My Van Heusen shirt cost me fifty cents,
A dollar ninety-nine to clean and scent
After the hundredth clean I had a two
Hundred dollar shirt after one year too!
Its worth in cash my economist says
Depreciates come each passing day that plays.
Long live this name who's got the cash and fame
With my hopes for any all left with shame
And a higher end shirt with a mark that pricks
And picks the pocket with such lovely tricks
My mind would let grasp these higher end goods
That empty our purses and carry loots!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Promises to Keep: A Christmas Poem**
Two years ago the newly governor-elect,
told party delegates at a first conference
how he promised his widowed mother
he would be honest and never take bribes.
“She said: ‘Now, that you won, son,
whatever you do, be honest’.”
“And I told her: ‘Oh, of course Mom,
I’ll be honest because that’s how you raised me’.
“She said: ‘That’s good, son, I know you will.
Let me ask you another question.’
I said, ‘What’s that?’
‘Promise me, son, you will never take bribes’.
“I said: ‘Of course I’ll never take bribes,
not only would that be dishonest
it would be illegal,
and I would never do anything to dishonor
the memory of my father’***.”
“She said: ‘That’s good, son,
I’m sure you won’t,
but I just want to remind you
because that’s how mothers are’.
I said: ‘I know’.
“She said: “Let me ask you another question.’
I said: ‘What’s that?’
She said: ‘Do you think you can
get Aunt Daisy’s son-in-law a job?’
I said: ‘I dunno,
I’ll try’.”
Two days ago,
or two weeks
to 'a very presidential' Christmas,
our duly elected governor
was led abroad from his home
by the FBI...
Achirri Ishmael
December 13, 2008.
told party delegates at a first conference
how he promised his widowed mother
he would be honest and never take bribes.
“She said: ‘Now, that you won, son,
whatever you do, be honest’.”
“And I told her: ‘Oh, of course Mom,
I’ll be honest because that’s how you raised me’.
“She said: ‘That’s good, son, I know you will.
Let me ask you another question.’
I said, ‘What’s that?’
‘Promise me, son, you will never take bribes’.
“I said: ‘Of course I’ll never take bribes,
not only would that be dishonest
it would be illegal,
and I would never do anything to dishonor
the memory of my father’***.”
“She said: ‘That’s good, son,
I’m sure you won’t,
but I just want to remind you
because that’s how mothers are’.
I said: ‘I know’.
“She said: “Let me ask you another question.’
I said: ‘What’s that?’
She said: ‘Do you think you can
get Aunt Daisy’s son-in-law a job?’
I said: ‘I dunno,
I’ll try’.”
Two days ago,
or two weeks
to 'a very presidential' Christmas,
our duly elected governor
was led abroad from his home
by the FBI...
Achirri Ishmael
December 13, 2008.
EPILOGUE
"I imagine myself in the New World
with Christopher Columbus
for the first time,"
(he mused the following year,
recalling the events at Roy-au-mont)
"A symphony of sounds,
of colors,
of smells,
of desires,
and of hopes.
Then I imagine myself
on the moon
with the astronauts,
and all I see
is gray,
dust,
and barren rocks,
and the earth I long for
is far
out of reach..."
Achirri Ishmael
7 November, 2009
with Christopher Columbus
for the first time,"
(he mused the following year,
recalling the events at Roy-au-mont)
"A symphony of sounds,
of colors,
of smells,
of desires,
and of hopes.
Then I imagine myself
on the moon
with the astronauts,
and all I see
is gray,
dust,
and barren rocks,
and the earth I long for
is far
out of reach..."
Achirri Ishmael
7 November, 2009
Loops of Memory*
I had forgotten to tell him
about their presence
until it occurred to me.
"Would you love to join the discussion
with Chomsky, Piaget,
and the others?" I asked him.
"Yes," he said kindly,
"Just tell me when".
That was during the conference
at Abbaye de Roy-au-mont,
just outside Paris.
He sat patiently
and followed the speakers.
It was a loud conference
of op-positions.
But his doodle of cats
and other real fantastic animals,
I can't recall exactly,
were stunning...
On the way to our last lunch,
Noam Chomsky,
who had dominated this gathering
of Nobel Prize winning biologists and world famous mathematicians,
philosophers, psychologists, anthropologists, (& etc),
walked up to him,
and shyly said:
"Perhaps
you remember me,
when I sat in your class at Harvard
with Roman Jakobson?"
