The sound of an African funeral

20150627_120913

They sing for him,
Swinging from heel to frail heel,

Growing earth between the ground and,
his casket,

Bleeding love into the air
Like orchids,

Humming,

They rise again
And again their gently swaying busts,

Move the air to and fro,
To and fro,

Intending that mother be comforted,

Intending that her wet eyes,
Smile at new wives, that

though her son was gunned down, the
Rhythm of the occasion,

Brings life.

-short evocative poetry-

We cavort wildly with Language

The fish comes steaming, and
English is not the only language making sense.

Here politics comes with dark green Kale spewing flavor,
Kenyans having lunch on the Boulevard,

Lakeshore strip, Victoria;

Commitment is the idea that momentum cannot disrupt motion, that
Committed, one moves forward,

Becoming better,

Choosing beyond the sound
Of Visiting Americans,

Prodigal sons,

Providing proof of the pudding, cavorting
Wildly,

With language, the idea that language is not owned, it is spoken –

Shot beyond the target,

Marriage for instance, cannot not be left with just men and women,

It must not be left to white opinion,
It is,

A new democratic notion, an
African one.

In time.

-evocative short poetry-

Officer in charge.

OCPD

“There are no terrorists in this location”

Reads the title,
In classic bold type,

On Foolscap paper,

On a dusty desk,
Inside a police outpost in Isiolo.

“The drilling rigs will make no difference to,
The cows or the goats or the lives of the people,
Who do not live here.”

“The construction does not impinge on farms,
And will be manned by machines not capable of dying,
So there is no need to worry…”

“The oil will be distributed fairly,
According to the percentages,
Agreed to in the constitution.”

“The matter of people living
In Isiolo does not come into this.”

“There are no people here.”

-evocative short poetry-

747

Boeing-747-8

 

He is munching on nuts,
vigorously,

Utilising the muscles he has.

He has wonderful eyes,
Hawk eyes,

Wide set and is,
Now eating a banana with a plastic spoon.

We both, have motioned for a waiter.

He is masticating on a blob of Almond paste that he,
Has scooped from a glass jar in the,

Center of the table,
With his middle finger,

Nibbling like a squirrel,

And there is something askew,
As he rushes,

To the aid of a woman carrying,
Four heavy bags.

He leaves his own where it is,
Unattended.

I wonder if he’s on drugs, or
Just a tourist,

High on Africa,
A white man free to do as he pleases –

I am a black man preparing to fly, and
Have been informed about baggage,

Left unattended.

 

-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 in Mossad,
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