop dem make we ninga
Ninga dem we no want for be
Bicos which mop no like honey?
Dem tif all money sey na crish
Don cam catch economic finish
De small lep whey we bin get am
And we see dia plate carry yam,
Dem hold knife with fork want for chop
Na taim make we pipole sey stop
Bicos wonder fit foolish pass
We no go leave dem fool we pass
Since we no want drink dat quinine
Whey dem shi don no scratch dem skin
Some man must tell papa chop chop
Sey yi must fill up wia cup
No be with lie lie promise dem
We want na just true true one dem
Bifo we go sing choir for ye
So teh ye no go forget we
Whey we Kill dia club for chop chop
Whey boma dem di chop no f’ll-up.
For get chop dem make we ninga
Ninga dem we no want for be
Bicos which mop no like honey?
Dem tif all money sey na crish
Don cam catch economic finish
De small lep whey we bin get am
And we see dia plate carry yam,
Dem hold knife with fork want for chop
Na taim make we pipole sey stop
Bicos wonder fit foolish pass
We no go leave dem fool we pass
Since we no want drink dat quinine
Whey dem shi don no scratch dem skin
Some man must tell papa chop chop
Sey yi must fill up wia cup
No be with lie lie promise dem
We want na just true true one dem
Bifo we go sing choir for ye
So teh ye no go forget we
Whey we Kill dia club for chop chop
Whey boma dem di chop no f’ll-up.
Patience is All
Just when I was about to give all up
I saw sincerity marked on love’s face
By Patience; she was patient with grace
That off my feet knocked and swept me to drop
Head over heels as if by a spell doomed
To this life of happiness as a groom
With honey textured soul in readiness
To cast away that life of moodiness!
With such love am I graced to embrace her
With my glance at her, looking no further
As the bells resound with marital bliss
Leaving me nor any room for a bliss
Tell me why the world I shouldn’t give up
For one so dear lifting me to the top
In form and in spirit full with pleasure
Caressing the heart, knowing no measure.
The strength of love bonds with understanding
Giving our show to the world, astounding
And hoping not in history such would be
You the bee that produces sweet honey
And who said honey was sweet? You’re sweeter!
You make the bitterness in life slumber
Like one who has come and come till he can’t
Embrace and understand jack by Kant.
But once into your bee hive with honey
Full, the genius in him would spite money
And would start digging in nature, pleasure
As would any hunter hunt his treasure.
My Patience had laid patiently in wait
And such treasures as Patience are no bait
But babes to be cherished and lavished well
With love that runs deep, the like of my well!
I saw sincerity marked on love’s face
By Patience; she was patient with grace
That off my feet knocked and swept me to drop
Head over heels as if by a spell doomed
To this life of happiness as a groom
With honey textured soul in readiness
To cast away that life of moodiness!
With such love am I graced to embrace her
With my glance at her, looking no further
As the bells resound with marital bliss
Leaving me nor any room for a bliss
Tell me why the world I shouldn’t give up
For one so dear lifting me to the top
In form and in spirit full with pleasure
Caressing the heart, knowing no measure.
The strength of love bonds with understanding
Giving our show to the world, astounding
And hoping not in history such would be
You the bee that produces sweet honey
And who said honey was sweet? You’re sweeter!
You make the bitterness in life slumber
Like one who has come and come till he can’t
Embrace and understand jack by Kant.
But once into your bee hive with honey
Full, the genius in him would spite money
And would start digging in nature, pleasure
As would any hunter hunt his treasure.
My Patience had laid patiently in wait
And such treasures as Patience are no bait
But babes to be cherished and lavished well
With love that runs deep, the like of my well!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Prayer for Cameroon Anglophone Poetry
O, Come,
Come O
Muse! Muse!
Come knock at our doors!
We will warm you with the flames,
Anglophone Cameroon burning bright
Under which roof you shall not be in the cold
Leaving your hungry hunters stories to be told.
Muse
O
Muse
Come
O
Come
Hand in glove
We’ll make love
Stain sheets
Take fleets
Free our offspring
No attached string
In a world far from this fashion
One with love and not contention
Not even when you prick
A call with which I click
And pick up my weapon
And with tears of joy mourn
This joyful moment
I would recommend
Should come and stay
So, we don’t stray!
Muse
O
Muse
Come
O
Come
Come and stay with us
Fill our empty purse
Tickle our brain
With windblown train
Whose sound good music make
As our ears’ savoury cake
Like your name so smooth
As you stand for truth
Only our kind die to hear
When crown and mitre wear fear
Forgetting in tears we drown
When they make solid the ground
In which they conceal us poor souls
Dishonouring our totem poles:
Muse
O
Muse
Come
O
Come
Glaze that assassinating mind
Making of it loving and kind
O, Come,
Come O
Muse! Muse!
Come O
Muse! Muse!
Come knock at our doors!
We will warm you with the flames,
Anglophone Cameroon burning bright
Under which roof you shall not be in the cold
Leaving your hungry hunters stories to be told.
Muse
O
Muse
Come
O
Come
Hand in glove
We’ll make love
Stain sheets
Take fleets
Free our offspring
No attached string
In a world far from this fashion
One with love and not contention
Not even when you prick
A call with which I click
And pick up my weapon
And with tears of joy mourn
This joyful moment
I would recommend
Should come and stay
So, we don’t stray!
Muse
O
Muse
Come
O
Come
Come and stay with us
Fill our empty purse
Tickle our brain
With windblown train
Whose sound good music make
As our ears’ savoury cake
Like your name so smooth
As you stand for truth
Only our kind die to hear
When crown and mitre wear fear
Forgetting in tears we drown
When they make solid the ground
In which they conceal us poor souls
Dishonouring our totem poles:
Muse
O
Muse
Come
O
Come
Glaze that assassinating mind
Making of it loving and kind
O, Come,
Come O
Muse! Muse!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Home
Home was fun
With bright sun
And I left home and headed West
And was told that’s where oldies rest
There I went to see for myself
The oldies resting on the shelf
In their home without so much fun
A world in which they are forlorn
With bright sun
And I left home and headed West
And was told that’s where oldies rest
There I went to see for myself
The oldies resting on the shelf
In their home without so much fun
A world in which they are forlorn
The Mad Queen
Carrying her crown of money
She would she swam in honey
When her heart lets flow lava
To turn sweet honey bitter
A fit she reckons is cute
For madness is her repute
Parading darkness by day
Begging sympathy for pay
All true eyes and ears won’t heed
But would get rid of as weed.
She would she swam in honey
When her heart lets flow lava
To turn sweet honey bitter
A fit she reckons is cute
For madness is her repute
Parading darkness by day
Begging sympathy for pay
All true eyes and ears won’t heed
But would get rid of as weed.
The Commoner’s Promise
Not to hold the top of it.
To clean the servant’s shit.
How true is this when truth comes?
Shit he unleashes as comes
With convulsive pleasures
Thrusting rapists’ treasures
And waddle as strongman
Where foundation not man
Needs be mightily strong
To point to him he’s wrong.
To clean the servant’s shit.
How true is this when truth comes?
Shit he unleashes as comes
With convulsive pleasures
Thrusting rapists’ treasures
And waddle as strongman
Where foundation not man
Needs be mightily strong
To point to him he’s wrong.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Red Light Camera
With such hungry looks
Your eyes would in books
Scratch their hands in pockets
Your eyes' resting sockets
To drain empty tear ducts
From those whose misconducts
Painfully pricked your eye
To give the king his pie;
By the by you’re his guard
Driving bad drivers mad.
Could I say thank you
And not be bad too?
Your eyes would in books
Scratch their hands in pockets
Your eyes' resting sockets
To drain empty tear ducts
From those whose misconducts
Painfully pricked your eye
To give the king his pie;
By the by you’re his guard
Driving bad drivers mad.
Could I say thank you
And not be bad too?
Racing Waves
The waves race endlessly to the sea
As if the wind had forced them ashore
In a union they would none did see
Them sneaking out of the house of whores
With them carrying stinking morsel smell
Debilitating the nose through a spell
Once cast like a fishing net sweeping bed
Clean of ocean’s little lovely well-bred
No doubt their oil nourishes human brain
And warranty in old age man is sane
With his grey matter falling not as prey
In the game of life which Alzheimer’s play
Pushing to quickly forget things men want
Not recalling how they dropped off the pant
In that house they sneaked out of forced by waves
After prostrating to the drive as slaves
Giving in to the master’s caprices
Hoping their dreams aren’t shattered into pieces
Rather waves waver not in their strong push
To send off such belongings to the bush
For they need not dwell in human thinking
So preoccupied with nothing but fish drowning
Oblivious to the grace of waves majestic moves
That will never trample on human eyes with hooves
But let them enjoy the grace of waves’ racing dance
Not for the weak at heart who would all fall in trance
Not off the hook for their forfeiture in the house
Committed and outside making up they have no nous
Race on waves and bring to these eyes that sole beauty
Your dance alone moving ships brings humanity
The soothing calm the corrupt would you washed away
But, come ashore and make sure such hopes at bay stay!
