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

The man at the bar

short poetry, words move, smoking gif

The man is pressed into the lime green decor,
This bar is known for.

Four cones of orange light form,
Four distinct pools,
On the blue formica counter.

There is music playing and he,
Taps his foot methodically,
On the porous brown floor.

I am taken by the hair on his arms,
Down to his knuckles,
Dark and thick.

The barman glances at the silver case,
The man has pulled his cigarettes from.

I am aware of a pulsing at my throat.

Two women,
One carrying a large important handbag,
The other,
A Japanese fan,
Conquer the purple leather bar-stools,
On either side of him.

We are at war.

Due to irregular patterns on my Hawaiian shirt,
It is not clear which way this will go.


image – twilightwap.com♦ linux hosting

evocative short poetry – words move

Frogs this side of the universe

short poetry, aliens, evolution, environment, extinction,

 

Evidently frogs lie in wait,

And the moon sets on stranger ground,
Than we will ever imagine,

Grey landscapes of endless twilight and,
Shifting sand,

Shadows that congeal into shapeless forms,
Gliding over dank walls,

Flowing into dimly lit caverns,
Filled with hunched figures,

Hundreds of them,
Four limbed slugs captured eons ago,

Growing wings and emerging from sacs,

Peering into neon and,
Farting occasionally,

Stubby limbs chained to,
Grimey floors,

Tubes running into foreheads,
Ruffling DNA,

Every so often we run into humans,
Who do not understand,

That they are only Earthlings,
This side of the Universe,

Night flies on computer screens,
Attracted to the light completely.

 

photo – webstockpro.com

evocative short poetry – words move