Words Much Like Poetry

All That Has Been Lost

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 17:28:00 +0000

"To the Faithful Departed," as a memorial to all that has been lost, is still being lost, and whatever the vagaries and vagrants of this world deem to take, though it certainly doesn't belong to them...

The Silent Castle of My Heart (Revisited)

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Sun, 28 Aug 2011 18:23:00 +0000

"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

it was never my intent
to give silence sovereignty,
dominion over my kingdom hub.
nor did I mean to gather
self-pity and lay it about,
a moat to the castle of my heart.

I assigned no consequence,
gave no thought to the betrayal
my quiescence would become
to those who had constructed—
in dedicated manner—
majestic tower rooms,
placed at loving heights
distinctly for my solace,
if ever I had need of them.

but know also, that I
did not wish to place a strain
upon the unstinting love proffered me—
friendships nurtured through years
that exist now only in memory—
by tendering the account of my trials
as they occurred.

I thought my tragedies best told
in the sullen aftermath, when the sound
of their relation would have come across
as nothing more than muted noises
to ears that were ringing
with the livid memories of my misery.

only in retrospect does the damage—
distance as insurmountable as a great wall,
unbroken by any form of entrance or gate—
my eager stillness might have caused
become as radiant as a crystal palace
which stands luminous in the light
of certain, unavoidable truths.

I cannot be sure that apology is enough.
nor can I be sure
of the worth of that regret,
I am naught but a flawed animal,
fallible and comforted
by the customs which define me.

Image: Medieval Castle, Public Domain Images

Self-Reliance, according to Emerson

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 18:24:00 +0000

“There is a time in every man’s education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance, 1841

O Woe

noreply@blogger.com (Antony Kamau) — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 21:50:00 +0000

when love is lost
and all is frost
I clamor for most
only to get tossed

all color is lost
the fire is doused
the life of a ghost
has me as its host

is life to me closed?
while sentiment was forced
I knew I had lost
my wants, as always, paused

all around is frigid
all taste is tepid
my appetites turn arid
everything tastes acrid

am I paying for what I did?
aye, 'tis the price of my misdeed
a waver from my principles solid
a turn to the sordid

my desire unsorted
I turn decrepid
I abandon all that is avid
and fall into this darkness so rabid

Oasis - Stop Crying Your Heart Out

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 17:17:00 +0000

Day and Night

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Sat, 11 Jun 2011 20:28:00 +0000

“Dusk, is just an illusion, because the sun is either above the horizon or below it. And that means that day and night are linked in a way that few things are; there cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time. How would it feel, I remember wondering to be always together, yet forever apart?” ~ Unknown

Driving Over the Bridge

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 17:27:00 +0000

by Jason Zhang

I had a daughter once, dressed all in white
but for her shoes
And a ribbon
Steely, implacable, mirthful
snaked through hair feathered by the water
across cracked shoulders
over ribs and hipbones
whispering of rubied grapes.

Swimming away, I said –
Sorry love, but you look nothing like your mother.

J. Zhang is a guest blogger for My Dog Ate My Blog and a writer on online degrees for Guide to Online Schools.

Water Candle

noreply@blogger.com (Antony Kamau) — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 16:09:00 +0000

the struggling light
flickers atop a water candle
a windy spell blows
and threatens to put it out
the flame almost leaps off
but grabs onto the icy wick
burning at the watery fuel

the flame dreams of the water
and the water holds its silence, unyielding
ceding no ground
betraying no emotion
but the flame burns still
on the water candle consuming the icy wick

the water seeks the company of the flame
the words exchanged of half passion
half mystery
betraying no emotion
a perfect perplexity of state
a perfect refusal of pairing

yet the flame burns
atop a water candle
the flame aches
denied for long
no chance handed him
no hint of future unity

the flame burns upon an icy wick
dreaming of the comfort of watery embrace
the water plays games of wiles
leading the flame's yellow heart to abeyance
leading it to passion's end
a place of hopelessness
and pointless visions

the water candle lets the flame burn
upon an icy wick it has stood for long
waiting for a sign of hope
the struggling light weathers down
waiting for the next gust of wind
to extinguish it for eternity