As if the wind had forced them ashore
In a union they would none did see
Them sneaking out of the house of whores
With them carrying stinking morsel smell
Debilitating the nose through a spell
Once cast like a fishing net sweeping bed
Clean of ocean’s little lovely well-bred
No doubt their oil nourishes human brain
And warranty in old age man is sane
With his grey matter falling not as prey
In the game of life which Alzheimer’s play
Pushing to quickly forget things men want
Not recalling how they dropped off the pant
In that house they sneaked out of forced by waves
After prostrating to the drive as slaves
Giving in to the master’s caprices
Hoping their dreams aren’t shattered into pieces
Rather waves waver not in their strong push
To send off such belongings to the bush
For they need not dwell in human thinking
So preoccupied with nothing but fish drowning
Oblivious to the grace of waves majestic moves
That will never trample on human eyes with hooves
But let them enjoy the grace of waves’ racing dance
Not for the weak at heart who would all fall in trance
Not off the hook for their forfeiture in the house
Committed and outside making up they have no nous
Race on waves and bring to these eyes that sole beauty
Your dance alone moving ships brings humanity
The soothing calm the corrupt would you washed away
But, come ashore and make sure such hopes at bay stay!
Epitaph
Finally, I go unto Death,
With wings of fire
And breath of ice.
And he welcomes me,
At last, with open arms
And open heart.
Finally, I am home.
© Melissa Ryan, ALW 240
With wings of fire
And breath of ice.
And he welcomes me,
At last, with open arms
And open heart.
Finally, I am home.
© Melissa Ryan, ALW 240
Mindstate Dweller
When I think this city I think empty trams, empty seats,
steady hands, steady feet, stolen land, stolen fee,
Never feeling free, always feeling eyes watching me,
Disguised democracy, fake economy, no apologies,
Squandering property, cement towers nature’s mockery,
Tyrannical monarchy and material authority
Never stopping me from constantly traversing the city
Thirsting with intrigue conversing and dispersing earnest mystique,
Streets aren’t pristine: imperfections are the blitzkrieg
Prestigious soliloquies of ominous liberty
Offered by imagery of trapped sidewalks across the map,
Stride forth my back attached to a packed nap sack.
Cramped with stacks of bricks: chipped cracked and dented.
Paths: skipped tracked and ventured. The lasting gift that beckons
Presence remembered, endless adventure treading
Dimensions spreading and collecting
so the severance of heaven is mending
This journey I’m accepting through eager alleyways
Find a secret passage paved behind reality’s barricade
Free from the masquerade, souls lost no accomplices
Coveting confidence collagen blocking their oxygen
Clotting the bottom of competence in this rotten metropolis
Modern apocalypse where we cotton pick novices
With pocketed politics into dominant covetous lobbyists
Forgotten with sin, lost by kin, but beauty still exists within
© KIERON DONALD BYATT
steady hands, steady feet, stolen land, stolen fee,
Never feeling free, always feeling eyes watching me,
Disguised democracy, fake economy, no apologies,
Squandering property, cement towers nature’s mockery,
Tyrannical monarchy and material authority
Never stopping me from constantly traversing the city
Thirsting with intrigue conversing and dispersing earnest mystique,
Streets aren’t pristine: imperfections are the blitzkrieg
Prestigious soliloquies of ominous liberty
Offered by imagery of trapped sidewalks across the map,
Stride forth my back attached to a packed nap sack.
Cramped with stacks of bricks: chipped cracked and dented.
Paths: skipped tracked and ventured. The lasting gift that beckons
Presence remembered, endless adventure treading
Dimensions spreading and collecting
so the severance of heaven is mending
This journey I’m accepting through eager alleyways
Find a secret passage paved behind reality’s barricade
Free from the masquerade, souls lost no accomplices
Coveting confidence collagen blocking their oxygen
Clotting the bottom of competence in this rotten metropolis
Modern apocalypse where we cotton pick novices
With pocketed politics into dominant covetous lobbyists
Forgotten with sin, lost by kin, but beauty still exists within
© KIERON DONALD BYATT
Shoes
O captors of my feet,
why won’t you set me free?
To walk,
to run,
to feel the sand between my toes,
the squelch of mud,
the points of stones,
the glorious ground beneath my feet.
To burn,
to freeze,
to soak in the wondrous rain.
O why won’t you let me live?
©Melissa Ryan ALW 240
why won’t you set me free?
To walk,
to run,
to feel the sand between my toes,
the squelch of mud,
the points of stones,
the glorious ground beneath my feet.
To burn,
to freeze,
to soak in the wondrous rain.
O why won’t you let me live?
©Melissa Ryan ALW 240
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wind Sings to the Trees
When the wind gently blows trees don’t nod disagreement
Dancing her soft music calls for no disagreement
Unlike our kings whose open mouths do bring storms
Uprooting trees and leaving not even their stumps
With populace all dragged in heavy chains
And led to far off lands afoot mountains
Where to them intone are dirges for joy
Soft and gentle accomplishing a ploy
For kings’ happiness at tolling the knell
Which they do joy at hearing masses yell,
Yelling at daunting evil incarnate
Bringing before them such never seen hate
Where kings are meant to be noble at heart
Preserving nations from being torn apart
Like wind’s music calling us by our name.
When this shall come to pass, so shall kings’ fame.
When we intone our music for kings’ dancing
Pleasure, at us, they cruelly start biting
Hoping we’ll cower and stoop low to their
Hellish hope to inter our dreams to fare
In a land never before promised man
But such promise we must make sure we can
So kings’ storm will never bring to shore waves
Or would do so to sweep them to their graves
Then the gentle breeze that sings to tree leaves
Would sing and hailed with our sighs of relief
For change shall have come
To us full-scale calm.
Dancing her soft music calls for no disagreement
Unlike our kings whose open mouths do bring storms
Uprooting trees and leaving not even their stumps
With populace all dragged in heavy chains
And led to far off lands afoot mountains
Where to them intone are dirges for joy
Soft and gentle accomplishing a ploy
For kings’ happiness at tolling the knell
Which they do joy at hearing masses yell,
Yelling at daunting evil incarnate
Bringing before them such never seen hate
Where kings are meant to be noble at heart
Preserving nations from being torn apart
Like wind’s music calling us by our name.
When this shall come to pass, so shall kings’ fame.
When we intone our music for kings’ dancing
Pleasure, at us, they cruelly start biting
Hoping we’ll cower and stoop low to their
Hellish hope to inter our dreams to fare
In a land never before promised man
But such promise we must make sure we can
So kings’ storm will never bring to shore waves
Or would do so to sweep them to their graves
Then the gentle breeze that sings to tree leaves
Would sing and hailed with our sighs of relief
For change shall have come
To us full-scale calm.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Love Hope
There were ten endless years of wait
Which in them did hide hope as bait
Picked and swallowed were blown in a second
Gone is the mansion of such a fecund
Hope
Dope
That once turned our desert green
Now turning our green bloom grim
With eternity to say who was right
Not remembering the endless years of fight
With despair it will never come to pass
Which did and our lesson learned out of class
In which the school of life reserves no formula
To grace the lives of those who swear by the kola
Throwing its peelings to tell our future
Or cast a look at our woe like vultures
Tending to a wounded game on the highway
THE LUNCH HOUR
Oh Dear, Thank God
The time has come once again.
And now, the buzz will begin.
Reminiscent of sounds
of bees making honey
in the deep silent jungle.
The 12th chime of the
hour clock is a “whoops”
for the Aussie stomach
A time of great expectations
And even greater preparations.
Where the choice of a lunch box
is as important as its contents.
Missing the lunch hour
is unthinkable.
Having no plans for it
is unforgivable.
A cardinal sin against “tete - a - teteing”
A perfect time to romanticize
the act of eating, and
squeeze the final drop of gossip
from unsuspecting lunchers.
A time to escape the
pressures of “officialdom”
and boredoms of work!
This, I suspect,
the prime reason(s)
for such enthusiastic
embrace for a subset of worktime.
The aussie lunch hour
Is a spectrum of
changing emotions.
From that of great expectation
To that of greater trepidation
as the last chime of the hour
hits the pit of the stomach.
The shuffling gaits back to work
contrasts the happy strides
towards the Lunch hour
A sad ending to such happy beginnings.
Oh dear, Dear God.
How time flies!.
As back to Work beckons
©UCHE
The time has come once again.
And now, the buzz will begin.
Reminiscent of sounds
of bees making honey
in the deep silent jungle.
The 12th chime of the
hour clock is a “whoops”
for the Aussie stomach
A time of great expectations
And even greater preparations.
Where the choice of a lunch box
is as important as its contents.
Missing the lunch hour
is unthinkable.
Having no plans for it
is unforgivable.
A cardinal sin against “tete - a - teteing”
A perfect time to romanticize
the act of eating, and
squeeze the final drop of gossip
from unsuspecting lunchers.
A time to escape the
pressures of “officialdom”
and boredoms of work!
This, I suspect,
the prime reason(s)
for such enthusiastic
embrace for a subset of worktime.
