POETRY
provides a safe haven for quiet souls and creates a voice for the unknown while helping establish a platform for stories told.
Writing poetry is a way to express emotions or perhaps lack thereof; a way to be vulnerable and not be judged; an open space to spread your creative wings and see how high you can soar.
- EJW
JOY RISING
Joyful tears awake the mass mistake of a great debate
Life is what it's made to be despite the trade
Happy ones with thoughts of chance
Wearied are those that resist the dance
CHERRY BLOSSOM
(Featured in Literati Magazine)
If I wanted to hide and tuck away
one would find me in the attic
standing in the middle of a tiny bathroom
gazing endlessly through a little window
at the cherry blossom tree in our backyard
It would be spring
just when the petals begin to bloom
falling gracefully from heavens womb
It is there that I'd be free with generous thought
Daydreams of every sort
WOMANHOOD
(Featured in Urban Beauties Magazine)
The cloak of her title role
Full bodied mind and soul
Deep within the womb
Protected like golden treasures inside a tomb
Handcrafted by the finest of Gods
Designed to evade the facade
Hear the roar
Feel the blast
As winds blow
Blood flows
Surviving life in bittersweet throes
Tears of the sun
Wash away the undone
Like the Phoenix rising through the heat
The rhythm of her beat sounds off in the east
*SAMSON'S DELILAH
(Featured in Literati Magazine & First Writer Magazine)
The love affair with my hair ended abruptly on the first day of August on a bloody Tuesday!
Scissors in one hand
Vengeance in the other
I watched
As it all came tumbling down like fall's leaves
God's speed
The end of a tragic era
Bittersweet comes to mind
Like a ruined mid-summer night's dream
There I stood
Lost and misty-eyed
Staring at my broken reflection
Wondering what happened to my strength
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Edwin Baru
(Kenya)
To Dawns After Dusk
This is for the weak Those who for themselves can’t speak
This is for the hurt Those walking around with broken hearts
This is for the hungry The tired and weary
For the class clown who gets his ass beaten down
For the boy with freckles and huge spectacles
For the girls who are never asked out For the boys who never ask them out
For the jock who can’t work his calc And the geek who can’t run
For those who yearn but never get Those who get but never yearn
Those who love but are never loved Those who are loved but never love back
For the poets sonnets
Writters And their thoughts
To bloggers and their blogs To people and to life
To sunsets and sunrises To dawns after dusk
To freshness after a bath And warmth in the dark
To fresh starts and new beginnings Arise.
Just Not With You
She’s thinking warm hugs from long hands,
Strong arms around her
& a broad chest against hers,
Just not yours
He is thinking soft lips
Mocha flesh
and curvy hips,
Just not yours
She’s thinking of white dresses
diamond rings
And Little babies
Just not with you
He’s thinking
yellow thighs
and sensual highs
Big beds and
Exotic weekends,
Too Bad,
None of them with you
..Copyright…CerealiNaBoX…2010
Tai Allen
(NY)
Belly Love
Tomorrow has a different view
A bluer blue than before.
Today right palm glides across the hill
Housing a flower
Pretty now,
Beautiful when it finally blooms.
The waiting gives jitters nerves
Dreams fill my day;
Destroy my concentration:
Blue room? Pink dress?
Toy soldiers? Doll market?
Healthy my first hope,
Last thought,
before sleep takes over.
Can’t kiss the holy mother enough.
Haven’t figured out a thank you yet
Tried telepathy, She misunderstood
Thought me thoughtless
Excited -- too much to speak
My lips on her belly
A scream of emotion -- calmly
Soapbox and Big Tears
what i want to tell my lil boys but i am afraid it is too little:
they are not here to protect you, i know. and there are times you will need them; times you will initiate their arrival.
but they are not here to protect you. it is impossible to protect someone, properly, when you fear them. it is impossible to be a servant for a community, when the community despises you. after hundreds of years, laws, rallies, court rulings, injuries and deaths -- we are still gapped by fear and hatred.
this is not a problem, this is a cancer.
so little brother, avoid them. so little brothers make it your business to not be their target.
how, i am unsure. shit will happen, i just hope it doesn't -- a weak prayer, a vapid want but i will anyway. tyren@vicelounge.com
Vincent T. Nguli
(Mombasa, Kenya)
IN A WHISPER
Of men, women and children covered in white shells in form of IDPs tents
While they are sleeping under a mountain of duvets enough to sink a dhow in Lake Victoria!