La Morena and her... Negroe

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 01:47:00 +0000

by Jerome Hambrick

I could have used your company last night
Could have talked or had a tongue and kitty fight
And no, I'm not all right
Until you come over and fix my plight
Had a most stressing day
And was looking towards some one on one word play
Your presence is enough for me
I drink you in and perspire glee
I remove you from your pedestal
And return you back... your love gently bruised
No matter the path I find beneath my feet
I sense you just over my shoulder hovering, lovingly
I enclosed you in our love knowing your fear of small places
That defenseless look... could almost taste it
And I know it's sick but seeing you that way turns me on
But understand my illness will do you no harm
My nature rages to overwhelm and break right through
But I would turn tide on myself before it turned on you
Because you loved me and you knew I wasn't right
And for that I'd kiss your feet or risk my life
You see the world needs more people like you...
That can separate between Black and Evil
And know that one is an adjective and one is a people

Love I What Bring I

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 22:12:00 +0000

by Derek Clark

I bring what I love

Stop, reverse that!

Love I What Bring I

Loving I, me, the essence of all that has been created while embracing the world through eyes that gained empathy, and guided tutelage from a deaf mother

Love I What Bring I, 150% of these six senses since she lacked one
Endless valued lesson in, "do unto others, as you would do unto yourself."
Though it may not be reciprocated, Karma keeps record of efforts I Bring

Love I What Bring I: great or small, fat and thin, female and male, adult or child, gay, straight, bi-sexual, bi-curious, or tri-sexual too right winged, left winged, even the independent

Love I What Bring I, this multifaceted craft of dance and song as a Pied Piper stirring emotions in the audience, tugging heart strings aroused their infectious applause

Love I What Bring I, and this palate laps the succulent flavors of varied nationalities, textured complexions, their cultured habits and traditions

I Bring, "le freak," "le strange:" in adoration and love to her soft sultry curves, sassy seductive feminine wilds; too erotic euphoria as cock-held boyhood foolishness, is masked by falsified rough exterior seeped deep into his thick bravado

Love I What Bring I, entering a city block, room, or conversation: my "joie de vivre," or jovial humorous disposition, charmingly handsome, self-assured-reassurance, bravery, pride, intellectual intelligence, spiritually grounded, and religious by nature bravado. Ignites intimidation of these: envious, jealous oh so ignorant, self doubting and self absorbed, simple minded babbling buffoons; as their hostel polluted whispers spewed from uneducated and gawked jawed lips fumbling for a retort in during their tantrum.

Love I What Bring I, as the life of the party and common sense in turbulence
Love has no choice nestled and imprisoned to my core
What I Bring is me, and what I Bring is Love
Come sample the nectar of my "I" in full bloom

At the Appointed Hour

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 16:50:00 +0000

by Daniel Njoroge

Upon each man’s
Appointed hour,
Destiny unveils
its face, And to
the man shall it
softly whisper
Upon which path
he will prevail on.
Then and only then,
Will the man see
What he was cut to be.

Yet to a foolish man,
His eyes rest bolted,
For busy is he chasing
After the wind, that
he sees not the time rise,
Nor does he give ear
To the gentle whisper
That destiny should wind.

Then upon the setting
Of time and the parting
Of destiny to a foreign
Land, does the man weep
And teeth nails in fear.
He is but only a man who
gathers not water
While intermittent brooks
Snakes through his land,
And only when they dry,
Does he move and cry
About until the setting
Of his days upon the earth.

It is best this man was
Never born, for a man
With no destiny is as
The wind he was chasing-
And forever more shall he
Wheeze upon the earth
with no purpose, Awaiting
His wings to molt off
And free him.

