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
Monday, March 24, 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’ !
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Letter to our deaf father of the nation: “Mr. Dict….”
Let the olive leaves rain!
Let everyone take
His own eyes and feast on you snake
Brook and make
Way for the rain,
Change
Master of mischief and ingratitude!
O, Mr. D…!
You think your life thorny,
For we dare think,
Speak,
Write and act… songs
To right your wrongs!
O, Mr. D… every hour
With adoration we greet your
Gallows popping up in the manner
Of mushrooms
At every street corner
With zeal hungering for us like grooms
Their brides,
And we ask for no doom
But our rights,
Our birth rights!
And quest if you’re a mushroom
Eating champion
To scheme such reprobation
As never did any power trickster
Even to his own hamster!
You erect in our country
Such gallows as the tallest tree
Would never match
And on which our rights are bashed
Diurnal and nocturnal!
We having just one never to end a journal!
Seeing you harpoon all those rights,
Those of our republic,
Those of your republic,
Those even defined by others
As being human;
And even our birth right
To live,
Love,
Think,
Speak,
write,
Act
And
Die
Freely
Just as you live
And
Will die live
(And Miserably
Too!)
Thank and thank your god
We have heads and will not
Help, help you
Abridge your affliction
Pushing us into the heights of tribulation….!
Nudging you to the head
We thought you had a head
We thought you knew what rights
Were ours
And which were yours…!
Foreseeing no plights,
We thought the bright gaze
On your face
[A new page!]
Replicated some goodness
In you concealed!
We now know your head as empty
As the bellies of our fellow human beings
‘Littering’ your streets
& wanting in food and water;
We know it emptier
Than the calabash of that
Desert Wanderer whose thirst
Harried him to you
And you ushered him
To the garrotte chamber!
Breaching the Contract!
Knowing that shimmering seal’s
Face, the rot in you conceals
We would…
Not in the woods…
Hoot you down!
Step down, renege the crown
To hap your way under
As we
With our thorny
Life of misery …
Do!
Do, bury your mulishness!
Let everyone take
His own eyes and feast on you snake
Brook and make
Way for the rain,
Change
Master of mischief and ingratitude!
O, Mr. D…!
You think your life thorny,
For we dare think,
Speak,
Write and act… songs
To right your wrongs!
O, Mr. D… every hour
With adoration we greet your
Gallows popping up in the manner
Of mushrooms
At every street corner
With zeal hungering for us like grooms
Their brides,
And we ask for no doom
But our rights,
Our birth rights!
And quest if you’re a mushroom
Eating champion
To scheme such reprobation
As never did any power trickster
Even to his own hamster!
You erect in our country
Such gallows as the tallest tree
Would never match
And on which our rights are bashed
Diurnal and nocturnal!
We having just one never to end a journal!
Seeing you harpoon all those rights,
Those of our republic,
Those of your republic,
Those even defined by others
As being human;
And even our birth right
To live,
Love,
Think,
Speak,
write,
Act
And
Die
Freely
Just as you live
And
Will die live
(And Miserably
Too!)
Thank and thank your god
We have heads and will not
Help, help you
Abridge your affliction
Pushing us into the heights of tribulation….!
Nudging you to the head
We thought you had a head
We thought you knew what rights
Were ours
And which were yours…!
Foreseeing no plights,
We thought the bright gaze
On your face
[A new page!]
Replicated some goodness
In you concealed!
We now know your head as empty
As the bellies of our fellow human beings
‘Littering’ your streets
& wanting in food and water;
We know it emptier
Than the calabash of that
Desert Wanderer whose thirst
Harried him to you
And you ushered him
To the garrotte chamber!
Breaching the Contract!
Knowing that shimmering seal’s
Face, the rot in you conceals
We would…
Not in the woods…
Hoot you down!
Step down, renege the crown
To hap your way under
As we
With our thorny
Life of misery …
Do!
Do, bury your mulishness!
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