He looked at Chomsky,
and slowly said:
"I'm sorry, but no".
Those were the only words
he would utter
in that conference.
By Achirri Chibikom 2009
about their presence
until it occurred to me.
"Would you love to join the discussion
with Chomsky, Piaget,
and the others?" I asked him.
"Yes," he said kindly,
"Just tell me when".
That was during the conference
at Abbaye de Roy-au-mont,
just outside Paris.
He sat patiently
and followed the speakers.
It was a loud conference
of op-positions.
But his doodle of cats
and other real fantastic animals,
I can't recall exactly,
were stunning...
On the way to our last lunch,
Noam Chomsky,
who had dominated this gathering
of Nobel Prize winning biologists and world famous mathematicians,
philosophers, psychologists, anthropologists, (& etc),
walked up to him,
and shyly said:
"Perhaps
you remember me,
when I sat in your class at Harvard
with Roman Jakobson?"
He looked at Chomsky,
and slowly said:
"I'm sorry, but no".
Those were the only words
he would utter
in that conference.
By Achirri Chibikom 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Poetry
Gives you wings
Choice to sing
Freedom to fly
Not one to ply
Yet, one to land
And with a band
Take off without remorse
Landing back to concourse
With neither fear
Nor favour clear
In sight of cowards
With simple words.
Choice to sing
Freedom to fly
Not one to ply
Yet, one to land
And with a band
Take off without remorse
Landing back to concourse
With neither fear
Nor favour clear
In sight of cowards
With simple words.
Fertile Imagination
I took my niece to a department store.
Her touchy hands did give me a heart sore!
Upon rebuking her inquisitive hands,
“I touch with my eyes and see with my hands!”
She said with such certainty to astound
The sages of yore claiming their minds sound
Where in my niece I would just a poet see
With my pen in hand, I let the world see
How with the hands this can be possible
Even if all think it impossible!
Her touchy hands did give me a heart sore!
Upon rebuking her inquisitive hands,
“I touch with my eyes and see with my hands!”
She said with such certainty to astound
The sages of yore claiming their minds sound
Where in my niece I would just a poet see
With my pen in hand, I let the world see
How with the hands this can be possible
Even if all think it impossible!
Friday, November 13, 2009
Senile King B…
Who said sunset was not a medicine man?
Is the gruesome night with mysterious calm
Not the devil himself who would smile
At this old fool driven and left senile
To thinking himself Donne’s busy old fool
Swimming in ignorance, his glorious pool?
Old senile King, after twenty seven
Odd years, you’ve left our country so broken
By your deep greed the waters of the seas
Won’t come close to washing the joy that fills
Your measure so corrupt earning your name
That stinks a stench so putrid; what a shame!
Is the gruesome night with mysterious calm
Not the devil himself who would smile
At this old fool driven and left senile
To thinking himself Donne’s busy old fool
Swimming in ignorance, his glorious pool?
Old senile King, after twenty seven
Odd years, you’ve left our country so broken
By your deep greed the waters of the seas
Won’t come close to washing the joy that fills
Your measure so corrupt earning your name
That stinks a stench so putrid; what a shame!
The Good Old Sikh & Us
They would have loved to come in droves
As we sat watching flighty doves,
This good old Sikh behind his house
At Sugar Pine Court pined like a mouse
Contemplating peace that cloudy afternoon
Dreaming the sun peed peace here on earthly spoon
For the world to sip with pipes underground
Black gold running the ship of peace aground
This took our good old Sikh again behind
The house to scoop humans out of the bind;
In quiet meditation nodding to the world
Such abysmal nod that’s devoid of a word.
As we sat watching flighty doves,
This good old Sikh behind his house
At Sugar Pine Court pined like a mouse
Contemplating peace that cloudy afternoon
Dreaming the sun peed peace here on earthly spoon
For the world to sip with pipes underground
Black gold running the ship of peace aground
This took our good old Sikh again behind
The house to scoop humans out of the bind;
In quiet meditation nodding to the world
Such abysmal nod that’s devoid of a word.
After Aliens
Everywhere, they’re after the aliens!
What crime they committed they know not!
But must be given names in every tongue!