The aussie lunch hour
Is a spectrum of
changing emotions.
From that of great expectation
To that of greater trepidation
as the last chime of the hour
hits the pit of the stomach.
The shuffling gaits back to work
contrasts the happy strides
towards the Lunch hour
A sad ending to such happy beginnings.
Oh dear, Dear God.
How time flies!.
As back to Work beckons
©UCHE
Monday, December 29, 2008
THE GIFT OF YOU
Love in its truest form
Has no language or words,
It just has a thousand and one actions
It makes a weak man brave
And a king step off his throne
Love symbolizes eternity
And wipes away all senses of time and distance,
Removing all memories of a beginning
And all fears of an end
It is sweet, delicate, and dreamy
An eternity of gorgeous moments.
Sitting snugly like a piece of art,
Where even the tiniest stroke of paint
Is simply beautiful.
Love resembles a bright flame
That lightens a dark starry night
Created not to reside in hearts
But to be given away.
As this lonely valentine approaches
My memory is filled with images
Images of our love and affection
Of moments we have shared
And will share.
I treasure each and every image
More important, I treasure the gift of you
For I know deep within me
To find true love is rare.
©UCHE
Has no language or words,
It just has a thousand and one actions
It makes a weak man brave
And a king step off his throne
Love symbolizes eternity
And wipes away all senses of time and distance,
Removing all memories of a beginning
And all fears of an end
It is sweet, delicate, and dreamy
An eternity of gorgeous moments.
Sitting snugly like a piece of art,
Where even the tiniest stroke of paint
Is simply beautiful.
Love resembles a bright flame
That lightens a dark starry night
Created not to reside in hearts
But to be given away.
As this lonely valentine approaches
My memory is filled with images
Images of our love and affection
Of moments we have shared
And will share.
I treasure each and every image
More important, I treasure the gift of you
For I know deep within me
To find true love is rare.
©UCHE
ILLUSIONS OF DISTANCE
The distance may be a thousand miles
But hold on my baby,
The cuddle is just beyond the horizon.
Night after night I dream of you
Yet, these illusions are insufficient
As the pain of our distance remains
As constant as the setting sun.
Never before have I felt this way
A whole new feeling
Eating sweetly yet deeply
Into my very being
The pressures and tensions mounting
As you stand lovingly in the distance
Waving the ace for my release.
I love you
Wait awhile for me
I will be beside you
Soon and forever,
This I promise.
©UCHE
But hold on my baby,
The cuddle is just beyond the horizon.
Night after night I dream of you
Yet, these illusions are insufficient
As the pain of our distance remains
As constant as the setting sun.
Never before have I felt this way
A whole new feeling
Eating sweetly yet deeply
Into my very being
The pressures and tensions mounting
As you stand lovingly in the distance
Waving the ace for my release.
I love you
Wait awhile for me
I will be beside you
Soon and forever,
This I promise.
©UCHE
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Fire and Ice (This was written after some red wine!! Do not take too seriously please…)
When I met u
I loved u,
U spoke of family
So softly
Just united
Not divided,
U r my love, my passion,
Not just a welfare ration,
U r black-I am white,
I came from Luxemburg,
And I am no iceberg,
I want to grow with u,
I want to fcuk with u,
U r my man,
One of the clan
in my dream
let me dream!
© Katrina M. Joiner. (BSC Nursing, R.N.) Unsuccessful arts degree candidate !!!
I loved u,
U spoke of family
So softly
Just united
Not divided,
U r my love, my passion,
Not just a welfare ration,
U r black-I am white,
I came from Luxemburg,
And I am no iceberg,
I want to grow with u,
I want to fcuk with u,
U r my man,
One of the clan
in my dream
let me dream!
© Katrina M. Joiner. (BSC Nursing, R.N.) Unsuccessful arts degree candidate !!!
So There
u don’t understand the conviction of practicality
u don't understand the conviction of luve
u don't care about walking in front of cars
u don't care about finance in a socially acceptable way
u see travel as something 4 the mobile classes u not included
u want a car an office mobile phone just 2 say u r ok
u won’t draw paint write take photos until u r ready........
©Katrina M. Joiner. (BSC Nursing, R.N.) Unsuccessful arts degree candidate !!!
u don't understand the conviction of luve
u don't care about walking in front of cars
u don't care about finance in a socially acceptable way
u see travel as something 4 the mobile classes u not included
u want a car an office mobile phone just 2 say u r ok
u won’t draw paint write take photos until u r ready........
©Katrina M. Joiner. (BSC Nursing, R.N.) Unsuccessful arts degree candidate !!!
Rave
i remember being in the cab,
it was not drab,
it was ok by me, but the fair was too expensive,
i know about that room
it had no gloom,
the reason for that was the heart attack sign
it is always the mineral that people search 4
the gold the sin and the frankincense
and i know i am write for the first time in my life.
©Katrina M. Joiner. (BSC Nursing, R.N.) Unsuccessful arts degree candidate !!!
it was not drab,
it was ok by me, but the fair was too expensive,
i know about that room
it had no gloom,
the reason for that was the heart attack sign
it is always the mineral that people search 4
the gold the sin and the frankincense
and i know i am write for the first time in my life.
©Katrina M. Joiner. (BSC Nursing, R.N.) Unsuccessful arts degree candidate !!!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
A Place I Called Home
I used to know a place called home
And when summer came it was our Rome
Where by the door Papa would his arms stretch
And the blessings he poured had no stench
But one day the phone rang
Bringing news bigger than the big bang
He heeded a call from far above
Turning down all our hopes and love
And to bit him farewell, we got home
Home was not home
Rome was far and gone
And stolen was the Sun
The Sun that our summers did brighten
Echoed news of how frighten
The nation once was as news came
The dictacrat washed down the drain, fame.
Yet, I knew home was still home
For sweet, sweet mother built a honey comb
From the waves that did dry our tears
’N America the gates flooded with tears & fears
Tears and fears, in arrears we had
Not just in war torn Iraq and Chad;
Today, go not there with this in mind
Go not there hoping for a find
For heart and head of home having stopped
Of joys and hopes we are robbed;
And beyond the still buildings some call home
Nowhere near papal bliss in Rome;
Life is a million light years.
But closer than close to fears and tears
With only tyrants to set the rules
Hoping to work to death the willing mules
In this once upon a time place called home
The boys in green the streets roam
Where parents would not they’re grown
And they in them keep the calm away blown
Where Peace and military are antithetic
For the latter birthed a bomb atomic;
Yet, our soldiers here keep the Peace
By hook or by crook and breaking one apiece.
Away from that coxcomb
Order home like hair with a comb
Letting just wind touch the scalp
But beating like flax the soldier’s slap.
A war mongering lord his rule set
And De Gaulle might have said:
“Get ready for war to attain Peace.”
So, the reverse of courtship for peace.
And away from home, the globe, our village
Has the waves set on rage
Stealing the peace the kid I was knew
But, won’t stop my dream of home anew!
By mom and dad supported
By that ring disappointed
And by the dictatcrat and war mongrel robbed
Anguish and despair for the idyll are bobbed!
Countrymen, willing mules, those laws
Into you forced like tiger claws
Into its prey forced, ’bide not by
Contain pains with no cry!
A cry, tyrants won’t even hear
Or in which they’d only read fear
Displayed by weak and feeble mules cowering
For not the left and right knowing
Then shall tyrants see need for growing
To feed peace loving mules their blessing
And home shall be home sweet as honey comb
Sweet honey comb sweeter than bliss in Rome.
And gone has been that ring
That news of bigger big bang did bring
And farewell we’ll bid tyranny
To have a phoney free story.
Once again, this place will be home
Where children feel the smoothness of chrome
And dreamers will freely dream
And mornings will joy on faces beam
And why won’t home be home once again
When pains mules stood are now a gain?
And once again the sun will for all shine
Leaving none not even the blind.
05-13/07/08
Last 6 stanzas composed 19/09/08
And when summer came it was our Rome
Where by the door Papa would his arms stretch
And the blessings he poured had no stench
But one day the phone rang
Bringing news bigger than the big bang
He heeded a call from far above
Turning down all our hopes and love
And to bit him farewell, we got home
Home was not home
Rome was far and gone
And stolen was the Sun
The Sun that our summers did brighten
Echoed news of how frighten
The nation once was as news came
The dictacrat washed down the drain, fame.
Yet, I knew home was still home
For sweet, sweet mother built a honey comb
From the waves that did dry our tears
’N America the gates flooded with tears & fears
Tears and fears, in arrears we had
Not just in war torn Iraq and Chad;
Today, go not there with this in mind
Go not there hoping for a find
For heart and head of home having stopped
Of joys and hopes we are robbed;
And beyond the still buildings some call home
Nowhere near papal bliss in Rome;
Life is a million light years.
But closer than close to fears and tears
With only tyrants to set the rules
Hoping to work to death the willing mules
In this once upon a time place called home
The boys in green the streets roam
Where parents would not they’re grown
And they in them keep the calm away blown
Where Peace and military are antithetic
For the latter birthed a bomb atomic;
Yet, our soldiers here keep the Peace
By hook or by crook and breaking one apiece.
