Tag Archives: beer

Not today #Gore #Slavery #Wilberforce #Racism

A Homo negus sits in a sardine can,
With many more like him, squashed together,
All in fetters, with 10kg dissuasion strapped
To them. He’s bound on a journey he hardly can
Comprehend, nor knows he where this pain goes
Despite avoiding capture before, while watching departure of many a brother:
He watched them go and never return to their homely coves.

A Homo negus sits in a sardine can,
Smothered by the stench of piss and soulful dirges,
Singing of shark food, once valiant men, women, sons, daughters.
These actually died, but all are bound to death in some living land
Where they’re less than dogs, they’re told, and everything goes.
Survivors of the murderous voyage are tools to quell carnal urges.
They’re no longer shackled in twos, but living in groups on life’s borders:
Whipped, weeping, weak, but forced to do exactly as they’re told.

A Homo negus gets pulled out of the sardine can,
Shackled in twos, they shuffle towards the waiting room
(A claustrophobe’s hell) each pressed against the other’s 3-month filth.
Through the narrow door the red sea screams with the blood of many a human
Who challenged this madness or got sick in these conditions.
He waits for the order to board the floating tomb.

But, he doesn’t know that today this trade will be killed;
That he shall go back home to heal, and heal a nation.

(c) Nyonglema


Round the table we sat four,
Rejoicing; how pleasing it is to pass an exam.
Joy from the heart of paradise in our core
And wallets ready to vomit pleasure:
Four bottles to feast
Pop the flame out of its cyst,
A trail of dehydrating pleasure down my throat,
Flooding my sinews like a broken-down damn;
So it all began: one glass.

One bottle, four bottles empty;
I feel my pulse climbing higher,
My temperature, yet second bottle is tempting.
Whirlpool waking within, reaching the land of plenty,
Are the other three hit?
They look pretty sober.
The black beauty kept slithering down my throat,
Tickling sensation spreading speedily southwards.
How long before I finish this second bottle?

Two bottles, eight bottles empty.
Is it really the floor I feel under my feet?
I am on a Zeppelin, now I’ve the heart of a beast!
Speaking from the heart, inhibitions rended:
Louder, louder, higher.
Singing, shouting, screaming.
Control still within, I wouldn’t break all oaths.
For sure, I was losing it, my liquor loosing the brain;
How long, before I realise I should stop?

Three bottles, many bottles empty,
Are all three of them floating too after these three?
Looks like; listen to the parley!
For loud hawkers we were,
No wares to hawk, but how loud we revelled.
I dared not turn round, look at the onlookers.
No! Gather your spilled senses together;
Hearing, seeing, touching, tasting, smelling
All confused in burning honey on my palate.
Spending, why did I get a fourth?

Four bottles, or how many?
Dilated pupils, my Zeppelin was taking off,
No need to ask anybody: we were four and drunk;
Rapping rowdily on the table,
Babbling. Today I pity the bar owner.
However, it was no surprise to him,
We started to laugh, one is throwing up.
Bet you would not comprehend,
Why the barmaid brought the sixth.

Many many bottles on the table,
We start discussing politics,
Our parliamentarians could not have done better.
We switch to football, argued about lawns,
Started a debate on ants, about the Queen’s pants!

Oh God, here goes the, hmm-th…bottle…?
We drag our weight out, zigzag on the street.
My door is over there, somewhere there,
In fact, our homes aren’t far.
Hmm-th bottles to our lips, the stream flowing in,
Four blind men aiming at nowhere.
I got up in a gutter,
Trousers soaked in urine,
And next week I’ll go for one more glass.

( c) Nyonglema Pisoh