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Best Poems Written by Jacob Muthoka

Below are the all-time best Jacob Muthoka poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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What Constitution

I have my constitution
which exists in the tablets of my mind,
It's not an illusion,
but an ally, a friend,
A guide to perfection,
Perverts the way of the pervert,
A guide to perfection
for the immortal, mortal and mortality.

There is a constitution,
Perpetuated by coercion,
Written by human distortion,
With zigged and zagged expectation,
Oriented to insufficiency,
Loops that our leaders pay to see,
Whose sowers sow carefully,
lest they close their own way.

Of a doctrine hollow I know,
Often planted on the way of justice,
Where the little of a cobbler is taken,
To spare the enthusiasm of a regime,
A policy set out for heaven, 
But creates hell just before,
When infants survive just long enough,
To witness the state-of-the-art slaughter of their beloved.

An outline of legal malpractices,
constitution of an immoral basis of morality,
Thieves defining the principle of equity,
Harlots given virgin reception,
A fugitive in the state house,
A constitution which siphons justice,
Is your pamphlet of statements,
Written in pencil and erased in ink. 

That's not my constitution,
Which differentiates between a Negro and hero,
Implemented sparingly by hungry lawyers,
Who when full do more harm,
To warrant extermination of infants,
And offer them a premature state burial,
Where man slaughters his kinsmen,
For the interests of a constitution.

Written 15/06/2012 MUTHOKA JACOB.

A reaction to failed confidence in the constitution whose makers become the prefects over its interpretation.

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A Refugee Called Average

Amid, amid, amid, amid,
In the middle,
Between never and everlasting,
A haven for people idle,
A place that never is.
Began and built in imagination,
By ones who avoid
The cheap price of success,
Yet convinced they belong to success.
And they fall free to an imagination.
Calling the world unfair,
They become unfair to themselves.
Average... noise so mute,
Attractive albeit neuter.
No man's choice,
No woman's choice,
What no man chooses,
That's not chosen,
That which exists dependent,
Weary of good extremity,
Shy of feats are you Mr./Mrs. Average.
Sometime, One day,
Your place will grow fire
And you, the refuge of many
Will take refuge extreme.
Those to whom success is strange,
To whom failure is a never go,
What shall decorate your death?
True men die beautiful, joyful,
All efforts employed,
Owing nothing to the world.
Thing one
Success and failure are friends,
They come and go together.
To live average is to live a coma,
Absent in  the universe.
A refugee who offers refuge
Means two-times death.
Revive memory, recover glory.
Way to go, give you for free:
The light at the end,
Deceiving it usually be,
Bravery, confidence is the tool,
Hold firm onto virtue,
Principle principal
In a battle won at conception.
Overcome seduction of incidence,
Run towards misfortune, failure,
The black that obscures hope.
Win the big enemy at the beginning,
Live good everlasting.
Leave the middle, play at the edges,
Where man makes choice.
Far from the refugee camp, from average,
All are free, failing or succeeding,
Each given to elect,
Would elect freedom.
None is wrong to do.

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Good Morning Life

Good morning mister, of thy kindness to receive,
All groans of yester, thou does seem to reprieve,
With a promise to stir, tinges optimiste do contrive,
Pain’s sphincter lets laughter, it’s another reason to live.

Swaying pyjamas on sling, the autopsy right begins,
Stayed on the bed is a rolling, whom my kitchen concerns,
“Who took that mine bedding, and Ngwaci scantily obtains?
Wanna see me cast the ring, that thine blossom returns?”

The morning prescription taken, I am innocuously abased daily,
To equate with all good men, whose wives possess jealously,
For what woman with a noble token, shirks to lose recklessly?
Taught in the womb that lesson, it break suspicious smiles secretly.

So a frowned fellow I am, and not alone in this generation,
Often silent kicks boom, where behind the driver I myself resign,
Mister, let the news come, you know, cowboys pay to listen,
Devising to forget the theme, but slaughters make to mourn.

