Monthly Archives: October 2015

joy

His first poem #NatureIsSpeaking @conservationorg

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The little icons play games on the phone screen,
As my little monster muses playing Subway Surfers,
His new drug, my new bane.
Well we parents are keen
To teach him how to live through all life offers
In words, hugs and a cane,

If necessary. I grab the phone like to grab his attention
Fleeting from object to object like bees in a meadow.
But really I did,
I grabbed his attention,
Turned it to the page opening up poetic knowledge’s window
In words unhid,

Yet unknown to me yet. Simple words he must recite
To mum and dad, and Mr Grumpy tearing through age three
Happy to have the phone
Not even turning right
To see the first performance of the object of sibling rivalry
And true friendship shown.

“If all the seas…“, I interrupt the poet rudely
Mouth hanging on the words, longing to utter and make
His parents all proud
Of his bright memory,
“Bow, say your name, then go” I say to the second take
Then he does, opens his mouth

“If all the seas were one sea…” gesticulating as words
Swam out his mouth, climbed the trees, building a massive
One, next to a massive sea.
Waves wrapped round words
Flowing, leaves fluttering on branches with bird nests give
The Axe a legacy

Even more vain. That Axe wielded by that one great Man
Whose only great feat was to chop down the great Tree
And have it fall dying,
Gasping and cursing man,
Gasping and drowning in a Splish Splash which brings glee
To the words flying

Out my boy’s happy countenance splash-washed by accomplishment.
We clap, but those words have left me wondering
As I oft do
Little things made big events,
Why would the great man not wield greatness to support underlings,
But hack on wood

Innocent wood minding its business by the sea, giving you and me
Oxygen, protecting us. That great Tree, now a log in the Great Sea.
Oh what tragedy
Quite Shakespeary
To spear the listener’s heart by killing the hero through his adversary:
Great Man sometimes scary.

My hero hops on me: “Dad it’s your turn”, and I obey
Bow, say my name. Wrap up my congratulations in kind words
Telling him how great
He did just convey
The poet’s message. He’s happy, I’m still secretly thinking his words
Great Man axed Tree Great.

(c) Nyonglema

sadness

The End #writing201 #bye #aurevoir #aufwiedersehen

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End it all with tears and gall or love’s joy,
Fleeting time’s demand is all I dreaded most!
Ten days pens blazed eyes mine like childhood toys,
Ten days then this: Ben says “Time” to all posts.
How lovely it started: words played with me;
Ideas from child years, from teen years and now
Poured through each page I read in cam’rad’rie
Blending into this punch that leaves me “Wow!”

Yes fun felt deep is one fore’er to keep
Poetry’s duty alive on running feet.
Tricks learnt and thoughts earned in laugh or in weep
Shall walk me till I’m past Earth’s defeat.
Friends, to part brings pain, but it’s been joy
We’ll end not with tears and all, but love’s joy.

(c) Nyonglema

anger

Let that M’F’er Burn #writing201 #abuse #corruption #sonia

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This is a graphic depiction of violence…dedicated to all the Sonias who only get heard after self-immolation, or the Sonias who keep quiet because nobody believes them.

Today a woman died after being abused, and nobody would listen to her until she was dying on a hospital bed after setting herself ablaze. Now she’s dead and the police would investigate her case.

Imagine the frustration that led her to consider the only outcome “Let it burn!”
This is a fire for Sonia and all victims of abuse, male or female: Your life is precious, we know what you’re thinking, but that fire will not heal you, faith will.
 