Image: Caspar David Friedrich, Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, 1818

HAITI: Every Drop Counts

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 00:58:00 +0000

Carvens Lissaint, who I saw perform live on the La Casita stage at Lincoln Center yesterday for their tenth anniversary. It's hard to describe the power and passion he imbued into the reading...

My Lonely Path

noreply@blogger.com (Antony Kamau) — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 15:32:00 +0000

these seeds I sow
on this fertile humanity's fallow
and as my master taught,
my hope on humanity should be forever taut

my achievements never come easy
I toil a thousand times more for just a measly
they do not find value in me,
judging me not even worth a dime

in my silence, alone
I trudge the path forlorn
my search for parity a blank slate
I start to think in this life I shall be late

the seedlings wither young
my ambition dwindles; reality has rung
this life's marathon I still run,
never knowing when my toils will be done

Image: David Grayson, Great Possessions, Drawing of a Road from public-domain.zorger.com

Beyond Redemption

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 04:33:00 +0000

they both stand and sit in judgement against me,
poised upon the spare arms of Lady Justice,
with all the earthly grace circumstance—
and more often than not choice—denied them;
full grown perhaps, so that their chords might function
to form wellsprings of intelligent disparagements,
speech which they will use to engage at large
the court of Hosts, the veracity that shall damn me.

I can hardly deny their claims,
all I've ever wanted is to sell my pain to the world—
that I may know my suffering was never made in vain—,
but in embracing my changeling humanity,
a steadfast acquaintance escaped me.
that knowledge is mine now, however,
and though you may know it, I shall not speak it;
instead, might I inject this bit of inanity,
like what the title Frost/Nixon brings to mind,
(it leads me to wonder if winter never graced the White House lawn at any other time,
and if not, what blankets it in lieu of snow
when blackbird cold flaps its merry wings?
is it shreds of classified "for eyes other than mine only" documents,
which then like the Red Queen's inattentive landscapers,
Secret Service agents have to paint green in the dead of night
when the spring season threatens so that none might be the wiser...)
but I'm rambling,
and besides, envy of State secrets is a wasted pursuit—
I have my own arcane truths, equally admissible,
which shall tip the scales
to more than allow hellfire to lick deliciously,
to flay me to skin to bone to bare teeth...
come full circle haven't i?

o, and William, speaking of wasted pursuits,
might i just say, "love is not Time's wasted fool
who loves thineself for all the unkempt living of wasted pursuit."
"and what of harbringers," you ask,
"of self-destruction who tempt love into sin
and leave love to sin?"
in perfect cynicism, I reply,
"lust, and not love, is she who is Time's weary companion.
love is that which hath borne its marks indelibly into my skin,
marks which delineate nurture's worn casing,
a cask housed beneath concave literature
that nestled the sweetly ignorant in nurture's same weary sac.
no, lust is she who hath forged
those who shall stand and sit in judgement,
who roamed the vale of my dreams, a warning of their coming,
and most assuredly, their eyes will bear into me,
and in that observance... they will find me lacking."

Image: Giovanni Segantini, Le Cattive Madri, 1894

"Love Has No Desire..."

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 19:41:00 +0000

"Love has no desire but to fulfill itself. To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving." ~ Kahlil Gibran

"The Hours I Spend..."

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 19:39:00 +0000

"The hours I spend with you I look upon as sort of a perfumed garden, a dim twilight, and a fountain singing to it. You and you alone make me feel that I am alive. Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough." ~ George Moore

Faces of Beauty

noreply@blogger.com (Antony Kamau) — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 18:36:00 +0000

the cruelty of beauty
its appeal to greed
lust its deity
and obsession its breed

the wit of beauty
its bait unseen
wile its ingenuity
and skulduggery in between

the poison of beauty
its toxic grandeur
hypnotic its vanity
and overwhelming its splendor

the frailty of beauty
its withering tendency
rotting in its hollow entity
and demise its destiny

Image: Carlos Schwabe, Fleurs-du-mal horloge, 1900

This year's birthday!

noreply@blogger.com (The Merovingian) — Fri, 09 Jul 2010 07:35:00 +0000

I am one day older ..
maybe wiser, maybe not
the days are a bit colder ...
time has put me on the spot
right there at the crossing

some say its just a day
like any other, who cares
for me though, as it may
its not the same, i dare
say boldly; at this crossing

so much time has gone,
what have I done with it?
no idea, as I stand alone,
in this blistering heat,
at the center of this crossing

I don't see much to live for,
I take life day by bloody day!
Work and then work some more,
For tomorrow, I really can't say.
Why am I at this crossing?