Away from that coxcomb
Order home like hair with a comb
Letting just wind touch the scalp
But beating like flax the soldier’s slap.
A war mongering lord his rule set
And De Gaulle might have said:
“Get ready for war to attain Peace.”
So, the reverse of courtship for peace.
And away from home, the globe, our village
Has the waves set on rage
Stealing the peace the kid I was knew
But, won’t stop my dream of home anew!
By mom and dad supported
By that ring disappointed
And by the dictatcrat and war mongrel robbed
Anguish and despair for the idyll are bobbed!
Countrymen, willing mules, those laws
Into you forced like tiger claws
Into its prey forced, ’bide not by
Contain pains with no cry!
A cry, tyrants won’t even hear
Or in which they’d only read fear
Displayed by weak and feeble mules cowering
For not the left and right knowing
Then shall tyrants see need for growing
To feed peace loving mules their blessing
And home shall be home sweet as honey comb
Sweet honey comb sweeter than bliss in Rome.
And gone has been that ring
That news of bigger big bang did bring
And farewell we’ll bid tyranny
To have a phoney free story.
Once again, this place will be home
Where children feel the smoothness of chrome
And dreamers will freely dream
And mornings will joy on faces beam
And why won’t home be home once again
When pains mules stood are now a gain?
And once again the sun will for all shine
Leaving none not even the blind.
05-13/07/08
Last 6 stanzas composed 19/09/08
Before You Hang Me
Hate or oppress me
Hang or shoot me
Burn or bury me…!
But before this twist
Let me clench my fist
Let me provide a gist:
Let me sing
To the men and their king
A Song that like bee sting
Awakes them to the load
Carried by us with a moral code
Reduced like some toad
Cast with a spell
Shut in a well
With no story to tell.
Hearing my song
They shall see what’s wrong;
Take the orders then for me to be wrung.
Shooting, hanging, wringing solve not the problem
But attracts a boo for an anthem
Leaving blood, fire and grief as their emblem.
As of stone they have made their hearts
None will ever to them doff their hats
But all will confirm they replicate rats.
Then and only then
smoulder me, not my pen
With flames before I count ten.
Peacefully, I shall die
Heartily, my spirit will fly
Disgracefully, will the king comply.
I shall be death but not gone.
The People shall have, with the king, done
For prising from them their dawn.
Hang or shoot me
Burn or bury me…!
But before this twist
Let me clench my fist
Let me provide a gist:
Let me sing
To the men and their king
A Song that like bee sting
Awakes them to the load
Carried by us with a moral code
Reduced like some toad
Cast with a spell
Shut in a well
With no story to tell.
Hearing my song
They shall see what’s wrong;
Take the orders then for me to be wrung.
Shooting, hanging, wringing solve not the problem
But attracts a boo for an anthem
Leaving blood, fire and grief as their emblem.
As of stone they have made their hearts
None will ever to them doff their hats
But all will confirm they replicate rats.
Then and only then
smoulder me, not my pen
With flames before I count ten.
Peacefully, I shall die
Heartily, my spirit will fly
Disgracefully, will the king comply.
I shall be death but not gone.
The People shall have, with the king, done
For prising from them their dawn.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Haiku
rain across caulfield station /
a young woman touching /
grey mobile to lips
*
two couples /
enter the house opposite /
- the trees shake
*
small boys playing
in the backyard -
the silent passage of clouds
*
revving angels /
god in a van /
venus pearl in midnight's purse
*
my life /
a Morrissey song or few /
- even All the Lazy Dykes
© Glenn Harper
a young woman touching /
grey mobile to lips
*
two couples /
enter the house opposite /
- the trees shake
*
small boys playing
in the backyard -
the silent passage of clouds
*
revving angels /
god in a van /
venus pearl in midnight's purse
*
my life /
a Morrissey song or few /
- even All the Lazy Dykes
© Glenn Harper
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Blood & Fire
My pen wept
And silently waited for the head of this nation
To be swept
And swept away by flood
From the nation,
Its tears and blood,
The blood he has spilled,
The blood my pen did bleed
In stead of the suffering in this nation,
Save the king’s
Who misery brings
To deprive them of their own ration.
Like the eagle soaring high
My pen spat fire
To burn the king
In hopes of the day of reckoning
When power will return to the streets
Where it belongs and not on sheets
Altered at the king’s guise
For his make believe disguise.
Today, lamenting over my people’s plight
News came to me my country tonight
Bathes in blood and is on fire
And by thoughts of extrication from the quagmire
Carried away, I sat up to do justice
To my people who’ve only borne injustice.
So, I have to burn at midnight
Its candle before going to bed tonight
And hoping it brightens the warriors’ path
For laughs, smiles and jubilation as aftermath
Of a struggle for freedom
Which for years eluded the kingdom.
27/02/08.
And silently waited for the head of this nation
To be swept
And swept away by flood
From the nation,
Its tears and blood,
The blood he has spilled,
The blood my pen did bleed
In stead of the suffering in this nation,
Save the king’s
Who misery brings
To deprive them of their own ration.
Like the eagle soaring high
My pen spat fire
To burn the king
In hopes of the day of reckoning
When power will return to the streets
Where it belongs and not on sheets
Altered at the king’s guise
For his make believe disguise.
Today, lamenting over my people’s plight
News came to me my country tonight
Bathes in blood and is on fire
And by thoughts of extrication from the quagmire
Carried away, I sat up to do justice
To my people who’ve only borne injustice.
So, I have to burn at midnight
Its candle before going to bed tonight
And hoping it brightens the warriors’ path
For laughs, smiles and jubilation as aftermath
Of a struggle for freedom
Which for years eluded the kingdom.
27/02/08.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Chop Chair (Thank Choir for Tabenken.)
For Bamenda
We bin tanap far
When Papapol bin chop chair
Yi come for show we chair
Yi come sey yi don bring we shawa
We gree sey na trutrue shawa,
Dat one whey we Papa for up
Don put hand on top.
Spear grass grow for we foot
As we bin di think sey na good thing for stay put
Wait sey make de blessing
Come from dat shawa, we start di sing
Year dem come di pass
And then we see sey yi bin look we na like jackass
Since for we Mbe dem
Papapol yi one bin pass all dem
Dem carry yi go enter Ngumba house
Leave yi for carry all juju for dey go for yi house.
We Mbe dem don loss their voice
Like that ants dem whey bin loss their voice
After dem bin drink strong cough merecine
Today na we dey meng bicos we no get merecine.
07/02/08
We bin tanap far
When Papapol bin chop chair
Yi come for show we chair
Yi come sey yi don bring we shawa
We gree sey na trutrue shawa,
Dat one whey we Papa for up
Don put hand on top.
Spear grass grow for we foot
As we bin di think sey na good thing for stay put
Wait sey make de blessing
Come from dat shawa, we start di sing
Year dem come di pass
And then we see sey yi bin look we na like jackass
Since for we Mbe dem
Papapol yi one bin pass all dem
Dem carry yi go enter Ngumba house
Leave yi for carry all juju for dey go for yi house.
We Mbe dem don loss their voice
Like that ants dem whey bin loss their voice
After dem bin drink strong cough merecine
Today na we dey meng bicos we no get merecine.
07/02/08
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Tears for Peace and Love
Passions, humans do express in ways different
Some positions totally indifferent
Some in the aquarium, the gold fish
Freedom deprive and others in their plates relish!
From within my soul I caged a bird
A bird I caged from birth
Making it my everything
When the world turn around to nothing!
Chased out of the window is the dove!
And the tears from my eyes sing for Peace and Love
And query what is to this world left, if the poet
His voice loses and sings not his part in the duet?
Let the tears roll down the cheeks
Let them roll to fill all the creeks
With the poet’s natural glove
He wears for mankind to find that grove.
Being all poets let’s head for the dove
And bring him home, with our heads up above
Up above the mire of blood they would we drowned
In. Poets do ignominy drag down! Down, down, down!
08-09/06/08
Some positions totally indifferent
Some in the aquarium, the gold fish
Freedom deprive and others in their plates relish!
From within my soul I caged a bird
A bird I caged from birth
Making it my everything
When the world turn around to nothing!
Chased out of the window is the dove!
And the tears from my eyes sing for Peace and Love
And query what is to this world left, if the poet
His voice loses and sings not his part in the duet?
Let the tears roll down the cheeks
Let them roll to fill all the creeks
With the poet’s natural glove
He wears for mankind to find that grove.
Being all poets let’s head for the dove
And bring him home, with our heads up above
Up above the mire of blood they would we drowned
In. Poets do ignominy drag down! Down, down, down!
08-09/06/08
Monday, June 9, 2008
Poet’s Heart’s Desire
Craving and praying for Peace
He does believe in Peace
Not just individual Peace
But world Peace
And wonders how it can be found
Needing no trumpet to sound
Needing no bark from a hound
To leap on board and homeward bound
Finding Peace streaming from conscience
Needing no science
Calling for lots of Patience
But the interment of nescience.
