Category Archives: joy

Turtle passion #poetry

The slow passion that ebbs and flows
From the mixing of words into some story,
Some hope from some other joyful or not story,
Unexpectedly grips the silence and grows
The words on the pages into hyperbolic worlds.

Then you’re hooked to seeing pages come to life
At the corner of a library aisle, where books
Watch you drink in the words. Those moments are
Magic to your soul as like through butter with knife
You wage epic battles with fantasies unknown.

Then the pages that your consciousness builds
Slowly unfold in Roman script on some page
As you strive to share that passion that ebbs and flows
From the mixing of your words. You’re now part of the guild
Of wordsmiths building hope one metaphor at a go.

(c) Nyonglema

INTJ

I feel your pain, can you feel mine?
The tattoos of life on your skin weave deadly mines
Within my being, for I can feel every grain
Of ink jetted to form joys and pain,
But that soil is shallow and all go off too suddenly within.

No I don’t resent you, do you me?
Your invitation boomerangs through trees
And my fears are the curves that drive it back
To sever your wish to walk within my abyss, dark
Lonely, painted vividly but in shades of grey and black.

Parasitic larvae are sipping me away
And growing on the leaves of my happy days.
Though no beauty shall come of feeding your pain to this monster
My fear forces this only fodder  into my shelter
Where hope died with care and nothing is better.

I feel your pain, can you feel mine?
Please do, for I can’t carry either, yours or mine.
Rainbows and flowers are just physics and biology
But pain grows to towers when I delve into your psychology
A little too easily: homicide from unbridled empathy.

(c) Nyonglema

Your breath #refugee #humanCrisis

Thanks to @CrisisHuman for pointing out that “refugee” is just a bad way to disguise human beings displaced from their homes due to other human beings. We live at a time where more and more humans are losing everybody and everything, and have only the choice to leave to live. To all humans losing all, never lose hope….and to all of us, when will our greed stop?

 

All I wish is to feel your breath in the morning.

The morning bombs thundered our bonds
In shards of glass, piles of dirt and torn mounds
Of once friends, while we planned quickly to abscond
To anywhere Death wasn’t the only sound in the towns.

The blood-soaked dew stained our silent feet
Wading through the floating rattle from shots
Breaking the harmony of our adrenaline chorus of heartbeats
As we walked to the unknown only fearing to be caught.

The camp’s sunrise with promise showed over the horizon
And we got welcomed to our new life with silence
And hurting souls bundled in teary memories and sad songs
But respite too, and hope, nostalgia, food and tents

But all I wish is to feel your breath in the morning.

To wake and look at your eyes bouncing about in a dream
Of our new home, smiling that we made it out of mayhem
To peace. To see your chest heave, to watch the sweat beams
Glide along the tracks of mosquito bites on your bare skin

To feel the warmth you exude as if 35° Celsius
Wasn’t enough, while your hair moves in rhythm
With your sleepy breath, then you turn, oblivious
To all the homeless with us from various schisms.

And breathe heavily as if a sigh of deserved relief,
With the smile of our would-have-been 5 daughter,
Sleeping my pain away in this instant so brief
But healing wounds which would beat our dead doctor

To feel your breath every morning, my only wish
To feel alive again, after my numerous deaths.

Yes, just to feel your breath in the morning
To know I haven’t lost you too this morning.

(c) Nyonglema

April fool #rainySeason #spring

The seeds are losing their coats of colours varied
Within the arid earth, looking to the sky’s greyness,
And the thunder oliphanting the triumphant outburst
From bustling clouds dancing the ball of the newly married,

In the loud wind whooshing and rushing about the dry grass,
Littering with dust our squinted eyes as the first drops
Jump out to wash away the drear of the season of nix,
The season of bare land, searing heat on soil like dead brass

The seeds welcome the drops intensifying with each step
Of humans seeking shelter, or humans going helter skelter,
April’s joy filling them as they foresee their plants growing
As the death of barren land leaves for fresh green and pep.

(c) Nyonglema

Wake Up #Africa #newEden

Don’t you just hate the incessant annoyance buzzing out of a cellphone?
Your eyes are shut, and dreams are in you, swaying and cuddling you
And there’s this syncopated harmony floating about like US drones,
Like you’re going to get hit. Like you shouldn’t be sleeping, but you,
You love it here. The real world’s harsh with things to fear, fears to bear
Bears in the office, officials plundering taxes, taxes to be paid,
Payments you are owed, Owen missing goals, Goals not getting nearer….
Near this cosy cushion of dreams, the cursed music is played
By transistors you’d bash but for the fact that you’ll have to pay
For the pain of being able to make a call again….
But that’s not what I’m talking about today. No way.
Who are you going to blame when it’s time to feel the pain?
 
