Light a fire upon the raging fire?
The wood shudders and writhes in pain
As fumes scoff at the deadly ire
Dancing about the dying twig, and it's plain:
Why add more fire to fire?
Seventy seven times seven is huge,
But sometimes barely sufficient to quell,
For forgiveness of the Scrooge
Is the silence of a storm-tossed city bell;
But this would cull the deluge:
(For the twig is now bent over,
Both sides seeking trust in combustibles,
The dance of shadows now groovier
Human life precious, now just expendable,
From a spark to a supernova)
That we had that mustard seed!
Barely perceptible, yet full of potential
Calling us eagerly to heed
The Master laying bare the essentials:
Grow faith, reach the mustard seed,
Hold the cycle of hate at bay!
With one act of kindness, a precious flower
Growing in the concrete today
Is the start of the end of destruction's power
Mustard seed. Mustard tree. Today.
(c) nyonglema
Literal questions idiots literally ask
Is Schrödinger’s cat dead and alive? Does evolution explain the start of life? Can naturals make 2 + 2 five, Or bacteria make a metal fife? Is it safe to go piñata with a hive, Or ignore and let a fungal infection thrive? Can a human claim to have dog feelings? Or the rind of oranges be potato peelings? Can a wheat plant bear maize seedlings In Antarctica, Iceland or the Straits of Bering? But there is dumber yet: Who sowed the farmer? Who sewed the seamstress? Who baked the baker? Who raked the gardener? Who fried the chef? Who dyed the stylist? Who fabricated the engineer? Who programmed the programmer? And the worst of all: Who created God? (c) nyonglema
To Emmaus
He lived, they saw, they followed He died, they feared, they burrowed He lived, they heard He lived, they saw, but burrowed Or left: despair the venom Seeping into the herd The women gave a new testament The dead man Heaven sent Was dead no more. The apostles gave same testament He lived and died and under went Then rose to more But such witness may not suffice And more of the Old opened the eyes Of the walking pair Maybe this age losing its sight Can be hinged on this singular fact That the New comes into light, Still hidden the ancient artefacts That prop the story up aright. He lived, they saw, but burrowed Even as witnesses gave testament For they knew not of the Old, Of prophets, and Solomon's gold Of Ephraim, and Rehoboam Of Susanna's guiltless sorrow Maybe we can't see the Old in the New And by keeping only the partial Testament We worship ourself, call it Neo-testament, Rejecting the Lord's call to go over anew, From Genesis to see His grace anew That at the breaking of the Bread We may see His glorious Godhead. (c) nyonglema
Going up
Higher he soars, the one who calls us to more Eyes stare, the clouds do pirouettes A silhouette against the advancing sky Some cry distraught at it happening again: What's to gain if the Master disappears? Memories of the first mass Bread broken, wine shared Hope poured out, on sandy stone On a hill gasping with bare bones Break oh break, hard heart of mine As our Lord leaves to another sublime clime. Oh wake, oh wake hard heart of mine The promises form out of the clay Of the fabric of time before me Hope covers my shivering body In quotes of all that He uncovered From our knowledge new discovered What wisdom we missed, Isaiah! For now, a silhouette against the advancing sky He goes before us as advocate: He lives. (c) nyonglema
What could have been?
What if the presidents cared? They said victory was imminent. With evil intent, with barrel on fatigue, Beads on mud-caked scentent string, Leaves so scared they're now silent, Trees hearing the slaughter of a pig, While life goes on in the battle ring. Few years back there was a mountain Where silicon budded genius software jigs. Yet eyes were closed on everything. Where were those billions you're now bent Over backwards to send over leagues To warring factions wearing hope thin? Yeah! What if the presidents cared? My people die for lack of wisdom. Life is nothing but an excuse to loot. Life is nothing but dirt to be trampled Upon when upside down is the kingdom, Wishing to have a neck under a boot As a solution to pain, Wishing that ample Resources can paint the soil crimson. Did you care when they dropped out? Did you bear those same veins on your temple When hunger ravaged the mother's bossom? Where were the millions to soothe And bring hope and make nimble? How many books did you garrison? How many teachers did you arm? How many laboratories have you loaded With new tech to break them out the prison? For cultures have marched out of harm By focusing on growth not the goading. So the victory still seems imminent, With evil intent, with barrel on fatigue The kids out of school, the schools on fire, Leaves so scared, they all went silent, Trees hearing the slaughters on the hills, While you fuel the hateful mire. (c) nyonglema
Never Stop
Lord, You never stop. You pour out blessings without measure To soothe my heart and heal hope's rasure The blessings just flow From icy Everest to shimmering sea, With fireflies lighting the shore with glee My ways You straighten Undeserved, even when all seems lost You're flicker to sun to defeat the frost Lord You never stop, For great are Your ways to those who love To those who trust, and put none above. Lord You never stop, You seek the single, you search the void Ninety nine wait till one hears Your voice Lord You never stop, You call sinners to the feast beyond Where mercy offered makes guilt abscond Lord please never stop, My only hope, my only treasure My life and love, Your Word my pleasure. (c) nyonglema
I hate messes too
What if Mary and Joseph had come to you on Christmas Eve?