Of eight people eating from a cup,
...While they dump heap-fills of deli into their round tummies
Of children playing with cholera douched water in their 'houses'
While they have highways in theirs for their children's big toys
Of ears deaf owing to the sound of AK 47s killing 'infidels'
while they listen to 'MJANJA' and the like, sipping beer n wine celebrating our stupidity
Of living a day at a time due to lack of food
while they live large and plan to fertilize our drought-stricken land!
Of living among vigilantes and 'you-are-not-our-tribe'
while they live inside a CCTV laced electric fence with sniffer dogs around 'em.
Stop the whispers,
Raise your voices and join me in saying...
We are all Kenyans
N love….
LET ME
Let me make you my unicorn
A rare thing for males’ yarn
Let me walk you in the lawns of love
...Where mine memories curve
Let me shave my hair to your liking
Then risk your skiving
Let me smile in the direction of the moon
As we discover the strangers outside in
Let me surf in the waves of your perfume
Take me away to your world’s allure
Let me brew the alcohol of bliss
And ride in your sweet kiss
Let me grow inside you inside
Cry in my heart to irrigate
Just let me make you happy
And in the process be happy
Omayma Khayat
(NY)
Drowning in Her Eyes
Color…light
Texture…soft
Emotion…true
They say one’s soul emits through the eyes,
as if the body only yields idle talk,
with its supple breasts and curvy thighs
the arc in her back and the movement of her walk
the passion in her voice and the gentle hands
all radiates a certain desire,
but only the stunning eyes can drown a man
with characteristics that signify fire.
She can grab him at any moment,
make him feel for her a powerful yearning
she becomes his only element,
causing in him an uncontrollable burning.
She can drown him within her deep eyes
taking him hostage with a simple glance,
causing him to forget where truth lies,
giving off an illusion of romance.
The window of the soul opens
inviting in the man who has lost all,
shards of sparkling crystals glisten
as he wanders in through and takes a fall.
Now he can no longer break away
for she has a seductive hold on him,
he is trapped, oh how heavy water can weigh
when one can’t move his arms and try to swim.
He has fallen under her intense spell,
lost in her eyes for all of eternity,
he is drowning in her eyes of sweet caramel
drowning with nowhere to go, he is left to be.
T.E. Davis
(NY/DC)
Artist
One
Fueled by the imagination
To create the trends
That amazes the world
Hypnotizing generations of followers
Who search out your inner most
Passions
Showing them cultures unheard of
Making them appreciate beauty
Feelings that go beyond touch
Fabrics made with the allure
To captivate all crowds
Bearing your soul
With the hope that they
Can see and emulate your dreams
Push your passions to the forefront
Of society
Yet make their own concepts
To piece it all together
So one’s own taste shines through
Pinaki Ghosh
(West Bengal, India)
My Piteous Scream
My piteous scream is nothing
But a strangled compromise
Inside a glasshouse
As I go down and down
To the depth of endless
Darkness and silence.
But getting a response
From the other side of the glasshouse
Is a miraculous chapter of human life.
Today I arrange a dumb funeral
Of that piteous scream
That goes deeper and deeper
To the depth of endless
Darkness and silence.
Susan Kibinge
(Kenya)
Discrimination
To be accepted
I have to be unintelligent and unlearned
To be loved by society
I have to live in a slum
To understand
I have to understand sheng and kiswahili
To be cool
I must take drugs
To be happy
I must be sad
To be fashionable
I must be poor
To be a thug
I must have never traveled out of the country
So who am I?