Till they become hyphenated
And tagged home office made
Far from homeland born
In French let’s call them émigrés
Send them to South Africa they’ll become
Ma-kwe-re-kwe-re
If by accident they land in West Africa?
Imagine just how everywhere names shall sprout
Leaving no room they’re after the aliens!
What crime they committed they know not!
But must be given names in every tongue!
Till they become hyphenated
And tagged home office made
Far from homeland born
In French let’s call them émigrés
Send them to South Africa they’ll become
Ma-kwe-re-kwe-re
If by accident they land in West Africa?
Imagine just how everywhere names shall sprout
Leaving no room they’re after the aliens!
My Fate, Their Gamble
Even if I need not cry, my pains must not go
Unheard by those who my progress would want to slow
I’ve amassed my strength and would like to fly sky-high
Far above foxes and kites thinking themselves sly.
My shadow must not only be left in the clouds
But cover them to mystify just like the shroud
Holding in it a secret to the world of men
So hidden to turn its life all amazement
Birds ply the skies, the eagle above all reign
Wherein the jungle only the lion pulls the rein
And would not on the same table dine with lame dogs
Among men herding flocks with big support from thugs
Thugs who would beat me to crying my pain aloud
Such pains I must not cry but make heard and be proud
Brut force fails where admittance of liability
Would have readily bred freedom and liberty
For all those like me refusing this wild trampling
Which always leaves heads and thugs with my fate gambling
Unlike the birds of the sky, topsy-turvydom
Is the catch word and in which jungle? No kingdom!
No kingdom for the lion priding itself the King
In the mist of such confusion a bush was king
Too blind ruling over the oil wells of the east
With the impunity of an absolute beast
James 1 would rule this world in demonology
And bring the beast and himself up to some deities
Theeing and thouing as par great nature;
This ploy to bring down the mighty, sure
Would make him greater than great in the eyes
Of those before whom about me he lies.
Unheard by those who my progress would want to slow
I’ve amassed my strength and would like to fly sky-high
Far above foxes and kites thinking themselves sly.
My shadow must not only be left in the clouds
But cover them to mystify just like the shroud
Holding in it a secret to the world of men
So hidden to turn its life all amazement
Birds ply the skies, the eagle above all reign
Wherein the jungle only the lion pulls the rein
And would not on the same table dine with lame dogs
Among men herding flocks with big support from thugs
Thugs who would beat me to crying my pain aloud
Such pains I must not cry but make heard and be proud
Brut force fails where admittance of liability
Would have readily bred freedom and liberty
For all those like me refusing this wild trampling
Which always leaves heads and thugs with my fate gambling
Unlike the birds of the sky, topsy-turvydom
Is the catch word and in which jungle? No kingdom!
No kingdom for the lion priding itself the King
In the mist of such confusion a bush was king
Too blind ruling over the oil wells of the east
With the impunity of an absolute beast
James 1 would rule this world in demonology
And bring the beast and himself up to some deities
Theeing and thouing as par great nature;
This ploy to bring down the mighty, sure
Would make him greater than great in the eyes
Of those before whom about me he lies.
Dreams Die Not
When dreams mature, they cease to be dreams.
When streams dry up they cease to be streams.
One dream I had, I thought would bear fruits
Let my stream flow into its conduits
Without dam built but quickly emptied
To leaving my dream in stream buried.
But how wonderful dreams do not die
Like a hungry poor deprived of pie!
And buried ’live won’t be dreams that live
To be killed only by disbelief
We need kill to give the figment life
Leaving every tongue to say hi-five!
When streams dry up they cease to be streams.
One dream I had, I thought would bear fruits
Let my stream flow into its conduits
Without dam built but quickly emptied
To leaving my dream in stream buried.
But how wonderful dreams do not die
Like a hungry poor deprived of pie!
And buried ’live won’t be dreams that live
To be killed only by disbelief
We need kill to give the figment life
Leaving every tongue to say hi-five!
Just Today
Early morning daddy died!
Late this morning uncle died!
Early afternoon mum died!
Late afternoon auntie died!
Not before long brother died!
Shortly after cousin died!
Whose turn comes in this evening?
Shall he hit before the evening?
Where was he when we were kids?
Why is he here indeed?
You may as I wonder why?
Yes, he comes as aids; that’s why!
