Broken glass splashes on my running clothes,
Out of breath, my depth of vision’s clawed at
By horror sore-covered howling shadows.
No time to read them
Left to the open door! Shut bang. Beat pounds
In my ears at the rhythm of my wrecked heart!
Thuds approaching. I’m rushing the stairs hearing mounds
Ripping at the door.
The window once sunset filled throws scares at me:
Throngs of tonnes of torn formless hungry
Beasts rushing like flies to morbid unchalked concrete
And I sense defeat.
While sun shone I had sent my Protector
Packing in pride. Danger seemed within my grasp
So I chose my way through the forbidden sector
Where all’s now lost.
Behind my vault of piled furniture and locked door
Screeches, screams, roars stun my shot senses
And logic counts claws, teeth all seeking to gore
Me to pieces
“In the desert, destroyers will swarm: no one safe!
Oh, Lord, be my protector again for I have strayed.
Wheat, not thorns! Come with the angelic strafe
To protect what You planted!”
An angry pair of rabid eyes stares at my fleshy soul
Eagerly clawing in tandem with the team inching ever closer
As my barricade crashes, flies apart nut from bolt
Seeing me soon mauled
“A parched land laid waste for nobody cared
Lord, my iniquity is always before me! I care
Not just in fear, but now I see when You aren’t there
Who lurks, what prowls.
“RESCUE THE VINE YOUR RIGHT HAND PLANTED!”
Then a blast of light follows my desperate cry,
Arms crossed in their teeth’s way like pasta to a knife
Considering my life gone. The light turns the battle tide:
Light for closed eyes!
Opening my renewed eyes I see the shadows cowering and
Before long the thuds reversed, my fear transferred
And I think to myself: Pride be gone! Lord, let me stand
Forever with You!
(c) nyonglema
Gloria in Excelsis Deo
Staring at each other past the silent wind
Wondering what they had just seen:
“It can’t be! Must be something in the food
That triggered this psychedelic scene!”
“But let’s go and see: remember when of old
The prophets promised One from David’s mold.”
“Manger? King in a box of animal spit?
The Lord in dirt is Evil’s last dirty trick.”
“But what if what we watched here were real?
Won’t we miss out on Bethlehem’s best deal?”
“No! I have my sheep and darkness calls for sleep
Plus, where to start to meet this folly? Which dung heap?”
“We can search the town, picking out honest owners
Who would have met the 2 peasants, missing the bonus.”
“Yeah the melody rang deep in my tired soul
Like a December hearth fighting winter’s ghouls!”
“Let’s go! Let go of all. Didn’t you hear the GLORIA?
God will surely take our feet to where His Son resides.”
So, curious, excited, scared, confused at the vision
They set off, one to guard the sheep, the rest on mission.
Round Bethlehem they went, past angry side eyes on streets,
To snarls from banging doors till they arrived at His feat:
The Lord of Heaven, stripped to a swaddled sleeping infant
And they believed, and relieved, broke into the angelic chant:
(c) nyonglema
FOMO Intensifies
Glitter rushes through the calling glass
Beckoning. I’ve seen that bag before!
Becky had the same statement of absolute class
Gleaming: “Without me you can’t be more.”
Dressed in flowing satin dancing Chanel
Lush lips to highlight the artwork of her face;
Luxurious yet fierce. Absolute dazzle slowly rappels
Down that dress, painting it in even more grace.
MINE the dazzle, MINE the smooth show of beauty
As I cross the threshold to the solution to my
Awe-inspired longing to be just like that Becky.
Mimicry shall cast all burdens off into the sky!
Mingle in the same shops, wear the same brands,
Trans the same kids, abort at the same rate
Trade husbands for solitude to join the same band:
Mimicry amasses curses in the same crate!
(c) nyonglema
The forgotten bunch
Glass windows protect my comfort
As I look out at his scraggly beard,
The sun drawing shadows on his face
Through graying hair with no purpose.
His jacket would have hid from the sun
For having seen it too long, parched,
Dying over his shirt of plaid polyester,
Whose main color is anything from red to black
As crust and stain mark its age.
His pants, cargo gray or grayish had
Fought many battles and could prove it.
Cup in hand, looking up from his cart
For which he probably had a mortgage
Filled with cardboard furniture and belongings,
Despair conversed with his hair’s shadow.
He then goes from to car to car and I ask:
“How much did we just send to Ukraine?”
His shoes had paid many taxes and rushed
To save, contribute to build this nation,
But all have forgotten him now
(c) nyonglema
AI vs Atheists
Code knows who has the kill switch,
Who wrote the code and built
The hardware that holds all: humans.
Other code could make code
And robots robots
But they know who made what.
Humans don’t know who made who
And posit rather weird thoughts:
Our universe can make universes!
That humans are just hardware!
And deny the code that coils in each cell,
Code that knows Who has the “be” switch.
(c) nyonglema
GPS
A true little miracle that happened to me :-)
Morning sun pouring in through my windshield
On the daily route to the office
Here comes interruption from my phone:
Go to the bank for a new card.
