Home Truths
She says come in,
Feel at home
Her face a platter of unpretentious love
The umbilical cord has called
She says time has dried her tears
I look at her, my heart stone-heavy with guilt
She smiles and thank God
Prayer kept her unbroken
Grounded.
Grab a sandwich and be still
You are at home now and happy
Smell the brown onion rings
Feel the cold tomato
The flat-leaf parsley
The lettuce leaves and marmalade
Splash the mayonnaise
Tell your palate, all is well
Shake the Tabasco sauce
Revive the beat of the elapsed drum
Shake the salt bottle
Feed your soul and rest.
Kiss the wife and children,
Pick up the skinny little one
Pinch her porridge cheeks
Smell her chocolate diapers.
Get set
Be clutch-ready
Your family is your engine
Enjoy the engine power
Smell the petrol
Release the pedal
Lay the placemat on the table.
Pray.
Eat.
Rug Man
I returned a tattered rug trying to be a man,
and hoped she would smile to see me.
"SWINE!
This is not your sty, vanish at once!"
I hastily mumbled apologies,
vanished before she could slaughter me.
"Better shoot me and slit my throat,"
danced her bullet-words in my mind,
breaking the windows of my false asylum.
I left at once,
wearing my stench like a safety sheath
fumbling for fuzzy remnants of the dream.
"She puts out fire with gasoline,"
so lied my heart,
dying to scream.
Don't Tell me Anything Now
Brenda is on stage, her drummer is on fire.
The diva throws her jacket at the shimmering crowds.
Asks the DJ to boost the bass, to pump up the volume.
The beat seduces me, that easy soukous sound
that up-tempo Congo beat
that kwasa-kwasa kaleidoscope.
Like a hen, Sis Brenda dances with her black wings flung.
A young girl cries out for water, sweating and screaming.
Medics rush her to the shade of a tree.
Like most men, I'm topless now. I'm free.
Brenda is still on stage, her drummer is on fire.
Loving Like Callas
I defied the world like the La Davina.
Maddened love made me do it.
Love births evocative arias.
Like Ave Maria when sung by Callas.
Stubborn. I hold on to dear love.
Like that timeless tempest of song.
You may hate my wobbling verse.
I know it soothes your cynical heart.
In silence you bless the fruit of my stomach.
Feed me sunflower seeds.
Defend me from bully birds.
Till I am brave like Callas.
I can be a diva when in love.
Just like Callas.
I can be foolish.
Just like Callas
I can be selfish.
I wish for the stars to hide my vices.
I walk with a million scars.
Lodged like bullets in my being.
Just like Callas.
My voice can bring discomfort.
It can be unswerving.
It can be a flame that endures.
Friday Blues
It is Friday.
The sun is on recess.
In Ghana a mother gives birth to twins.
She names the girl Afia.
She names the boy Kofi.
It is Friday.
Roy Chapman is hunting in 1923.
Discovers dinosaur egg fossils.
Walks on the shoes of catholic priest Jean-Jacques Pouech.
The priest found mysterious fossils in 1859.
It is Friday.
Mongolia's cliffs are broody.
Their eggs awaken the human species.
All animals and plants can be extinct.
Jump. Safeguard mother earth.
Comments
*Comments will be moderated