Gently guiding towards her
He shows she is not far
And that like a star
Far from anything scar
She does shine
With rays so fine
Like the sun’s twilight’s decline
The Heart’s desire’s holy shrine.
He does believe in Peace
Not just individual Peace
But world Peace
And wonders how it can be found
Needing no trumpet to sound
Needing no bark from a hound
To leap on board and homeward bound
Finding Peace streaming from conscience
Needing no science
Calling for lots of Patience
But the interment of nescience.
Gently guiding towards her
He shows she is not far
And that like a star
Far from anything scar
She does shine
With rays so fine
Like the sun’s twilight’s decline
The Heart’s desire’s holy shrine.
Monday, May 19, 2008
No Talk
Her father said nothing
No speaking at the table,
was the order of the day
At the table only eating.
Faces formed by the food
on the plate smiled and stared
at her as she ate.
She made roads and rivers
and patted it down,
a faced smiled up at her
and she laughed like a clown.
A clip round the ear from mother,
who sat near.
Father looked up on his face
a scowl.
The other kids smiled
This will put her in her place.
Father pointed to the hallway
But nothing was said.
She soon got the message
and quickly fled.
Back to the table, five minutes had passed
she burped very loudly ,
and all the kids laughed,
out to the hall way they all marched
in line.
Giggling and choking ,
they all did the time.
They knew he wasn't angry
his face held a smile.
His eyes shone very brightly.
But only for a while.
I wonder what our table talk
would have been..
Maybe it would have flown ,
like a beautiful stream.
© Naomi
No speaking at the table,
was the order of the day
At the table only eating.
Faces formed by the food
on the plate smiled and stared
at her as she ate.
She made roads and rivers
and patted it down,
a faced smiled up at her
and she laughed like a clown.
A clip round the ear from mother,
who sat near.
Father looked up on his face
a scowl.
The other kids smiled
This will put her in her place.
Father pointed to the hallway
But nothing was said.
She soon got the message
and quickly fled.
Back to the table, five minutes had passed
she burped very loudly ,
and all the kids laughed,
out to the hall way they all marched
in line.
Giggling and choking ,
they all did the time.
They knew he wasn't angry
his face held a smile.
His eyes shone very brightly.
But only for a while.
I wonder what our table talk
would have been..
Maybe it would have flown ,
like a beautiful stream.
© Naomi
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The Poet and the Human World
The poet may of the tragic stock be
Never will he of the greedy stock be
He may out of choice a god worship
Never will he cheer the deeds of a warship
Songs calling the downfall of a tyrant he does tune
But dirges to bury the tyrannised his entrails at noon
Spew
For all, not a few!
The flaw of trusting his foible is
The breach of trust from his love, his tragedy is.
A poet is a poet
Human and poet
And a child though
He of mud makes dough,
In pain has one love
In joy has one love
In writing shares either pain or joy
Or both; for men with these toy
Espousing the things of this world
Far removed from his world.
Never will he of the greedy stock be
He may out of choice a god worship
Never will he cheer the deeds of a warship
Songs calling the downfall of a tyrant he does tune
But dirges to bury the tyrannised his entrails at noon
Spew
For all, not a few!
The flaw of trusting his foible is
The breach of trust from his love, his tragedy is.
A poet is a poet
Human and poet
And a child though
He of mud makes dough,
In pain has one love
In joy has one love
In writing shares either pain or joy
Or both; for men with these toy
Espousing the things of this world
Far removed from his world.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
TO MUSIC
Music has sung my life
From the wild dances
With my laughing sister
To the many melodies
I dream over with my wife.
With gentle or violent hands
They have lifted us both
To leave us dreaming
Caught in the wraiths
Of distant unknown lands.
And there our love has wandered
From string to pipe and drum,
From Vivaldi's vigour and force
To the magnificent rigour of Beethoven
Where the great melodies come.
And so great and noble Art,
You have kept our love alive,
Captured in your deep heart's soul
Climbing the heights and plumbing the depths
Always together, never to part.
©Peter H.W.Brooker.
From the wild dances
With my laughing sister
To the many melodies
I dream over with my wife.
With gentle or violent hands
They have lifted us both
To leave us dreaming
Caught in the wraiths
Of distant unknown lands.
And there our love has wandered
From string to pipe and drum,
From Vivaldi's vigour and force
To the magnificent rigour of Beethoven
Where the great melodies come.
And so great and noble Art,
You have kept our love alive,
Captured in your deep heart's soul
Climbing the heights and plumbing the depths
Always together, never to part.
©Peter H.W.Brooker.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Plume in a Jar
Early in the morning, driving past
Thinking not I’d see a die cast
With full blown sun on the horizon
Driving thoughts of layers of ozone
I three balloons saw in the air
And a winged flock towards them their way did stir
Divinely soaring
And imperially laughing
And I did gasp: gee!
Who? Me? Let’s see!
Would someone of the holy, holy
Trinity
Tell them
Or tell them
Of the arms checking
And balancing
Each of the three trumps in our deck
Hanging on each others neck!
Freely, the balloons, in the air floated
And freely in the air, at pariahs the birds gloated
Catching a view of them at dead ends scavenging
For earthly salvation scavenging
While a king atop a throne
With a load from afar happily groomed and grown;
Dropping one of their feathers in a jar,
The birds ordered a song for the bar
Behind which king and groomer
Will stand to share the shroud of Mr Deceiver
The which the poet in me hurriedly picked
Before he could on the butt be kicked.
Thinking not I’d see a die cast
With full blown sun on the horizon
Driving thoughts of layers of ozone
I three balloons saw in the air
And a winged flock towards them their way did stir
Divinely soaring
And imperially laughing
And I did gasp: gee!
Who? Me? Let’s see!
Would someone of the holy, holy
Trinity
Tell them
Or tell them
Of the arms checking
And balancing
Each of the three trumps in our deck
Hanging on each others neck!
Freely, the balloons, in the air floated
And freely in the air, at pariahs the birds gloated
Catching a view of them at dead ends scavenging
For earthly salvation scavenging
While a king atop a throne
With a load from afar happily groomed and grown;
Dropping one of their feathers in a jar,
The birds ordered a song for the bar
Behind which king and groomer
Will stand to share the shroud of Mr Deceiver
The which the poet in me hurriedly picked
Before he could on the butt be kicked.
INTERVENTION A sonnet
How patiently my chessmen wait
In serried ranks upon their board!
''Front rank steady! Rear rank steady!''
And steadfast there they all will stand
Until at last some human hand
Intervenes,launching some heady
Attack so they can show their hoard
of subtle moves through check to mate.
And so it was with rock and air and troubled sea
Waiting and wasting through what seemed eternity
Heading always towards a duller entropy.
No divine hand was then,no Plan to win or fail,
Until at last life came,that little life so frail
That from their waste made elephant and whale.
© Peter H.W.Brooker. 2006
In serried ranks upon their board!
''Front rank steady! Rear rank steady!''
And steadfast there they all will stand
Until at last some human hand
Intervenes,launching some heady
Attack so they can show their hoard
of subtle moves through check to mate.
And so it was with rock and air and troubled sea
Waiting and wasting through what seemed eternity
Heading always towards a duller entropy.
No divine hand was then,no Plan to win or fail,
Until at last life came,that little life so frail
That from their waste made elephant and whale.
© Peter H.W.Brooker. 2006
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Wrath to the world.
Shivering out in the storm, up in the sky
a cover of dark angry clouds my attention caught,
with their beauty touching me, as they moved across,
the sun’s face, bringing darkness and chill.
As if spewed from the mouth of a hateful ogre, aiming
his wrath at the world, a wind so fierce and unfeeling
to all in its path, moved closer, thus pounding like angry waves
as they crashed on the rocks of a distant shore
Chilling my soul with its hateful claw.
My jacket I zipped up to my chin
to warm my body within .
Palms bend as if bowing to a master, thin fronds like
unprotected maidens hair was blown about.
Jacaranda pods, shattered limbs, crushed leaves,
blooms that yesterday were admired by many.
My thoughts move to other times & to people in far off lands,
Shattered limbs, ruined lives, bodies here and there, left
by cruel soldiers, and masters that did not care,
These were the blooms many admired yesterday.
© Joy Naomi Brooker 2008
a cover of dark angry clouds my attention caught,
with their beauty touching me, as they moved across,
the sun’s face, bringing darkness and chill.
As if spewed from the mouth of a hateful ogre, aiming
his wrath at the world, a wind so fierce and unfeeling
to all in its path, moved closer, thus pounding like angry waves
as they crashed on the rocks of a distant shore
Chilling my soul with its hateful claw.
My jacket I zipped up to my chin
to warm my body within .
Palms bend as if bowing to a master, thin fronds like
unprotected maidens hair was blown about.
Jacaranda pods, shattered limbs, crushed leaves,
blooms that yesterday were admired by many.
My thoughts move to other times & to people in far off lands,
Shattered limbs, ruined lives, bodies here and there, left
by cruel soldiers, and masters that did not care,
These were the blooms many admired yesterday.