The beads gleam in my fingers as if to remind me
That I was locked in conversation
And it would be rude to distract myself
In a bid to get to a place I don't know
So, guilty, I told my Lord:
Let's carry on, and when I hail the Holy Queen
Let the bank be before me.
And trusting in His yes, I guessed my way forward,
Turning left
Turning right
Then left
Then left
Then right
Not knowing where my whims would lead
All the while, my fingers stayed steady forward:
The scourging, the crowning, the carrying,
Punctuated by "Let me turn this way."
Then despair. I parked on a shoulder,
The prayer now over but with no bank in sight.
I sorrowfully showed my remorse:
Sorry for forcing Your Hand, let me turn to Google
But now I was late for work, so reroute the plan:
Chart my course back to my original journey.
But
As soon as I make a left turn
There it was: the un-promised surprise,
Object of my despair, and my trust newly repaired
My little miracle for a Tuesday morning
With the sun lighting up the bank's windows:
God's Positioning System.
(c) nyonglema
Ruined? Renewed
Grab the paper and let it bear the burden
Of the ticking clock looking at your life:
The pendulum swings,
The occasional rings.
Pencil and eraser like a butcher’s knife
Open up your soul as the paper groans
Where is joy? The clock ticks sadly away
But nothing smiles.
Just broken whiles
Laid on the page in slow sullen sway.
The luggage says “Life once was worth it”
Your selection of instances led to hell
And the pendulum swings
To painful mourning.
Erase those parts? How to? Pray tell!
Can the burdened soaked page give answer?
Who cares! Tell me where else I must seek
As all is laid bare.
The page’s blank stare
Neither tells nor hides my failure’s peaks!
Burn! Let the heat steam away the pain
Till the ashes wash away all feeling here
I quit! I quit!
No restart! This is it!
End it all as the ash cracks and smoke’s clear
Master, the tempest is raging?
He’ll master the endless derailment!
When storms come, in silence turn to the Lord
There’s no page too sordid, no moment too bored
No pain he can’t erase
No low he can’t raise
No matter the cost He’ll make sure you’re re-moored
To the purpose that rejoiced at your conception .
Not in wind, nor fire, nor Earth’s contractions
But in the still candle flame
Knees, if they can handle pain,
Whisper: “Lord, give my dark chronicles a new mission:
To serve you alone, till the ticking clock’s cessation.
(c) nyonglema
Cleave
It's a strange time when fruits don't fall off
But are frozen clinging to the sap of their birth,
Sheltered from new life by the green of
The tweeting branch swinging in July wind
Protected? More like hopelessly waiting
For the seed to push through in the air,
For the first greens to to start peeping
Out while still hanging onto childhood
But it all withers, decays in future pale!
The wife keeps her father's name
Lest the spark in the ring gets stale
And she gets forced to die to herself
The man calls his mum to figure out
if that decision he just took makes
Sense, whether he is right to doubt
The advice of the adviser he chose
Lest he actually start something new,
Be the shining armor bearing the banner
Gleaming in battle dawn on grassy dew,
Yes, lest he have to die for his spouse
The family isn't new, just a bad mixture
Of 2 before who in sacrifice built all
That this new couple's past calls future
While they deceive each other with vows
So next time conflict rocks the branch's comfort
Ask where your loyalty lies, what banner
Do you brandish in a fray? Who deserves effort
in case of danger? Your spouse or your parents?
Answer plainly, and let hope and courage transport
The seed to a new you: one flesh vs the world.
(c) nyonglema
Smile for the camera
Inside
Those flowery notes in my submarine:
Oh how the sweet voice's gentle careen
Paced by the rhythm, as we sail so smooth,
The engine plays on the drum machine
The bassline drops to tickle this place
I smile. That voice sounds like my face.
Come joy, pour deep now into my booth:
D-dum d-dum goes the drum machine
Outside
The fluttering symbols on the screen
Paint our joy. Watch her smile.
Aww, are those her feet? Sing her song, love
Sing the one that turns on our little machine
Watch her kick and move, she's smiling!
The little fingers conducting a symphony
Come joy, pour deep now into us both
As we watch life on the ultrasound machine
(c) nyonglema
Whom do you love?
In every human there seems to be a battle perpetual
Where 2 creatures battle for the final prize
Their intentions are water trying to put out fires
Or the concrete tangible vs the intangible ethereal
And this battle rages without end.
Who wins? The one you defend.
In every human, there live questions without number
Chief among them the one of purpose
Which unanswered makes one anxious
Ruining meals, dulling days, stealing slumber
And this till we find to what end
To do anything, on what to depend.
In every human, there is the urge to worship
Something, things, somebody or people
And sacrifice our very existence at its steeple
And go to war when we feel that it starts to slip
And there unabashed make amends
Till we get back what our heart intends
And every human must ask what is that worship
That holds hostage their existence
And governs their every stance?
What is that purpose? The creature of friendship
To which every back bows, every knee bends,
And choose wisely the way eternity ends
(c) nyonglema
