They will stone you in God’s name

short poetry, politics, religion, government

It’s a revolt.
A revolution.

And in the name of God, they are building schools,

Delivering doctors, door to door.

They are conveying the message that people care,

And that no one is forgotten but,

Cameras are not allowed in some places.

People hoist burning American Flags which melt and,
Scar children with big brown eyes.

Women will not talk about this;
Allah is a man in uniform.

-evocative short poetry-

♦picture – Radu Sigheti for REUTERS♦

Dehli

gay-couples-all-love-is-equal-braden-summers-11

And they are doing white
Cars,
Nice haircuts and,
Broad Boulevards,

They are doing slick radio Ads,
Smooth charcoal voices,
And Western music,

Gliding with thoughts of Cashmere,

Air-conditioned Kaftan’s catching the breeze just so,
Dark glasses like reflective buildings
Perched on tight noses,

Moving forward with morning talk shows in,
Gleaming white cars,

Fabulous fingers prodding perfectly balanced power buttons,

Opulent mechanisms,
Fabulous manoeuvres,

In Dehli they are moving swiftly,
Their stylish Sari’s, airborne.

-evocative short poetry-

Careful as you go

image

A time will come,
When you don’t even,
Own your own body,

On the side of the road,

A full breakdown not a common,
Puncture,

Leave your heart, it’s broken,
Total mechanical failure.

What will you do?

Trust what you have given?
Love, a blue opinion?

You have only what you spent.

You think you can ride your habits,
You should be fine,

It’s just, the vehicle is suddenly inoperable.

Laugh,
Your soul no longer requires a fading heart.

-evocative short poetry-

Card trick

life, cancer, poker, gambling, memories,
Dance music,
Damp heat and talk

Drifts to halcyon days of,
Seventies groove and Afro’s ruffled,

In the political funk of,
Freedom fighters and platform shoes,

Cadillac language,
Smooth and languid,

Dripping off honey colored lips like,
Melting chocolate…

It’s a card trick,
And we are mesmorised by,

Furtive glances,
Over fanned cards,

Fascinated by the sleight of hand,
And the afternoon light,

Our soft voices and loud giggles,
Caught in a trick of time,

Heavy with love and breakfast.

-evocative short poetry-

Careful now…

 

short poetry, Africa, hope, future, children, freedom, potential

 

And look!
There’s an African!

Oh!

There’s another!

So fragile,
Precious stones off,
Every limb!

Careful now,
May come a time,

When evil cloaked in,
What is right!
Leads goodness into night!

 

words move, Africa, reconcilliation, ownership, economics, future, death

See – Exile
photos – Pierre Holtz & Paul Cadenhead for REUTERS at TotallyCoolPix.com

The thing with torture

words move, torture, humour, war games, effectiveness, interrogator

 

On the African savannah,
The mission brief had been simple.
Go in and find a Warthog,
By sunset.

The Americans had nuked the place,
Then claimed there had been none,
To begin with.

The Israelis against strong,
Local advice,

Had sent Mossad in,
Undercover.

Why go in looking like food?

They lost good men to lions,
But eventually got their warthog.

The Africans, however,
Had not reported by nightfall,

So at daybreak a search party was launched.

They found three sweaty soldiers,
Whipping a giraffe,
Spread-eagled securely to an Acacia tree,

Whilst the Sergeant-at-arms
-taking notes-
Yelled -
“Confess you’re a Warthog, confess!”

See – nigger, whore, bitch!

photo – webstockpro.com

evocative short poetry – words move

John Rabe

John Rabe,
Crys alone,
At the dining room table.

His back is hunched but,
He wears his jacket with pride.

Before him,

In the brown paper bag,
On the dining room table,

Is a package from China,

Containing,
One rice-cake,
Some dried fruit, and
A letter from sixty-thousand people,
Asking him to return.

His back is hunched and he is crying because,
His nation doesn’t love him,
Anymore.

His Nation wants to know,
why in Nanking he,
Bothered to keep the farms going when,

The railroads were fixed and,
Potatos were coming in.
What massacre?

Light from the window,
Lifts dust from the surface and,

John Rabe,
Cries alone.

When he died,
Died hungry,
The Chinese came and took him away,

They took him to Nanking and,
Laid him to rest,

Swastika, jacket and all.

‘…a living buddha in China, an outcast in Germany…’ he wrote in his diary

-visit two beautiful German poems by Han-Magnus Enzensberger-


photos – 123rf.com and  John Rabe at Widipedia

Looking for the rain

short poetry, depression, clouds, isolataion

 

You’re covered in the shit of life.
Great big clumps of it.

Hands jammed so far down,
Your pockets,

You have become,
A statue in the park.

Someone once told me,
Look up when you’re down,
There’s God in the clouds.

Rabbits in tuxedo’s and hedgehogs exploding,
Bands of men with strong pointed noses,
Streams of women with long flowing scarves,
Platters of cheese and housewives in Bath-tubs,

Stoves and kettles and cottages
with smoke-stacks,

-hot-dogs
and Einstein
And soldiers reloading-

I could use some rain.


photo –  MEG BHA at Gossamer Dreams on WordPress/123rf.com

evocative short poetry – words move