Sunday

sunday!

They say that Africans,
Will have to fight for a place on the bus,

So I am pulling out all the stops.

I am burning incense and,
Turning out closets,
-exorcising demons-

I am fumigating my life,
Throwing out old clothes and,
Trying to curry favour,

-surely children were not meant for the streets,
Nor nations meant for war-

I have found sack cloth and ash and,
I intend to,

Gouge flesh with home-made irons
Flagellate until I bleed sin,
All over the carpet.

There will be gnashing of teeth,
And great wailing,
-effort must be made-

I shall identify,
Church pews with nails and,
Kneel!

But the spotlight keeps missing me,
And I manage to elicit only,

Splendid chuckles from my nephew.

Damaged goods

Handsome-hairy-jesus

It does not matter that he does not listen to you,

That you’d rather he say your neck
Is as graceful as an antelopes,

Perhaps he’s not accustomed to lying.

If he bought you an expensive phone you,
Dropped in the bath the next day, would

You,
In yellow,

Say he does not love you?

Choose.

In the dim corner,
The shirtless man would prefer you love your neighbour.

♦Picture♦ Catholic Answers

-evocative short poetry-

How to save the world

 

He was at my gate this morning,
Sad puppy dog eyes,
Big as the moon.

Someone had left him there,
Can you imagine that?

I’d just come in from meditation with,
A guru who says,
That the Supreme Soul is called Baba,
That we are planting sweet, suckling trees and that
We all need be sweet,
Sweet souls, so we can harvest,
Corn.

There are three of us,
The Guru, an Old lady and myself,

It’s a dark 4am morning,
The world is quiet,
My toes are numb,
And there is more.

We are to,
Tie our thread to the farmer,
Marry the bride,
To the groom,
Arrange a wedding for five billion people because
We are approaching the end.

He says that,
When half the world is awake,
The other half is asleep,
-so we are doing well-
That at 4am we’re fully beta wave,
Very, very, deep,

-that we change the world with these beta-waves so we,
Must Make Effort!

Outside,
A boy is playing Playstation,
And the battle between Good and Evil
Is marked by several pings.

Kurukshetra, ping,
Lakshmi, ping,
Buddha, Mohammed, ping, ping,

We are labouring hard we three,
The Guru, the lady and I,
Sweating and groaning and trying to float,

But people are cruel.

Someone had left him there,
Whimpering and cold and,
Barely, just barely,
One year old,

Puppy dog eyes,
Sad as the moon,

Can you imagine that?


photo – funnybeez.com

evocative short poetry – words move