And his origin remains
Mystery in preserved domains
Where we live in hope to die;
Death our only hope won’t lie
To say our unborn babies
Are turned rock without ages
Just today, this today unjust
Hands turn poor lives into dust.
Late this morning uncle died!
Early afternoon mum died!
Late afternoon auntie died!
Not before long brother died!
Shortly after cousin died!
Whose turn comes in this evening?
Shall he hit before the evening?
Where was he when we were kids?
Why is he here indeed?
You may as I wonder why?
Yes, he comes as aids; that’s why!
And his origin remains
Mystery in preserved domains
Where we live in hope to die;
Death our only hope won’t lie
To say our unborn babies
Are turned rock without ages
Just today, this today unjust
Hands turn poor lives into dust.
Upon the King’s Death
Shall my country feel let down?
Yes! The King’s! When he shall drown!
In his mansion flooded with wealth
That from our nation steals good health
Like cancer compounding with might
Our socio-political plight
That’s left our nation depleted;
So, why must the King not be ejected?
Now and just now push him to drown
And let woe sweep him off the ground;
Our ground he has stolen and sold
Wanting his deeds to go untold.
Upon making the scribe beggar
He makes his might appear bigger
Giving to him and his a leeway
To duplicate highwaymen: Waylay!
Our nation victim of this ambush
Has sent many a young man to the bush
Where we see they’ve fallen like angels
Heaven’s sounds sent away to hell not bells.
Yes! The King’s! When he shall drown!
In his mansion flooded with wealth
That from our nation steals good health
Like cancer compounding with might
Our socio-political plight
That’s left our nation depleted;
So, why must the King not be ejected?
Now and just now push him to drown
And let woe sweep him off the ground;
Our ground he has stolen and sold
Wanting his deeds to go untold.
Upon making the scribe beggar
He makes his might appear bigger
Giving to him and his a leeway
To duplicate highwaymen: Waylay!
Our nation victim of this ambush
Has sent many a young man to the bush
Where we see they’ve fallen like angels
Heaven’s sounds sent away to hell not bells.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Baby Ambasonia
Was from time immemorial born
Was through time and age grown
Was of the Federal Republic lured
Was of the united Republic deterred
And by the La République killed
And in death tied to the skilled
Assassin since in hiding gone
By his wall of soldiers and canon
Shielded
By the whole wide world greeted.
Need not emphasise a true story
For all know and none does worry.
Poor Baby Ambasonia
From your ashes rebirth is so near
For my belief in this myth
Has nothing of a heath.
Was through time and age grown
Was of the Federal Republic lured
Was of the united Republic deterred
And by the La République killed
And in death tied to the skilled
Assassin since in hiding gone
By his wall of soldiers and canon
Shielded
By the whole wide world greeted.
Need not emphasise a true story
For all know and none does worry.
Poor Baby Ambasonia
From your ashes rebirth is so near
For my belief in this myth
Has nothing of a heath.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Badinant avec le Noir
Tranquilles, nous fûmes à la rive
Ne voyant pas la dérive
Voulant nous voir loin de Bavière
Nous poussèrent-ils dans la rivière
Sans bateau et ou sans espoir
Furent-ils maîtres et firent les lois
Nous colonisant y compris
Cons ainsi que sages à tout prix ;
Prix que nous payons depuis lors
Pour la couleur noire de cet or
Identique à celle des peaux noires
Noircissant blancheur d’abreuvoirs
Qui vaille que vaille doivent couler
A flot pour les étanchés
Ayant tout sauf notre rire
Même s’ils croient notre cas pire !
Coûte que coûte, ils pratiquent les maux
Où nous avons le dernier mot
Justifiant pour quoi derrière nous
S’acharnent-ils comme des loups garous
Voraces en quête de proie facile
Qui nie de rendre difficile
Leur jeu de bourreaux arythmiques
Aux calculs bien mathématiques ;
Pour eux une récréation sportive
Pour nous badinage subversif
N’amusant que les régisseurs
De malveillant joug de la peur
Bourdonnant dans les oreilles noires
Permettant de faire couler à boire
Pouvant assouvir les futés
Qui par ailleurs sont disputés.