            Let                                       it                                                                                               burn!
         Let these                           tears                     on                            my                             skin burn!
         Let these                              tears                  fall                          down                           and    burn!
     Let years of                              hope             years of                  study and                   work   burn!
      Let the future                      burn, let       my past and          dreams and                      memories burn !
   Let this                         body borne       9          months              in  my mum then          born burn !
Let this city                    I walked safe             sear in the   heat,        I say                       let it burn !
   Let my            country and          all who walk it,                  think it,                              breathe it   burn !
     Let the world        hurtling      and hurting     innocence         within it                          burn!
          Let those        men  who saw   innocence walking         and got heart   burns,
                Let out       vicious virility         ripping my clothing      and my skin burn!   Burn! Burn !    Burn!
                  Let the     pain       of nails        digging into my         tender           breasts                            burn
            Let it be that in that                 instant I had a phoenix   to protect my flower   while they burn
         Let it be   that the      blood in my taste    the pain round     my eyes,   my loin which burns, 
              Let out this       creature as     2   pulled     then         slammed me  to     the concrete    burned
                    My life     in a fire       consuming them    inside         which   I                denied      them,    
            And            punched     as I tried   to            protect      dignity dying,          and jabbed   feeble
          Arms             trying            to keep         off intrusion     inside, moving      violently moving 
        Beating      me    inside       and outside      wounding              me                    killing me    stroke
                                      By       stroke defeating    strength                straining    youth  for      old    men’s
Gain!              Choking, choking, choking,            breathing           hindered  by    hands    covered in 
     My      blood flowing        from up      and where mum       told me nobody      must touch, 
         Flowing    going         with all,       going with all,                     my all                  going 
              With all their     coming         with confusion,            in my    wrecked mind       wondering 
                    What being         would come of          all this?          What illness     pouring 
                          From the instruments  of      my   undoing      would come in,
                            Into    my       safe haven:              my garden,           my own    mine no more!
                               Let it be          that the             phoenix helped    me now        kneeling here,
                                   Letting          kerosene       wash me                 clean,       heal  my  wounds
                                              Letting me             heal in the            flames of renewal   
                                                                     Letting            me            burn. 





                                                                                         (c) Nyonglema
sadness

Memories of Your Food #writing201 #day8 #RIPmum

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The kitchen slab of long ago, with veggies and onions
And meat and knives and a utensil stack
And water and stock and “kanwa” and skills like a surgeon
And love and will to chop and then hack

Till pieces are ready to be put in the cauldron
Of oil of olive and salt and more
And make my meal, no a meal for me and the squadron
Of 2 bigger boys and 1 girlish bore,

Comes to me now in stabs and jabs to my sore bones
When I pause to think of your smile
For gone are you and the skill and love and scones
And we won’t see you for quite a while.

(c) Nyonglema

joy

School #writing201 #school #auldlangsyne

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The sun pours shine in gusts of gelb
And rise my sons from home
To bathe in glow and with some help
Get dressed to get to school

The steps do let them down to stones
Of colours myriad fair,
The breeze brings blowing myriad tones
From flowers here and there.

The chirping birds on that tall tree
Are music to their minds
To cheer with song these grumpy three
With packs upon their backs.

The metal beast receives them all
As scream and shout they go
To fight for toys or random ball
And scream some more I do

And start the rev and off we go
Through green and brown to school
To learn of things of long ago
And things so Google new

Oh how I wish my days were back
And I could go to school
Not type away on platic tacks
But smell the nests on trees.

(c) Nyonglema

love

On Marriage #writing201 #pontifex #pope @b_arco

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“Immediate interests” on poetweet.com
Compiled from tweets by Pope Francis @pontifex
Compiled and edited by Nyonglema

Know that they are loved and saved.
And are saved who loved!
Presence, before the Tabernacle.
Beauty of loving and being loved.
We can overcome every obstacle.

Makes us always able to forgive!
Always forgive the able
No visits to their aging grandparents.
Deep joy which only God can give.
God and celebrating the sacraments.

Efforts and creates great things.
See here all things great
In lives of Christian spouses.
The equal dignity of human beings.
To accept and carry our crosses
Our struggles and our sufferings.

(c) Nyonglema

sadness

On his blindness by John Milton #writing201

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On his blindness by John Milton
When I consider that my sight is bent, ere half my days in this dark world and wide, and that one talent which is death to hide lodg’d with me nearly useless…

I’ve been in specs since 14, but have been myopic from birth. Myopia being a strange condition in my environment (my gramma on the paternal side could thread a needle at 90), it was ignored until I couldn’t copy the questions on the chalkboard in school, and my grades blurred into the distance as my every experience.