© Joy Naomi Brooker 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
In Response to Trevor : Disposable World
Grumpy old man stage
I young'ns more harshly judge
than I would have wanted
at that age.
But the values
of insidious older manipulators
blithely wrecking cultures
laying waste the world
do really frighten me.
Someone needs to tell them
- no, they know -
the planet is a not-for-profit concern
non-returnable, no exchange.
© Phil Mahnken 21 March 2008
I young'ns more harshly judge
than I would have wanted
at that age.
But the values
of insidious older manipulators
blithely wrecking cultures
laying waste the world
do really frighten me.
Someone needs to tell them
- no, they know -
the planet is a not-for-profit concern
non-returnable, no exchange.
© Phil Mahnken 21 March 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Alas, no more!
Like a picture, the pink sunset reflections looked
in the waters of the stream
That painfully its way crawled under trees
Through tufts of grass
Under willows, through the water dragging their limbs
like the hands of a smiling maiden
at seeing her lover row to their destination.
Alas no more glow of this beautiful scene
as the water trickled into the mud
to stop its flow.
The sweet breeze kissed goodbye, the last
of the stream,
The gentle ripples wavered,
Then were no more.
© Joy Naomi Brooker
in the waters of the stream
That painfully its way crawled under trees
Through tufts of grass
Under willows, through the water dragging their limbs
like the hands of a smiling maiden
at seeing her lover row to their destination.
Alas no more glow of this beautiful scene
as the water trickled into the mud
to stop its flow.
The sweet breeze kissed goodbye, the last
of the stream,
The gentle ripples wavered,
Then were no more.
© Joy Naomi Brooker
Monday, March 17, 2008
The Dance of Uncertainty
What was that sound, should we take care,
Heads swiftly turning, eyes darting to and fro,
as if seeking out the enemy;
Feet stomping, rising and falling?
Bodies moving from side to side,
with movements seeming to embrace uncertainty.
Shoulders twitching, hands moving jerkily,
in an unusual, but acceptable movement of the dance.
The dancers mimic an animal as they move slowly
forward with the call of the music.
Massive clouds sit importantly ,
in the vast never ending sky,
like thoughts in the mind of a great leader.
The dancers stretch upwards taking in the beauty
of the clouds and their company.
Feel the vibrations of the Didgeridoo calling the music
to its self, listen to the music, reaching deeply into your soul
feel the earth, feel the colour, the water ,the wind ,
The Excitement Of The Dance Of Uncertainty.
© Joy Naomi Brooker 2008
Heads swiftly turning, eyes darting to and fro,
as if seeking out the enemy;
Feet stomping, rising and falling?
Bodies moving from side to side,
with movements seeming to embrace uncertainty.
Shoulders twitching, hands moving jerkily,
in an unusual, but acceptable movement of the dance.
The dancers mimic an animal as they move slowly
forward with the call of the music.
Massive clouds sit importantly ,
in the vast never ending sky,
like thoughts in the mind of a great leader.
The dancers stretch upwards taking in the beauty
of the clouds and their company.
Feel the vibrations of the Didgeridoo calling the music
to its self, listen to the music, reaching deeply into your soul
feel the earth, feel the colour, the water ,the wind ,
The Excitement Of The Dance Of Uncertainty.
© Joy Naomi Brooker 2008
Corners of my mind
Black thoughts in my mind
© Joy Naomi Brooker 2007
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
An Ode to Plastic
Bales of hay are a case in point
It was wire in grandad's day
piles of it in his fill-in dump
Then binder twine for decades
And now this raffia junk
Plastic toothbrushes, plastic chairs
I take my coffee in plastic cups
Scoop my yoghurt with plastic spoons
Plastic hose fittings, plastic rakes
Plastic cord to cut weeds and grass
Plastic nappies on baby's arse
My dad played with mechano sets
My kids pile up plastic leggo
The family fights over the plastic remote
for the plastic telly with its plastic people
Plastic radios and earphones on our heads
Plastic devices, plastic partners
to come with us to our beds
Or if flesh and blood,
probably plastically enhanced
The bread comes in plastic, string bags are gone
Gladwrapped lunches, shrink wrapped chops
Tupperware tubs and laminex benchtops
Sponges on a squeegie, no more mops
No more fine old fountain pens
Now it's plastic biros
Vinyl records, vinyl shirts
© Phillip Mahnken 2000
It was wire in grandad's day
piles of it in his fill-in dump
Then binder twine for decades
And now this raffia junk
Plastic toothbrushes, plastic chairs
I take my coffee in plastic cups
Scoop my yoghurt with plastic spoons
Plastic hose fittings, plastic rakes
Plastic cord to cut weeds and grass
Plastic nappies on baby's arse
My dad played with mechano sets
My kids pile up plastic leggo
The family fights over the plastic remote
for the plastic telly with its plastic people
Plastic radios and earphones on our heads
Plastic devices, plastic partners
to come with us to our beds
Or if flesh and blood,
probably plastically enhanced
The bread comes in plastic, string bags are gone
Gladwrapped lunches, shrink wrapped chops
Tupperware tubs and laminex benchtops
Sponges on a squeegie, no more mops
No more fine old fountain pens
Now it's plastic biros
Vinyl records, vinyl shirts
Plastic gumboots, plastic raincoats
And plastic money of course
Will they put our ashes in a plastic urn
or will our weeping kin
put us out one Wednesday night
in a plastic wheelie bin?
© Phillip Mahnken 2000
Friday, March 7, 2008
Of Stagnation and Progress
The essence of any true poet is not in the flesh
Though in his flesh are rhythm and rhyme fresh
Take him for a game, hunt him,
Shoot, skin and roast him
His star will shoot
To guide all those on foot
Projecting
The everlasting
Poets’ substance, the light
Poets would for all shine bright
Even in their bleak and somber moments
They delight at feast seeing all with refreshments
The knave of this happy end
Darkness would the poet bend
And would people see not where they step their foot
For the substance in darkness is all about food
The poet and his light on its way
Kills and stows its happiness far away
In the melody rhyming
And with rhythm overpowering.
Of progress born is the light
And of stagnation ignited is the fight
With darkness wishing the poet’s death
And the poet in its depth
Exposing the upheavals on the path
To progress and calling unto himself the wrath
Of angry darkness desiring the poet dead on the spot
For the world to see how he’s got his lesson hot;
Not knowing the poet fears not the burn of fire
Nor the stab of a dagger and much less shocks from electric wire
With all of this the poet is still and still wears his smile
And even knowing he is to live only a short, short while.
Still in adversity facing him
And singing when facing those looking up to him
In the fight
To get rid of the blight
Tying people on the spot
When they need to trot.
07/03/08
Though in his flesh are rhythm and rhyme fresh
Take him for a game, hunt him,
Shoot, skin and roast him
His star will shoot
To guide all those on foot
Projecting
The everlasting
Poets’ substance, the light
Poets would for all shine bright
Even in their bleak and somber moments
They delight at feast seeing all with refreshments
The knave of this happy end
Darkness would the poet bend
And would people see not where they step their foot
For the substance in darkness is all about food
The poet and his light on its way
Kills and stows its happiness far away
In the melody rhyming
And with rhythm overpowering.
Of progress born is the light
And of stagnation ignited is the fight
With darkness wishing the poet’s death
And the poet in its depth
Exposing the upheavals on the path
To progress and calling unto himself the wrath
Of angry darkness desiring the poet dead on the spot
For the world to see how he’s got his lesson hot;
Not knowing the poet fears not the burn of fire
Nor the stab of a dagger and much less shocks from electric wire
With all of this the poet is still and still wears his smile
And even knowing he is to live only a short, short while.
Still in adversity facing him
And singing when facing those looking up to him
In the fight
To get rid of the blight
Tying people on the spot
When they need to trot.
07/03/08
My Precious...
She sets my heart a-tripping
She takes away my breath
I think that I shall die for her
My precious … cigarette.
By Phillip Mahnken,
April 2007
She takes away my breath
I think that I shall die for her
My precious … cigarette.
By Phillip Mahnken,
April 2007
Gloating Time for the True Believers
Coalition defeated
Howard unseated
Newman the best they can do.
If I were a Lib
I'd put on a bib
And have an elitist spew.
By Phillip Mahnken,
November 2007
Howard unseated
Newman the best they can do.
If I were a Lib
I'd put on a bib
And have an elitist spew.
By Phillip Mahnken,
November 2007
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Our Case
Kill our earthly stars.
What will you do to the heavenly ones?
To protect yourself, grease the soldiers’ beard.
What shall you do when at your door death knocks?
Bring us the Opposition in a coffin.
But will you let us freely mourn?
You kill our poets.
Do you believe we will bury their writings?
Bury yourself amidst a zillion soldiers.
Haven’t you learned from Chinese History?
Like you, in China one did this.
Did he not rot underground?
You sum your world with Law and Order.
Why let lawlessness and disorderliness reign?
You are god to those who buy your favours.
Who or what are you to those you strip of basic rights?
Every night, you go to sleep on a king size bed.