Here at this four point divide,
all my life's actions culminate here,
Its time again for me to decide,
where next my life to steer,
A choice to be made; at this crossing!

so these are my options,
left, right, back, forth,
I contemplate my actions,
and whether they're worth,
to choose from this crossing

strangely I am inclined to the left
I feel I am on the wrong parallel
maybe my true straight lies farther on
this pull, this will, well it wins
and I choose left, to find my fated right.

Image: Petr Kratochvil, Happy Birthday In Sand

My Call

noreply@blogger.com (Antony Kamau) — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 16:32:00 +0000

What is this that overwhelms me so,
makes me weak of resolve when I try to forget.
My efforts to distract myself fail me,
and all I am left with is emptiness without you.

My mind cries for you always,
mine heart calling to be answered.
Every heartbeat calling to you
calling, of the depth of feeling to be heard.

The restlessness that has overtaken me,
denies me peace and fills me with longing;
a desperate need to be acknowledged
and be of substance in your eyes.

Why do you keep silent?
I only seek to know your heart.
Every time I draw near,
you turn your face away from me.

I only ask to be heard,
the desire in my heart to be understood.
The warmth of your laughter,
bids my failing heart, arise.

Bathe me with your shy glances,
touch my hand as you pass by,
turn to look at me as you walk away,
smile at me so I may be whole.

~ Pandit,
that sappy Indian bugger.

Image: Vintage Art - Lady with Tennis Racket

Must I Choose?

noreply@blogger.com (Antony Kamau) — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 07:59:00 +0000

I am torn, conflicted
between one who is beside me
and one that should be,
I cannot decide.

She is my anchor,
speaks the words that comfort my heart.
The other teases me, a fun loving heart
they both make a perfect woman.

But I must decide.
Must I choose?
She bats her eyes and I die,
the other winks and my knees give way.

Must I choose?
She makes my heart faint with longing,
The other cherishes me beyond what I can imagine,
they both fill my heart with joy.

If I part with her, I will die.
If the other leaves me, my soul will be robbed of light.
Must I decide?
They both are the perfect woman.

~ Pandit.
And so continues the emotional binge.

Image: Diver From Beneath by Petr Kratochvil

When Angels Lent Us Audience

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Sun, 23 May 2010 15:11:00 +0000

who wears such shoes,
that every step trodden
creeks the tile
which sullies the bare cement?
when did my out-step
begin to weigh so heavily?

I was as silent as ether once,
a bare shadow,
though the burden upon my soul
seemed heavier then,
it reached dark tendrils
to touch those wailing souls nearby—
brethren of long and long ago acquaintance
who had tuned their inner stations to mine,
such melodies our fettered souls would sing,
harmonies grander than Handel's hymn,
more tranquil than Chopin's march.

I tell you!
angels lent us audience in those days,
only to abandon us
when our rap sheet of sons and sins
began to run too long,
and woe, redemption is a tune
whose major key we've yet to master.

Image: Mourning Angel
View license information here.