I still remember my first glasses and the glee in me as I could see leaves. It was magic no other soul would comprehend: there they fluttered and waved at me, green and beautiful, each with its own character. Gone were the green blobs that stood at the end of branches. This poem from John Milton represents my greatest fear, and for having lived most of my life without seeing more than 2m on, and for having imagined doomsday as days without my eyes, the words ring deep within me. My consolation lies in the line where he states that it’s ok, one will find a way to serve God even in these conditions.

Here goes:

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg’d with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But Patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

-John Milton

Yes, I can also serve even without this marvelous talent we take for granted!

joy

Where is my Map? #writing201 #lost #stray #pindaric #ode

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You light the way that leads to my life,
Love on the cross shines down on my strife,
Saviour, my Lord, save me today,
Show me the way, Lord take my hand

I saw the stars the dark ones oh Lord,
And lost my sight, and followed the hoard,
Deep in I went, yes sought out the void,
‘Twas so devoid of Love in this land

Draw me nearer, Master nearer,
Draw a way to save what’s left today
Draw me nearer, Master hear us,
Listen and save your children as humble we pray.

(c) Nyonglema

joy

Limericks #Wiriting201 #robinhood #birthday #monster

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Robin Hood

You say my sword, arrows, arc have skinned your pouch to the bark
And all your sorrows are fruit of schemes of my men, so hark:
You claim I’m the worst of the lot,
Well I tell you, sir, I’m Not-
Tingham’s worst fellow, and I’m proud o’ the remark!

My birthday

Today’s the day I first breathed, first saw the sunlight,
And I’m moping unlike a birthday person might,
For all have forgotten my bday
And sad, I get home …then “heeey!”
“Surprise” screams at me from a cake crowned with candlelight.

Monsters under my bed
I know I shouldn’t be scared right now as the lights are off
But I know too that they are only scared when the dark is off
And once the switch has gone
The other way, they are prone
To start jumping at me from under the bed and make life rough.


(c) Nyonglema

love

Peel the Onion #Writing201 #beneathSkin #missingYou

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Peel the onion baby, peel the onion; work through the layers and see what is hidden within the canyon. On the skin it seems calm, cool collected, but within it’s probably saying a prayer, or two, too insecure and missing you.

Peel the onion, baby, although it may bring you tears. I remember the childhood kitchen where we diced onions and tomatoes, while mum told us orders we barely heeded, and got sent out because we were making a mess rather than what was our mission. I remember the tears swinging against my lids, and gliding down my jaws as if to mourn the bulbs being put out. Well the fears and pain beneath each peel of skin is real, and as you peel back the reels, reflect on each for just a second, and you acknowledging them will be a boon to heal what’s been hidden away safely beneath.

Peel the onion, baby, and see how much love there is to share, and how I hold back for fear that it be too much to bear. Because,you see, in those years while we’d peel and dice, our mouths went foul as we’d steal to taste, and our eyes would sting as we’d hack in haste, and I’ll hate to put you through that sad fate. We were just making a mess, but I bet you’re not part of our set. I’ve seen your skill when you dice the veggies, and I wish for your dexterity, but I never learned it. I was too busy on the computer while my brothers went with it, followed mum’s instructions. Maybe, I’d have learned to peel them back myself and let it show, that there’s nowhere I’d go but where you are, and how empty it is when you’re far away from here.

Peel the onion, baby, peel away and teach me the way. Peel and see the words I don’t speak, which hide there, and the thoughts that hang thick and swing and sway my heart to think and wish to say, but scare then stare at you and only mutter just a summary of what I feel: “I love you”, meaning “You’re all I need to live through this”, “Let’s be together through thick and thin, till the music quits”, “Let’s console and hold each other”, “With you is only bright weather”, “I’ve been hurt really really badly before, but this time feels right”, “I trust you my love…”, …

Peel the onion, baby, peel away for I was too busy on the computer to learn the right way to show and say; if I had I’d peel this myself and let it fill your days, and walk your roads and brighten the clouds which would dare to spill your way. Peel the onion baby, that’s unfortunately all I can say.

(c) Nyonglema