Why not make your heart the size of your bed?
You ruin the nation to live in a mansion.
What space in it or our minds do you occupy?
You’ve dominated the nation tyrannically.
Shall you ever be the tyrant that kills death?
We thought to rule was to serve.
Why must a tyrant like you be served?
Now, to yourself, you’ve gathered the nation’s wealth?
Won’t you live us the right to determine the future of our misery?
You push your tyranny, your greed and grip on power to the last.
Won’t you still be proven wrong from beginning and end?
You may never stand in front of any court to plead guilty.
But which other criminal supersedes you?
You may never see this as a case.
But, here, are we not free to rest our case?
01/03/08
What will you do to the heavenly ones?
To protect yourself, grease the soldiers’ beard.
What shall you do when at your door death knocks?
Bring us the Opposition in a coffin.
But will you let us freely mourn?
You kill our poets.
Do you believe we will bury their writings?
Bury yourself amidst a zillion soldiers.
Haven’t you learned from Chinese History?
Like you, in China one did this.
Did he not rot underground?
You sum your world with Law and Order.
Why let lawlessness and disorderliness reign?
You are god to those who buy your favours.
Who or what are you to those you strip of basic rights?
Every night, you go to sleep on a king size bed.
Why not make your heart the size of your bed?
You ruin the nation to live in a mansion.
What space in it or our minds do you occupy?
You’ve dominated the nation tyrannically.
Shall you ever be the tyrant that kills death?
We thought to rule was to serve.
Why must a tyrant like you be served?
Now, to yourself, you’ve gathered the nation’s wealth?
Won’t you live us the right to determine the future of our misery?
You push your tyranny, your greed and grip on power to the last.
Won’t you still be proven wrong from beginning and end?
You may never stand in front of any court to plead guilty.
But which other criminal supersedes you?
You may never see this as a case.
But, here, are we not free to rest our case?
01/03/08
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Past, Present and Future
In the distant past those children
Rose to see the Sun shine then
They were far, far away
In the tropics, far away
Where in abundance the Sun would shine
Wherein brought the book, a herd of swine
Weighting a contention
The like of the greatest temptation
And ignoring the sun burn
Whose abundance bodies tan turn
Yet, upholding the whole place dark
And would rush their darkness to this lustrous park!
Dark and dark it wasn’t brethren!
Bright at night it was then
When the Sun gave way to the moon
The alternating sun and moon waited not for noon
And our paths did brighten
And our minds did enlighten
Spot on nature we were whole
Solid society without a loophole
And in their book, they packed their light
And by the time it got to us they’d darken it as night
And what we’d know for many a generation
Was no more than degeneration.
Kings and king makers alike
Fully furnished with spike
Ready for our pens
And would like fowls we keep to our pens
Upset by the state of things
All fancy the downfall of these kings
For the like of a kingdom by the Sun and moon lit
And not like the present with greedy elite
Dragging this beauty that once was
Into a state far, far worse
Not until then, drums shall resound
To feed elites’ ears with hurt and pain that abound
Till on their feet they quake
And quest why their devil did them forsake.
Brightness we need here on earth, here and now
With no doubt as to when, where and how?
Not only universal but free are these rights
And should come without tithes;
No, not tithes, bribes
In line with kings vibes.
24-25/02/08
Rose to see the Sun shine then
They were far, far away
In the tropics, far away
Where in abundance the Sun would shine
Wherein brought the book, a herd of swine
Weighting a contention
The like of the greatest temptation
And ignoring the sun burn
Whose abundance bodies tan turn
Yet, upholding the whole place dark
And would rush their darkness to this lustrous park!
Dark and dark it wasn’t brethren!
Bright at night it was then
When the Sun gave way to the moon
The alternating sun and moon waited not for noon
And our paths did brighten
And our minds did enlighten
Spot on nature we were whole
Solid society without a loophole
And in their book, they packed their light
And by the time it got to us they’d darken it as night
And what we’d know for many a generation
Was no more than degeneration.
Kings and king makers alike
Fully furnished with spike
Ready for our pens
And would like fowls we keep to our pens
Upset by the state of things
All fancy the downfall of these kings
For the like of a kingdom by the Sun and moon lit
And not like the present with greedy elite
Dragging this beauty that once was
Into a state far, far worse
Not until then, drums shall resound
To feed elites’ ears with hurt and pain that abound
Till on their feet they quake
And quest why their devil did them forsake.
Brightness we need here on earth, here and now
With no doubt as to when, where and how?
Not only universal but free are these rights
And should come without tithes;
No, not tithes, bribes
In line with kings vibes.
24-25/02/08
The lion and the lamb
Sheep have every reason to bleat
Spotting wolves around their domain beat
Their feet at the foot of their fence
And how they wish a lion came to their defence!
But the problem seen for the sheep
Is that their forte would never be sleep
In the jungle
With the coarse jingle
From lions’ roar echoing some remote past
Yet, it rives in our world and fast
With lions thinking their manes
The sun of the jungle and the plains
Having finished the rams and the ewes
They blow away their fuse
Now, with just one little lamb
In the whole plain left, the lions with drool flood the dam
Loosing sight of the journey no tongue
Would tell and oblivious of the orphan’s recital of a song
For this to come transport him to the land of glory;
His dream place to join ancestors in the rank of history
And happy too for the lion would tell of the last lamb
And the lion without prey would raise an alarm
And this won’t be heard in the jungle
Not even when it be the loudest jingle.
25/02/08
Spotting wolves around their domain beat
Their feet at the foot of their fence
And how they wish a lion came to their defence!
But the problem seen for the sheep
Is that their forte would never be sleep
In the jungle
With the coarse jingle
From lions’ roar echoing some remote past
Yet, it rives in our world and fast
With lions thinking their manes
The sun of the jungle and the plains
Having finished the rams and the ewes
They blow away their fuse
Now, with just one little lamb
In the whole plain left, the lions with drool flood the dam
Loosing sight of the journey no tongue
Would tell and oblivious of the orphan’s recital of a song
For this to come transport him to the land of glory;
His dream place to join ancestors in the rank of history
And happy too for the lion would tell of the last lamb
And the lion without prey would raise an alarm
And this won’t be heard in the jungle
Not even when it be the loudest jingle.
25/02/08
Mare Providers
Fascination and awe grace repugnance for a lion
Be him in or out of his dominion
His characteristic strength to kill,
And he dexterously does with a thrill
Sending home a chill down the spine of the sleeper
Frozen by thoughts of terror provider proper
Found in lion kings like Suharto,
Polpot, Paul Biya, Momo, Nguesso, Bongo, Sese-seko…
The one and only thing none will stand to look,
A thing to make a nation puke
For the king is a lion in rage
Wanting in and mimicking lions’ courage
Desolately in the marshes
Where he for the preys searches.
26/02/08
Be him in or out of his dominion
His characteristic strength to kill,
And he dexterously does with a thrill
Sending home a chill down the spine of the sleeper
Frozen by thoughts of terror provider proper
Found in lion kings like Suharto,
Polpot, Paul Biya, Momo, Nguesso, Bongo, Sese-seko…
The one and only thing none will stand to look,
A thing to make a nation puke
For the king is a lion in rage
Wanting in and mimicking lions’ courage
Desolately in the marshes
Where he for the preys searches.
26/02/08
Scavengers
You, you, you, and you see them as filthy filth
No doubt they live off the filth
But these scavengers need be treated with love
Not because they’re stronger than the dove.
You, you, you, and you may not see the reason
Yet, in this nation lions hang on trees for “treason”.
And Vultures flap their wings and send through the air
Fragrances and freshness all would wear and bear;
And when from their thrones lions with joy
Accomplish their favorite ploy
Albeit sick and unfit to rule
In the game they fix the rule;
Slitting the throat of a prey
And it is then that vultures prey
Cleaning the gory scenes of our pavement,
Driving the quest for anything more useful to environment;
Some big fat cat do too no doubt
With Blake’s, my family totem, making me proud
But not in seeing them strife on the living,
Not even when for them this rhymes with surviving.
No doubt they live off the filth
But these scavengers need be treated with love
Not because they’re stronger than the dove.
You, you, you, and you may not see the reason
Yet, in this nation lions hang on trees for “treason”.
And Vultures flap their wings and send through the air
Fragrances and freshness all would wear and bear;
And when from their thrones lions with joy
Accomplish their favorite ploy
Albeit sick and unfit to rule
In the game they fix the rule;
Slitting the throat of a prey
And it is then that vultures prey
Cleaning the gory scenes of our pavement,
Driving the quest for anything more useful to environment;
Some big fat cat do too no doubt
With Blake’s, my family totem, making me proud
But not in seeing them strife on the living,
Not even when for them this rhymes with surviving.
Change
Poets love, adore and cherish change
The junky in the streets would he had some change
So is it for the punk
As well as with the drunk
These poor souls would never see its sunrise
And the poet calling for one pays the price
For any such call
Standing him above the head tall;
Yet, change the throne would die for
Change the holy ground would it had four
If poets and people in the streets
See it far from anything coins and sheets
The throne and the mitre would embrace it in their pocket
To wield might and shoot like a rocket.
