Categories
love

Atheism

 The question remains: is there a carpenter?

Nails walked into the wood at right angles
And just at the positions and length to hold
Bars together. The bars themselves came off
The tree's intestines, in fitting chunks of
Lego magic. Baby skin smooth they came
Together and in went the nails. They came
12 of them, in 6 sets of twins, with a specific
Spontaneous destiny: to become part of the
Mindless chanceful event of a chair.
They came together in unplanned sequence
Such that it was done right and looked good.

But the angles aren't right, and the joints
Sing their pain when one tries to sit.
This thing looks like it might fall apart.
The splinter in my finger tells the chair
That it didn't polish itself right ... Then
I ask myself:

Could this have been a misstep of nature?
A random event?

Probability of 12 pieces of wood being right
Probability of them arranged just right
Probability of nails shaped and long just right
Probability of 12 nails going in just right
Probability of this holding together?

I've been told that a crappy chair
Is the proof of the absence of a carpenter,
But did the chair just spawn itself or
Or was it just a crappy street corner carpenter?

(c) nyonglema
Categories
love

To Live

The drops of rain piano on the bars of my window
Where I can see the hide and seek game sun and rain
Play; the clouds laugh in silver rays like joyous waterfalls:
Birds love waterfalls. They polka the sky and tweet
Their cares away to the gentle wind under their wings.

Nature just opened its eyes to smile on the eternity
Of me, the sun, the rain, the clouds, the wind, the birds,
And the rest of restless creation soaking in the beautiful
Predicament of being alive for just this brief while
And yet relishing the divinity and love in every moment of it.

(c) nyonglema
Categories
love

God’s punishment #findLight

The furniture gallops towards my legs
And I reach out to grab anything to hold.
The pride is on me once I thud the ground.
I manage to rise again, reaching out
My hands as desperate eyes, feeling.
The stairs like hyenas are next,
Ready to finish me off, they jujitsu-
MMA-grip toss me to the ground, even harder.

I rise again, more in pain, seething with anger.
God's punishing me for not switching on the lights!?
I guess, I'll just switch on on my traverse back:
The stairs and the furniture like puppy
And lazy kitten, just sit still. My punishment's past.

(c) nyonglema


		
Categories
love

42 #meaning

Where do you go from here? 
The sign post set by dad and mom just warped
Into this monster pointing in every which direction.
Yesterday, it all seemed clear: backpack stuffed,
Maps marked and ready, dreams clear and steady
Like a tight line stunt. But now,
Where do you go from here?
You thought you had the director's chair covered
And all ought to fall in place like Lego art by LUGS.
But you miscalculated the meaning of the journey to God,
It's deeper than degrees, deeper than 18, deeper than love,
And can only go if you seek, understand, and let go

(c) nyonglema

Categories
fear

Shooting your foot #Cameroon

I told him exactly the same as I’m telling you now:

The gun you point at your people is a gun you point
At your pupil, or at your pupils, or through a peephole
Into a future with LED lights lining trees capturing
Sunlight, and lightning, a future enlightened
By the lightness of the smiles of generations to come
A peephole looking back at the nozzle of a barrel.

I knew he wouldn’t listen, for without the ash splattered
Against my mane wisdom cannot be part of my game.
All their epithelia are the same, waiting for epitaphs
Epilogue to tales where epic lies dominate photographs
Of instants of truth, painful truth….like the peephole
And the barrel, and they’ve seen it all, the seed to the tree
The stream to the river, the whole range of our history

I knew he wouldn’t listen, nor read, nor taste of my sweat,
But maybe my blood, so I painted myself like the others
Vehement in thoughts dancing entrapped in cages of fear
Where the lines on the 60 leaves plane-leaved exercise book
Jump off the page where you jotted your deepest hopes for
Change, change into pain, twist your arms and pull your fingers
Around them. They turn into metal, and you’re looking out,
Wishing for a desk, a pen, but not even a toilet for your rear’s near.

But I know He will listen. He doesn’t read these words
He feels them. He sees my prayer that we’d stop crowding Peter’s
Waiting room: the logistics department had to order new magazines,
About cars, about medicine about emptying magazines on citizens,
To accommodate the throng waiting for their lift to the final
Destination: Heaven or Hell. The water dispenser needs refilling,
This place wasn’t designed for such affluence…well there was Noah,
Or better still his time, but there was enough notice for facilities
To be put in place. Not this time…but I know He listens.

So, they told him exactly as I tell you now:

When words can save the souls of many,
Lay Guns to rest by Pride’s old body
And dare to save another’s soul today
For face to face mountains all decay.

(c) nyonglema

Categories
joy

Home #nature

There’s an orchestra in the trees
A funny band they are, uniform with instruments.
The same notes rustle enchanted leaves,
Putting on a show for the feathery clouds pasted
Across the tapestry of God’s palace,
(For a carpenter, it’s strange He fancies blue)
Spreading before my eyes covered in awe
Taking it all in: the air pressure mounting Bucephalus to move
Feathers on the band, the sunlight stealing trinkets of colour for
My hungry eyes, the Earth of golden brown,
Holding years of history in stories it whispers to my consciousness
As I grab a fistful of my raw material.
Maybe I should seek a seat by those rowdy fellows
And watch their breasts vibe at the resonance
Of nature’s beauty.
Oh that band of one instrument.
One as an instrument taking me home.

(c) Nyonglema

Categories
joy

Looking for Rafiki #rise

There are times that life gets so complicated that you lose hope, that you believe that you are just a mistake in God’s master-plan. In those moments, you may wish to be in a movie.

Like in the Lion King, where all goes bad, then here comes Rafiki with the water reflection trick to make you see yourself, you wish for that epiphany. Then you say to yourself it will never happen…well maybe here it is 😉




My soul is longing for peace,
My mind is working on the fleece of the wool of redemption.
Dad always said the only solution to anything was preemption,
But …that’s not helping now, I need magic beans, or even peas.