Ne voyant pas la dérive
Voulant nous voir loin de Bavière
Nous poussèrent-ils dans la rivière
Sans bateau et ou sans espoir
Furent-ils maîtres et firent les lois
Nous colonisant y compris
Cons ainsi que sages à tout prix ;
Prix que nous payons depuis lors
Pour la couleur noire de cet or
Identique à celle des peaux noires
Noircissant blancheur d’abreuvoirs
Qui vaille que vaille doivent couler
A flot pour les étanchés
Ayant tout sauf notre rire
Même s’ils croient notre cas pire !
Coûte que coûte, ils pratiquent les maux
Où nous avons le dernier mot
Justifiant pour quoi derrière nous
S’acharnent-ils comme des loups garous
Voraces en quête de proie facile
Qui nie de rendre difficile
Leur jeu de bourreaux arythmiques
Aux calculs bien mathématiques ;
Pour eux une récréation sportive
Pour nous badinage subversif
N’amusant que les régisseurs
De malveillant joug de la peur
Bourdonnant dans les oreilles noires
Permettant de faire couler à boire
Pouvant assouvir les futés
Qui par ailleurs sont disputés.
$£¥€
Our best fight we put to host
These strangers who’ll never their hosts’
Expectations meet sincerely
Where all hosts do for them truly
Die leaving their leafy green backs
Here as hosts have left stabs on backs
Killing, lying, slandering for them
With sane minds to see shit in them;
Such strangers who never come stay
But on man’s psychology prey
And his world does turn upside down
God bless America won’t drown
Flying the flag by such strangers
Flown and guarded by their rangers.
These strangers who’ll never their hosts’
Expectations meet sincerely
Where all hosts do for them truly
Die leaving their leafy green backs
Here as hosts have left stabs on backs
Killing, lying, slandering for them
With sane minds to see shit in them;
Such strangers who never come stay
But on man’s psychology prey
And his world does turn upside down
God bless America won’t drown
Flying the flag by such strangers
Flown and guarded by their rangers.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
SCHIZOPHRENIE NATIONALE
Comment peut-on être Camerounais ?
Le français est-elle ma langue maternelle ?
Non, je suis né à Bamenda où l’on ne le parle pas.
Comment peut-on être Camerounais ?
L’anglais est-elle ma langue maternelle ?
Non, je suis né à Bertoua où l’on ne le parle pas.
Suis-je même Camerounais ?
Vraiment, je le crois et m’en expliquerai
Mais de ‘pure ethnie’ qu’en sais-je et qu’importe ?
Ne m’insultez pas !
Séparatiste ? Autonomiste ? Régionaliste ?
Tout cela, rien de cela. Au-delà !
Mais alors, nous ne nous comprenons plus.
Qu’appelez-vous Camerounais ?
Et d’abord, pourquoi l’être?
Question nullement absurde.
Camerounais d’état-civil, je suis nommé Biafrais.
J’assume à chaque instant ma situation de Camerounais;
Mon appartenance au Cameroun,
N’est en revanche qu’une qualité facultative
Que je puis parfaitement renier ou méconnaître.
Je l’ai d’ailleurs fait ;
J’ai longtemps ignoré que je suis Camerounais.
Camerounais sans problème,
Il me faut donc être Anglophone en surplus.
Camerounais sans ambages,
Il me faut donc être Francophone en plus.
Si je perds cette conscience,
L’appartenance cesse d’être en moi.
Le Camerounais n’a pas de pièces d’identité,
Il n’existe que dans la mesure où,
A chaque génération,
Des hommes se reconnaissent Camerounais.
A cette heure, des enfants naissent à Bamenda,
Seront-ils Camerounais ?
A cette heure, des enfants sont mis au monde à Bertoua,
Seront-ils Camerounais ? Nul ne le sait.
A chacun, l’âge venu, la découverte ou l’ignorance.
© Peter Vakunta
Le français est-elle ma langue maternelle ?
Non, je suis né à Bamenda où l’on ne le parle pas.
Comment peut-on être Camerounais ?
L’anglais est-elle ma langue maternelle ?
Non, je suis né à Bertoua où l’on ne le parle pas.
Suis-je même Camerounais ?
Vraiment, je le crois et m’en expliquerai
Mais de ‘pure ethnie’ qu’en sais-je et qu’importe ?
Ne m’insultez pas !
Séparatiste ? Autonomiste ? Régionaliste ?
Tout cela, rien de cela. Au-delà !