Toeing political lines one dreamer dreamt of this
And in the streets, all identified as his
For with him, might would visit them thus
And help sweep away obsolescence and its boss
When from the enterprise hurtled in a chide
And with him people were dubbed mad Xerox bona fide.
Given the folks do the desire nurse and see the difference
No care should be ministered the word game reference
And would the first estate put reason to motion
And stop hugging status quo to brandish and wield emotion
And with our hearts the People would relish the drink of change
Were it to come from the streets, the valleys or the mountain range
Real change the dream
And all would it flows like a stream
Or drop down like some fruits
Off trees with melodious sounds streaming from conduits
Driving fruit flies insane
To leave the place free of pain.
23/02/08
The junky in the streets would he had some change
So is it for the punk
As well as with the drunk
These poor souls would never see its sunrise
And the poet calling for one pays the price
For any such call
Standing him above the head tall;
Yet, change the throne would die for
Change the holy ground would it had four
If poets and people in the streets
See it far from anything coins and sheets
The throne and the mitre would embrace it in their pocket
To wield might and shoot like a rocket.
Toeing political lines one dreamer dreamt of this
And in the streets, all identified as his
For with him, might would visit them thus
And help sweep away obsolescence and its boss
When from the enterprise hurtled in a chide
And with him people were dubbed mad Xerox bona fide.
Given the folks do the desire nurse and see the difference
No care should be ministered the word game reference
And would the first estate put reason to motion
And stop hugging status quo to brandish and wield emotion
And with our hearts the People would relish the drink of change
Were it to come from the streets, the valleys or the mountain range
Real change the dream
And all would it flows like a stream
Or drop down like some fruits
Off trees with melodious sounds streaming from conduits
Driving fruit flies insane
To leave the place free of pain.
23/02/08
Jungle Lions
With leaden mane they laze
In their craze
In the Sahara and its South. In numbers here and there
Heading prides, the unselected few in the fields where
The cob lions adore using as their playground,
And looking up to the elders to turn things around
Heads of prides pride themselves kings of the jungle
And all would a melody from their roar jingle
But they wish all waited a while
As they for all, would time kill and whirl.
By them, they are the strongmen of their territory
And for many cobs they are the object of genuine pity
For they define their territory by such delusional names
Reflecting one of their favorite games:
Libreville or Freetown translating Prisonville or Prisontown
For there they keep all subjects down
And subjects with their known tragic flaw
Obeying and abiding by the law
And forgetting where the law is lawless
Its heads and its forces enjoy obeisance less
To their pleasure or displeasure
And the People should take the measure
To assure the jingo does not cloud their minds
For it only serves as blinds
Screening the sun from providing vitamins
And stealing taste from the desired sacraments.
The lions lazing behind the pennon blast
Their music and would on to power cling to the last
And by such prefixes affix their names
As they with zeal burn like flames
Burning and burning the joys of all
Until the nations’ complete fall
As they their ground stand
And subjects would they could understand
The unreason driving the head lions mad
Declaring their Excellencies; sad, indeed sad!
22/02/08
In their craze
In the Sahara and its South. In numbers here and there
Heading prides, the unselected few in the fields where
The cob lions adore using as their playground,
And looking up to the elders to turn things around
Heads of prides pride themselves kings of the jungle
And all would a melody from their roar jingle
But they wish all waited a while
As they for all, would time kill and whirl.
By them, they are the strongmen of their territory
And for many cobs they are the object of genuine pity
For they define their territory by such delusional names
Reflecting one of their favorite games:
Libreville or Freetown translating Prisonville or Prisontown
For there they keep all subjects down
And subjects with their known tragic flaw
Obeying and abiding by the law
And forgetting where the law is lawless
Its heads and its forces enjoy obeisance less
To their pleasure or displeasure
And the People should take the measure
To assure the jingo does not cloud their minds
For it only serves as blinds
Screening the sun from providing vitamins
And stealing taste from the desired sacraments.
The lions lazing behind the pennon blast
Their music and would on to power cling to the last
And by such prefixes affix their names
As they with zeal burn like flames
Burning and burning the joys of all
Until the nations’ complete fall
As they their ground stand
And subjects would they could understand
The unreason driving the head lions mad
Declaring their Excellencies; sad, indeed sad!
22/02/08
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Close to the Heart
Do the right thing and always be polite
Mum sang and stuck right and polite to my heart tight
In my cradle. I grew up to our fathers’ cradle see
And the heads would these words live across the sea.
O, sweet cradle, a quarter century in your sight
For that quarter century I watched the fight
In which two divine rights knaves would slay
Peace and freedom warriors just to stay.
Another near quarter century out of your sight
My ears drank full tales of the fight
And you, in mind and sight, I did bear all the time
And you even paid me visits by day and at bedtime;
And like the tales told to us by parents at night;
Tales of giants, Cyclopes, amputees & monsters of dreadful height,
The tales you bring of the knaves tell of gore
Sealing mouths of words short, filling the heart with sore.
The stab mirrors the plight
’N invite to make it light
Yet, all attempts lasted a while
And the effort and time were worthwhile.
All this while the knaves proclaimed their might
Building for all, four sturdy walls of fright
Within which the masses heaped in a pile
Squirm and scream to rend them senile.
The knaves in their dream made a giant stride
Until they caught the masses having a joy ride
Stalling all their cheap quest for fame,
Drumming them the music of shame
And now we no longer sit and bide
Waiting for the messiah to alight
But have to dance to every tune but blues
And not eschew but savour all with no spews
This has to be done from morning till night
And has to be done till the wrong is right
Flat must be made all the hills that on our way
Stood, and the muddle of the gore swept away.
The world might have viewed our cause as a trite
Yet, the undoing at the end, our source of pride
And we now borne a smile
That we carry in grand style.
Enlightened, the nation joined without fright
And aboard a ship we did freight
The blood spilling knaves and lackeys to other lands
Rekindling joys in the nation’s heart and stilling the old bands.
12/02/08
Mum sang and stuck right and polite to my heart tight
In my cradle. I grew up to our fathers’ cradle see
And the heads would these words live across the sea.
O, sweet cradle, a quarter century in your sight
For that quarter century I watched the fight
In which two divine rights knaves would slay
Peace and freedom warriors just to stay.
Another near quarter century out of your sight
My ears drank full tales of the fight
And you, in mind and sight, I did bear all the time
And you even paid me visits by day and at bedtime;
And like the tales told to us by parents at night;
Tales of giants, Cyclopes, amputees & monsters of dreadful height,
The tales you bring of the knaves tell of gore
Sealing mouths of words short, filling the heart with sore.
The stab mirrors the plight
’N invite to make it light
Yet, all attempts lasted a while
And the effort and time were worthwhile.
All this while the knaves proclaimed their might
Building for all, four sturdy walls of fright
Within which the masses heaped in a pile
Squirm and scream to rend them senile.
The knaves in their dream made a giant stride
Until they caught the masses having a joy ride
Stalling all their cheap quest for fame,
Drumming them the music of shame
And now we no longer sit and bide
Waiting for the messiah to alight
But have to dance to every tune but blues
And not eschew but savour all with no spews
This has to be done from morning till night
And has to be done till the wrong is right
Flat must be made all the hills that on our way
Stood, and the muddle of the gore swept away.
The world might have viewed our cause as a trite
Yet, the undoing at the end, our source of pride
And we now borne a smile
That we carry in grand style.
Enlightened, the nation joined without fright
And aboard a ship we did freight
The blood spilling knaves and lackeys to other lands
Rekindling joys in the nation’s heart and stilling the old bands.
12/02/08
Friday, February 8, 2008
African Politics
When yesteryears there was rain,
And it rained hard out raining the drain,
Turning our villages into a disaster zone
Our fathers of nations in the rains found a bone
A bone of contention
To kill anything Opposition….
This year when it rained and blessed the crop
Our fathers of nations wrought by nature so corrupt
Turned this into a miraculous work of theirs
Against the resistance with their flood generating fears!
Again, today the sun shone
And the opposition was not shown
With that accusing finger
And guess what? It made the villagers’ day better!
And who else could have brought such a smile
That across the nation stretches for many a mile?
Our fathers of the nations
Not the dreadful oppositions…!
This is our clean politics
And if you doubt,
With a pout
We embrace praises, not critics’ !
And it rained hard out raining the drain,
Turning our villages into a disaster zone
Our fathers of nations in the rains found a bone
A bone of contention
To kill anything Opposition….
This year when it rained and blessed the crop
Our fathers of nations wrought by nature so corrupt
Turned this into a miraculous work of theirs
Against the resistance with their flood generating fears!
Again, today the sun shone
And the opposition was not shown
With that accusing finger
And guess what? It made the villagers’ day better!
And who else could have brought such a smile
That across the nation stretches for many a mile?
Our fathers of the nations
Not the dreadful oppositions…!
This is our clean politics
And if you doubt,
With a pout
We embrace praises, not critics’ !
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