I am a pretender
If people want to be helped they must be polite
If people want to travel they must work
If people want to be rich they must stop begging
If people want to learn they must be willing and patient
If people want to be famous they must be original
If people want to gain knowledge they must be silent
If people want to be understood they must first listen
If people want to be first they must stop perceiving
If people want change
They must believe in themselves that they can!
Andre D. Williams
(PA)
The Dead At Peace
Who dat
New Orleans can say it now, shout it, do so with pride
But everybody knows who dat
Super Bowl champs
From a city once again electric
Full of drunken fools dancing in the street
But, on the real, they’re not alone in the dark of night
For the spirits of Hurricane Katrina victims dance with them
‘Cause it’s still there city too for they’ll never be forgotten
So amidst the trumpets and guitars, saxophones and drums
Maybe somebody now sill listen as the dead also sings
“Oh New Orleans, miss you, love you, congrats Saints
Keep on marching
And now let us go back and rest happily in peace
Celestine McMullen Allen
(AL)
Mornings, Mist, and Futures
On a beautiful morning
The veils are lifted
The rising sun glares
Through the trees
The crispness of the fall felt in the air
Commanding our attention
As the mist rises from the water
It creates its presence
Void of waves
Only peaceful waters and the mist
Sending a message
To the on-going flow of man
And in our man, woman, and child existence
A backdrop is created for our future
There is a gentle, sunlit rising to our approach to life
For the mist will rise of its own accord
And will evaporate as if it never existed
The sun will shine through its haze
Following a natural pattern of mornings, mist, and futures.
Victoria Mills
(NY)
I Am My Sister's Keeper
Bonded thru the strength from our ancestors
She is in each of us and has kept us always
Our triumph, our tears, our pain and our joy
Deeply rooted from decades of her struggle
You see....
When you cry, I wipe your tears
When you are lost, I help you find a way
When the world seems against you, I remind you that I'm here
That's because....
Your pain, my discomfort
Your fight, my battle
Your broken heart, mine weeps for you
For you are my sister
And although we don't share the same blood
Everything else that is in you is within me
My darker skin is no different from the pale reflections of yours
In the midst of every storm, I will be there to face your wind
She would be so proud of the way I love you
And the way we love each other
I AM MY SISTER'S KEEPER
facebook.com/vbella23
Elsie Wandera
(Kenya)
In That Mind of a Man
In that mind of a man
That man that I didn’t mind
With careless thoughts of me
Thoughts that care less about me
In a heartbeat
The beats of my heart so fast
His finger tips meet my lips
And the tips on my fingers make me flip
And maybe I was losing my mind
To yet another loose mind
That expected I spread thighs
With my thighs on spreads
Unfortunately he had to jerk off
And off the jerk went
Remembering his heydays
Days spent on hays
Ways of the high and unaffected
On highways and speed
At the crack of his whip
You’d hear my deep weep
And
…And
……..And
In that mind of a man
Of that man that I didn’t mind
James Wamathai
(Kenya)
When
When I see you I feel complete
When I spend time with you I feel content
When I talk to you I feel at peace
When you smile I feel a stirring in my heart
When I’m around you I feel like I’m in heaven
You warm my heart, you make me feel pure
It’s a pity that you will never know how I feel about you
© wamathai warugongo 2010
Rich Thompson
(NY)
Pugilism
Four cornered fenced-in mortar boards.
Filthy soiled valedictorian tongues sharpen teeth on ambition parched dreams.
She’ll wonder why you would die to become wiser,hoisting tassels like decapitated gladiator souvenirs.
Retort jabs a brain synapse off its axis syntax-less, classless pish posh
Oh! Spit-shine clean cognitive state!
How revolutionary art thou?
Worth a sixpence for your trouble.
Such a vivacious
vis
age…
Perpetually exquisite,
pansophical binoculars for steel wool ascot wearing scholars.