Mais alors, nous ne nous comprenons plus.
Qu’appelez-vous Camerounais ?
Et d’abord, pourquoi l’être?
Question nullement absurde.
Camerounais d’état-civil, je suis nommé Biafrais.
J’assume à chaque instant ma situation de Camerounais;
Mon appartenance au Cameroun,
N’est en revanche qu’une qualité facultative
Que je puis parfaitement renier ou méconnaître.
Je l’ai d’ailleurs fait ;
J’ai longtemps ignoré que je suis Camerounais.
Camerounais sans problème,
Il me faut donc être Anglophone en surplus.
Camerounais sans ambages,
Il me faut donc être Francophone en plus.
Si je perds cette conscience,
L’appartenance cesse d’être en moi.
Le Camerounais n’a pas de pièces d’identité,
Il n’existe que dans la mesure où,
A chaque génération,
Des hommes se reconnaissent Camerounais.
A cette heure, des enfants naissent à Bamenda,
Seront-ils Camerounais ?
A cette heure, des enfants sont mis au monde à Bertoua,
Seront-ils Camerounais ? Nul ne le sait.
A chacun, l’âge venu, la découverte ou l’ignorance.
© Peter Vakunta
Ink and ench
The clinker boat's
boards are clenched
As clink is to clench
So drink is to drench
And stink is to stench
Therefore should
we not allow
pink is to pench
wrink is to wrench
frink for the French?
Henchmen may give
(a word to the wise)
a wink to a wench
a bink on a bench
and other inventions
too mincing to mention?
©Phillip Mahnken
11 October 2009
boards are clenched
As clink is to clench
So drink is to drench
And stink is to stench
Therefore should
we not allow
pink is to pench
wrink is to wrench
frink for the French?
Henchmen may give
(a word to the wise)
a wink to a wench
a bink on a bench
and other inventions
too mincing to mention?
©Phillip Mahnken
11 October 2009
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Strong Rock Solid Love
My word my bond with you here will stay
Far from the love that did rot away
For you so love me that I won’t doubt
And if I did so, I won’t call out
As I do by the day and by night
Showing you the love that’s yours by right.
Here I sit and here I wait, you in mind
Being the special find by mankind
Sought after in that love threadbare world
In which like the serpent hatred curled
Around in wait for the innocent
In order to prey on sentiments
Where you are, there I am on my marks
Ready to take you home with no barks
For those dogs willing to still our move
To push our love right atop the roof
Shading new meaning to the word love
With sound knowledge of peace brought by dove
Here we are, love we know that will stay
With no one able to make her sway
From this gleeful glide on these smooth rails
Leading home a love that blazes trails
For dreamers who slain their dreams way back
With no thoughts someday it will come back.
Now we know what to keep that we’ve found
Which is what in love will keep us bound
Together loving and respecting
Each other with just no misgiving
But thanks giving to the light that lights
Love’s path on which we tread without plights.
Count the lines; know the span it’ll survive
In the eyes of men striding in life
All clad in abjection fanning flames
Heating up the air for baseless claims
Claims that in our union has no grounds
Where our rock solid love’s ever sound.
Far from the love that did rot away
For you so love me that I won’t doubt
And if I did so, I won’t call out
As I do by the day and by night
Showing you the love that’s yours by right.
Here I sit and here I wait, you in mind
Being the special find by mankind
Sought after in that love threadbare world
In which like the serpent hatred curled
Around in wait for the innocent
In order to prey on sentiments
Where you are, there I am on my marks
Ready to take you home with no barks
For those dogs willing to still our move
To push our love right atop the roof
Shading new meaning to the word love
With sound knowledge of peace brought by dove
Here we are, love we know that will stay
With no one able to make her sway
From this gleeful glide on these smooth rails
Leading home a love that blazes trails
For dreamers who slain their dreams way back
With no thoughts someday it will come back.
Now we know what to keep that we’ve found
Which is what in love will keep us bound
Together loving and respecting
Each other with just no misgiving
But thanks giving to the light that lights
Love’s path on which we tread without plights.
Count the lines; know the span it’ll survive
In the eyes of men striding in life
All clad in abjection fanning flames
Heating up the air for baseless claims
Claims that in our union has no grounds
Where our rock solid love’s ever sound.
Two kind pipole
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.
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.
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.
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