A donkey a man and two people in a woman. Navel points to dust as if to say: "Imminent". Winter's frosty bite's is too much trouble And if I give in to this sweet talking strong man, I might find myself therein rather imminently. For what whining with new life clatters through The halls of a hotel, where sleeping souls seek Solace, won't yank them out of wrangled slumber To complain, keep the gelten bag, then shoot A notice on my place: "Flee the Plague"? What if Cerberus licks baby and mother's Face in hearty welcome to where none seeks it? What to do? What to say? What to think, As soldiers enquire "Did he really smother?" and "Why?" Oh it causes me to tremble! Tremble, tremble oh soul of mine! Let them go to the next hotel in line For trouble's in the side-view mirror, Urging me on to walk into imminent horror But wisdom's mine: "Go! Goooo! You'll be fine!" (c) nyonglema
Let’s be cannibals!
On a planet far far away, mental disease has become mainstream, the inhabitants celebrate it with oxymorons and absurd excuses:
Why now do they hate me so?
The hyena starving doesn't check whose toes!
The tadpoles arguing don't let bros grow
Even shark foetuses just let teeth go
The chimps eat even chimps they know
But why oh why do they hate me so?
Why now do they say it's wrong?
Tim White saw signs on Homo bones
Gough's Cave has skulls, human ones
Scythians, Fijians had it going strong
Lake Matumba, Batetela, so much more
But why oh why do they say it's wrong?
The genes made it, didn't they?
For DNA winds from centuries away
Through humans who chose to live this way
In wars, famine, some sought another day
By sinking teeth where others delay
But why oh why shouldn't we heed DNA?
For brains this big chooose wisely!
Reason rising beyond nature's dire need
For logic in denying solutions and dying.
Supplies tarrying calls for demystifying
The flesh that abounds, but is yet denied!
But why oh why do we our brains deny?
Born this way, or grown this way,
Nature or nurture's the hater's debate.
We're born and we also choose this way
So respect our choice and also our DNA,
We'll fight to protect our chosen destiny
While you wile away your living hate.
(c) nyonglema
Covid killed me in 2021 #BIAY
Resolutions fall like confetti in the first act, As the bride walks on, not caring to step on this Or that one; the pews empty, one by one, back To whence they came, a normal born of temporal bliss The remote control brings banners and warnings in: Beware the Greek alphabet may just not suffice! Get the jab, the jab, the jab... hearts beating Poised one against the other lest humanity survive Punches get thrown where confetti stood before Covid, jab, covid, covid, fun now turns to war Tears now turned to phlegm hurled from tours Only vaxxed can access, but there yet was more Beyond the banners, and warnings, and dying confetti Came one crying in the wilderness, vaxxed or not, But bearing a promise that the bride's heel tip Going into the new year may have crushed, or not; Echoes of generations past like Urquelle to Urkel, Old words made new with meanings I never knew With the gentility of that loving single uncle, The words in my ears were morning sun, gentle dew But dew is never wasted as roots push even deeper Green gets even greener, love grows even stronger. Working from home gets even drearier, days longer But the words remain louder, daily louder larger Foundation stones become lintels, pillars towering Over the statue of my entrenched ego, saying "Let go". Do I deserve the 3-65 days you're offering? I feel the hammers chip away at what's refusing to grow: In the 2nd year Anno Coronaviri, when AD was written CE, A bearded man picked up one of my confetti, and Not knowing me, prayed me into keeping 1st Jan promises, Amidst despair at desecrations gripping the land. But they weren't his words. They were His Word. Day by day, chipping away, like covid at my tubes But this time making something new from me bored Making me see the Lion crouched behind the cub, Making me be the cub ready to let Him face 2022 (c) nyonglema
She will rise
To weep these tears love to express Where fears abound, where love once was? Promises failed, the bruises pale The guardian's hand's the butcher's tool, And kisses fade to bruises too And love's embrace to bitter jail Why's fear around the love that was? Why's the flower with crud engrossed? Smile again. The tears wash the bruises away. Tempered, you'll efface hate to bloom: A butterfly bedazzling out of the cocoon Casting silvery tiaras on flowers of new day. (c) nyonglema
waghni 