I’ve scraped my knees
Against the floor, bruised my thighs like a failed sliding tackle
And broken my fingers with nothing to show but my lost battles
Hanging like trophies in a hive deserted of bees.

I’ve seen life seethe,
And stink to the brim with no solace, direction or intention,
Smelt the reek as if each of my steps would take me up the proverbial creek
Yet my Sisyphus reward is to walk still and breathe

Yet you Lord look me
Deep within the soul at that time I dare not look at a mirror
And see more than gold where I sense but ghouls and cheap horror
But dare not call for help ashamed and cuddling my defeat.

You see the meat,
Where I see only decay clinging to bones as the flies tug,
Cheese where I see but milk going away as the flies would tug
And You call to me, and call again while I pull up my bed sheets.

Totally hid I feel,
Yet You still see, still call, still love, still long
For that seed you sowed to bask in the raining glow of the sun
And dance to the tune of photosynthesis and mitosis and start to reel

Totally dead I feel,
For undeserving, I am served with the most beautiful voice
Of hope from a fellow human sent by You, I push away the buoys
You send because this despair loves this creek stroking the keel.

But you Lord look me,
And beckon louder, and louder, and louder, each bellow more potent
Than the previous, and like trees swaying by the wind bent
I feel the soul you gave me reach for the rudder, but me

I love this creek,
So I pull it away. But you beckon even louder and louder and louder,
And maybe that’s when I hear the prayer my soul’s slowly powdered
On my days in the silence of my subconscious, courageous and meek

I love this creek,
Lord, but it hurts to be this deep. I’m accepting what I can’t change
Just like you advised. Don’t pull me out, I don’t deserve any chance.
That’s my conscious rationalising. But I sense my soul’s subtle leaks.

The transcripts are in,
It calls to its Maker in hidden text, and writes lengthy memos,
I’d not read. I’m starting to hate this creek through its demos.
Maybe it’s time to leave. But will you Lord take me back in?

You Lord look me
Deep within, beyond my saddest moments, beyond my soul’s hardest
Torments, beyond the times I pushed you away trusting my breast
Alone, you Lord choose me again, You really choose me

And call on me,
To cast my burdens, to cast the yoke I have piled on my shoulder
And leave the creek wherein I’ve been rolling up the evil boulder,
To come home: your love gives me hope, your love heals.

(c) Nyonglema

Categories
joy

Working for the white man #noRacism #coloursNsmells

This is what I learnt from working for the white man:

  The rainy season will come each year, and so will the dry
  And bosses can be mean, they can be sad, they can be shy
  And life will move on even when the targets seem high
  And the team will be there, to scoff but sometimes say fie
  But they can lift you high with a good laugh, or just smile.
  I learnt to be humble in front of challenges, for God
  Put them there to shine through the successes we got.

Then,

This is what I learnt from working for the black man:

  The rainy season will come each year, and so will the dry
  And bosses can be mean, they can be sad, they can be shy
  And life will move on even when the targets seem high
  And the team will be there, to scoff but sometimes say fie
  But they can lift you high with a good laugh, or just smile.
  I learnt to be humble in front of challenges, for God
Put them there to shine through the successes we got.

And,

This is what I learnt from your puzzled mind:

We’re all the same deep under, and the colour doesn’t determine
  What success or failure or iniquity or sanctity you bring.
Black, white, dark, spiked, light, night, yellow, mellow,
  I’m looking at you looking at me, but we’re all one big shadow
On this sphere spinning in nothingness. That colours, smells
  Are just ways to make the labrador hate hounds and spaniels.

I learnt to be humble in front of challenges, for God
Put them there to shine through as we merge into one pod.

(c) Nyonglema

Categories
sadness

Downhill #despair #darknessIt

It all goes downhill from here.
At home, I’m not the man I paint
On the wall of my dreams. I’m not he.
My kids see me, but I see a faint
Depiction of myself, riddled with fleas
I see a demon with horns in their saint
Advising, holding, downhill to hell.

It all goes downhill from here
When even at work your effect is faint
And your figures are wrong, targets wrong
And failure’s the only thing you acquaint
As the reports are filed and you’re wrong wrong.
Where did you go wrong in all that you meant
To achieve as you go downhill to hell?

It all goes downhill from where
Suicide lurks in the scripts on the page,
Taunts you with methods, means to fix this.
Gives you the manual to soothe and assuage,
In detailed depictions with diagrams and digits,
To stop decay and just leave it all without rage
Down down down down downhill to hell.

It all goes downhill from here.
Even the staff is broken, staring with rage
As you disgust in the reek of your failure.
The promises filled the meter, but didn’t meet the gauge
And your futile attempts to fix are lures
To aggravate the stench and meet Murphy’s adage:
“It will go downhill downhill to hell.”

 

What’s left? What’s left? What’s left?
Nothing. Nothing. Downhill downhill …to hell.

 

But it need not go downhill from here.
Your finger’s on the trigger of solace, or so you think.
There’s a Saviour in true panoramic review
Of the situation. He resets the stroboscope on your blinks
So you can see the brightness now out of view.
It’s never easy when the dishes seem to overfill the sink
But it always goes down down and away from hell.

For it only seem to go downhill from here
Because pain injects despair and shortsightedness within
And Hope’s disguised as sci-fi anime.
But if you look deeper, that veil will wear out very thin
And within God whispers each step of the way:
“It’ll be OK. Let me take you off the sand for a spin”
And your “Yes” will take you up up and away to well.

(c) Nyonglema

Categories
love

On Marriage #writing201 #pontifex #pope @b_arco

“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