Africa! AFRICA! Hey! AFRICA! It’s 6 a.m. and it’s pouring.
You’re stuck in a past of pain, perjury and mourning, looking further back
To dream of glory, gumption in days when you built stone storeys.
Those stories are history…..hello! ….Wake Up!!!  Get out the sack
 
Generations boated in hordes, hoarded to shores where all fell apart
To generations hoarded on their own shores, robbed, tortured, more
To generations seeking for sure, for their brains have lost their heart,
And disconnected from self they float in hordes tormented and more,
 
Are your pedigree. Shall you stop to stare at the tripping stone there?
Shall you mourn the morning that brought mourning till it disappears
To some sugar candy mountain in purple pill colours, and hear
Psychedelic mushrooms hum soothing tunes into your crying ears?
 
Africa??? Who are you blaming now, while the shutters blind your view?
They enslaved you? You’d been doing it for ages and taught them too,
And caught and chose the ones to be sent off in balls and chains in twos
And forced them in exchange for glitter, clothes, status and booze.
 
They signed shady deals? Well not amongst themselves they didn’t!
Not like some shady deal CIA-hidden between Obama and Biden,
Or Paul and Phil. You were represented by the mice with hidden
Agenda at the cheese distribution party. So …..nope they didn’t.
 
Rather than mourn, and seek root in tradition tradition…tradition.
What’s tradition? And who said it was frozen in some distant time
Before others changed your clime? Your ancestor’s oral diction
Was altered, and clothing, and building and art and even clime
 
As you migrated from oasis to oasis, fleeing from wars and drought!
Tradition? That’s a 60s newspaper bashing Facebook for breaching
Tradition. Culture. I’m more for principles, which is deeper, without
Which our bearings are stuck in heavy rotation North East West South.
 
Rather than mourn, and seek root in tradition, reinvent your minds
Adapt, grow. Change is opportunity, and exclusion kills opportunity.
Reverse racism is two wrongs to a right, and no matter what fines
You would levy, exclusion is your energy spent to fix past iniquity,
 
But shouldn’t we be seizing that opportunity? Driving paradigm
Change in little and big ways, and saying to the plants in the garden:
It was tough, but soak it all up, learn from all and then you can design
A new way to live. Then call it culture, call it tradition. Call it Eden

 

(c) Nyonglema

I am not rich #wakeupAfrica

Her thoughts percolate into my ears like acid rain

Reined in, tied to loads of nonsense from new-world

Worldly thoughts I loathe, for venom is their ocean.

Oceans of bliss in their ignorance masks the ensuing pain.

 

Pride in her riches like my daughter’s first picture;

Picturing formless ink forms as more of number “1”s.

One day she’ll doodle and it will make sense,  but now

Nowhere near Picasso’s are the art in her feature.

 

Pride in riches: she called Africa the richest place!

Placing my bets carefully I side with her view.

She then said the diamonds and gold sustain that too!

Too much for me ma’am…but mine’s a different place.

 

For rich or poor is defined by so much more  than stones

Stoning soldiers to death, stone cold killers from kids

Kidding with adult toys (not those …jeez guys! Be adults!),

Adult toys that suck life and blood and call retaliative drones.

 

Come on! Those aren’t your riches…they are Earth’s;

Earthly things outliving our decaying remains,

Remaining for the next generation. We could have picked

Pickets as currencies, or flowers…just anything and set its worth.

 

For the real wealth is people together working equal,

Unequal, Good, evil. All people as long as they are happy.

Happens that that’s what also brings economic wealth.

Wealthiest nations have the highest density of people.

 

The leaves of her premise sway about on the roots of

Offish bar-talk: “They get raw and process and sell,

Sales price escalating in the process so the initial person

Persistently can’t afford what has come of his stuff.”

 

But maybe there’s the catch: It’s not your stuff!

Stuffed with plenty from mother nature you watched

Watches scattered in rocks and metal about your garden,

But never sought to assemble any, never used your stuff.

 

So while you hid and counted the talents in hand

Handymen handled theirs, building all that we see around.

Round the centuries Africa did, then Asia, then Europe, then…

Then Jesus’s talent parable’s paradox suddenly stands.

 

So while Africa whines about the stuff being stolen

The real loss is the exiled minds who’d fathom new ideas,

Ideally within their home. But there the hero is non grata

Grating his life away amidst corruption and opportunities stolen.

 

(c) Nyonglema

 

A lot of talk of how Africa’s rich for its resources, landscapes…blah blah! No! what Africa has is people. People abused for being honest, abused for seeking change. But people capable of great things, but pushed into egocentricity by the  artificial adversity created by the people appointed to get them out of adversity.

Africa’s quite huge, but this is the commonest trait. Our leaders spoil themselves on their people, and education suffers, then research suffers. The major cost of finished goods is the R&D we don’t do due to stolen (not embezzled) funds. Lots of wasted opportunities.

Africa’s time will come when Africa’s people’s time will come…when they shall be heard. When Africa stops looking for the fault everywhere and really introspects in a deep SWOT exercise. When leaders actually start to serve.

 

 

His first poem #NatureIsSpeaking @conservationorg

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

School #writing201 #school #auldlangsyne

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

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

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

Limericks #Wiriting201 #robinhood #birthday #monster

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