“Give me $25.00 and the change. I’m going where the morning and the evening won’t bother me.” – Langston Hughes
A titanium trophy for your casual calamity?Perhaps…..
I think--
I’d rather go ahead.
Leaving you flint for your tumultuous tinder.
Ali Abdolrezaei
(Iran/London)
Circle
You are reading a poem called Circle
Hold it there
Hands off the library
Arm around the windows and the doors
Bedding into the sofa
Now you may read a poem by Ali Abdolrezaei
Please open the book
You see?
You are reading a poem called Circle
So hold it there
Take your hands off the library
Kick the door out of the house
Tumble down the stairs
In the new park or the old one behind the Town Hall
On the same bench that sent my father door to door and
stopped my mother Sit down
Tell them of those children playing ball
Now you may read a poem by Ali Abdolrezaei
Please turn the page of this gate whichever way you like
It’s a shame
You are standing at the end of a poem called Circle
Translator: Abol Froushan
Courtney Danzy
(NY)
In Love & War
It's funny
I was thinking about war yesterday
Thinking that at the drop of a dime
I am ready and able to wage war
But making love is different
I want the mood set
The planets must be in order
It has to be just right
Leslie Ward
(DC)
Mating Souls
Dancing around like leaves in the wind
Never coming together but teasing each other . . .
With the possibility of landing in unison
Oh . . . how at ease my soul is with you
Home sweet home
Amazing that no matter how much pain you inflict on my being
My soul .. . smiles and rejoices when you are near
The positive energy we have individually
Mergers together to create such a
Powerful,warm, radiant glow
Can others see it?
Neither of us absorbs more energy than the other can spare
The balance is bittersweet
A pinch of selflessness and a dash of selfishness
My heart jumps like some one seconds before the impact of a collision
Excited, scared, anticipating . . . on the verge of exploding
As soon as I get hit with that smile . . .
Damn what a beautiful penetrating smile
I get defenseless, powerless, weak
It’s my hearts kryptonite
We are soul mates not because we are destined to be together
We push each other to grow . . . we accept each other unconditionally
So comfortable with each other that we can switch skin
We have just enough of our soul out in the open for the other to see
Both hiding portions smaller than what is exposed, but big enough to choke on
As physical beings we are friends . . . unlikely friends
Our souls however . . . they mate . . .
They come together . . . lose themselves
Taking from the other, for the growth of our eternal souls
They mate and give birth to two individuals ready and prepared
To resume our journey in this cold ugly world
One day .. . these souls of ours may decide to merge permanently
Until then we continue on a figure eight path . . .
That brings us together like human magnets
Attracted. . . pulling with a force that is dangerous
And then life happens driving us worlds apart.
But not to worry
Our souls can sniff each other out
Always .. . no matter how far we travel or how long we stay
Souls . .. dancing around like leaves in the wind . . . mating.
Wakahare
(Kenya)
The Name Wakahare
When I was a little boy,
just a little boy, a tiny little boy,
I had this book with pictures and words
as a little boy would do..
It had a goat and a cow,
a hen and an egg
even a scarecrow with his big hat
all covered with straw
and, yes, a farmer with his wife in tow..
The little boy that I was,
the little boy, that little boy
Liked a picture of a long eared rabbit
and too, of a bushy tailed squirrel,
and each of them had a name…
The rabbit, for its white fur was named ‘Buku’
and it jumped and skipped like this and like that
so that none of us could catch it.
The Squirrel patched its tail on a trunk
seemingly unafraid, content to simply watch
Wasn’t it laughing at us as we run after Mr. Buku?
Soon too all of us were laughing
at how it nibbled its lunch, a big piece of nut..
For being so brave, they named it “Wakahare”
quick as a flash, it ducks and is lost in the bush
I was so impressed, so were my friends
and henceforth i earned my nickname
For I too was quick to laughter,
And I could run, boy, did I run!
Its thirty plus years since
and the squirrel lives on
through it I remember that little boy
and the friends of my youth
Wakahare, they called me,
Wakahare, I still am
Love Life
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