Forlorn oh Forlorn

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 04:45:00 +0000

by Daniel Njoroge

In the dead of night,
Illumes born of Lanterns; Curtains every window.
Aloof, crickets lute melancholies; so depressing and darkening,
That stars hastily constellate only to gaze in sympathy.
As gloom alights its luggage on the stillness of the night,
Forlorn, Oh Forlorn you stand at the street prows—And Summon.
Your hail, a fog, glides unprecedented; noticed but undesired,
Behind fastened knobs; all sheath their souls from your fatal claws,
However, smoothly you quiver loose, hinges to all serenity as you stroll by,
Unsolicited, you fling open doors to utmost intimate emotion’s nakedness
And move in to wed all souls that dine alone.
Seeking consolation, most drown in your cold bottomless sea of an embrace,
Hypnotized, you rob them of their sleep by sinking your fangs into necks of their dreams,
Steadily you suck to a halt the pulse of tranquility that thumped therein,
Alas you lip them with a Judas’ Kiss as you tuck them in their own bunks,
Awake they will lay and awake they will stay.
Awaiting atonement by morning light.

Through White Plains

noreply@blogger.com (Wamuhu Mwaura) — Sun, 18 Apr 2010 14:30:00 +0000

by Daniel Njoroge

Its eye moons the illumes of mortal thoughts,
Map routes into new lands, lands that are lost,
Scratches; embed curves and scribbles,
Curves and scribbles yet untangle wits riddles,
Meandering unknowingly from West to East,
Graphing witty crops; barring no one to feast.
Cunningly slither through White Plains,
Leaking traces of knowledge and wisdom,
Wisdom unconfined mental freedom,
Mental freedom besought division through wisdom,
Kingdom to kingdom, mortal to mortal,
Traces on White Plains bear as portals,
Portals at hand solve souls’ riddles,
Scratches; embed curves and scribbles,
Map ways into new lands that appear lost,
For its eye moons illumes of mortal thoughts.

Wind in her face

noreply@blogger.com (The Merovingian) — Wed, 14 Apr 2010 07:27:00 +0000

her hair blew wildly in the wind
the tiny cars seemed like ants
how could this have happened?
too bad no one can hear my rants

he promised to be faithful
right from that very rainy day
he first gave me an eyeful
I remember very well, it was a Thursday

I didn't mind that he was married
or that he had two beautiful kids
I was intrigued by the way he carried
himself.

thus began the affair, hot and steamy
I have never been so so happy
this dark handsome man so dreamy
O how I loved him!

after three long months he finally left her
I thought this was now it! damn!
after fifteen years for him it was over
we will now be together! DAMN!

------

tears down her cheeks, her eyes were red,
we met a week after, to have something to eat
and she was broken, inside; she, she just bled
"as you make your bed, you shall sleep in it!"
and she turned, and like that she fled!

she had lost, HE LOVED ME! I had won,
I was the one he wanted, this was love,
i didn't care that she was on a mourn,
I saw only the good life I was about to have.

------

grandeur! elegant! as was said by the press!
yes yes, that was our June wedding
o God, you should have seen the the dress!
the start of my; sorry 'our' new life.

------

he had been to Greece, some island called Crete
which was where he met her. its been a year now,
after two years of marriage, he isn't even discrete
about his torrid affair, DAMN!

Then came our first child, just what I wanted.
that very day he declared that he was leaving
I could not believe it, I think I fainted.
I came back to my senses, but I didnt want to go on living

"as you make your bed, you shall sleep in it!"
the words echoed in my head, a fool I have been
Left while in hospital, was too much to bear!
I should surely have tried to be more keen ...

what goes round, comes round! always!
I am now here staring at those tiny ants
as they get bigger, wind in my face
this night, I atone of my actions
like her, my heart's pieces before me
tightly in my arms I held the baby
and at last the peace came,
but with a broken body.
I knew, this was it. The darkness came ... just like that.

The last thing I felt was the WIND ON MY FACE!

Verse of Love

noreply@blogger.com (Antony Kamau) — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 18:54:00 +0000

Stoke these brands within,
set my heart alight with love.
Play my strings to the song of you,
heaven is within you as you shine on me.

Cover me with your enigmatic splendor,
light my world with your sparkling smile,
hush my racing heart with a touch
and carry me to happiness beyond in your arms.

Written By: ~Pandit

Untrustworthy Indian Poet!
Fine, be like that and betray my weaknesses.