A day received with glory, all mine suffer classic deplores,
My stem with a rigorous forgery, in front of the boss affords strange chores,
The cold of June here has a story, then an undeliberate sudden Salsa implores,
My acquittal is my worry, nobody cares to hear the weather course.

Soon ‘t’s time the cycle to restart, wishing a fair friend had that control 
remote,
All these woes at will to alleviate, yet as I am, they incur not the respite,
With some spreed daily to hurt, alone I remain, a man of living heart,
I choose to live life when I find it, even if minutes thirty like a concert.

I rise with and as clear as the sun, I return crumbled like muddy earth,
This manner of men taught me none, but the proverbial sways of youth,
What shall I do but a resolve one, tonight, where else to go but Unguth!
Limited of option, I have all mornings mine, even if not couth.

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Jacob and the Limping Luck

Jacob don't snob,
All others died but you just limp,
Contain your ego within realism,
Obsession discards good fame,
Beware of your luck joyfully.

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Rowing This Boat

When I finish the row and
yonder my soul is invited-
for my casket will they lay beneath-
I'll take with me desire.

On the top unseen
where we rule the fate of men,
I'll despise my present state;
O that I could perch and mount.

What a wonder yon!
'Thout tales old and vain,
for all folklore will be actuated,
Charles the Darwin will not be.

That land ashore and blissed,
I'll see no monkey in the lineage;
Adam will contend Darwin sore
Who'll wish he'd no manly essence.

Now is my boat rowing
and the tempest doeth beset;
Of fate and destiny am I tossed,
Drifted on course I rest assured.

Blest assurance, O how sweet this sound!
For that voice I once heard again I hear,
In the upheaval the master beckons,
"It's I, fear not."

Gold and silver have not stumbled me,
I've kept rowing and the master holding,
The trances I have and often inadequacy
Have set my face aflint and numb.

mjs 2015

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Doxology I

The man pious entered the dark cell of prayer
Then with a hand stretched towards the wall
and a click almost magical, 
Light shone everywhere.

He was not alone.

A humming stream of silent voices struck
Eyes met eyes in one sudden shining
and that made the mark. 
In fear of sabotage----that grand misdemeanour
which makes curiosity an option---eyes rolled back to their sockets.

The man of light erect without a word, 
the prayer group heard long stories---that thing revelation---

“Everything is possible---including nothing---
All we need is a chance
and one chance is just enough.”

Every ear heard, and eye saw
never a single sight
that better tasked all human senses simultaneously---
Tears broke the barricade
and smiles betrayed.

Random singing---random jumping---, 
Like the atoms of John Dalton, 
Each moved as the power of revelation incited.
Not afraid of the biased jury---for none judges a revelation!
Each reservation begged for freedom…. 
Freedom
Freedom. 

Hands broke loose, 
Feet asked for places enough to tire, 
the man gave up ease.

Hallelujah here….Amen there.
Glory came, and glory dwelt.
What a joy there was!
Joy sans frontiers….sans razon!

The air got occupied, 
the floor was not deserted either.

That thing bizarre took place
But nobody cared, 
what more than assurance
Can the mortal ask
beside promise 
Plus a miracle?

Telling none his name, the man of light became famous
in this classis disorder.
The consent was sealed
His praises to sing
And His love to stay.
He looked
they responded.
Because love watches,
It looks.

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Sick Eye

Judging by his muteness, he is sick,
Sickly fallible;
Yet by his playing the verbose
The man gets no better;
He is sick, no matter what he does,
No matter how he looks today;
All of them are sick, except me!

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Art the Beloved

Men all seek thing one
Appreciation
To be understood
Albeit with weaknesses ubiquitous
To be called the best
To see the world bowing to them
Pardon is not to be told
To men that mature
Their language to learn 
A prerequisite it is
Before they say it you begin 
To execute a command
Before they grow temper 
You begin to cool them
Soothing always
Art you're my beloved 
Suddenly I fall to your service
Caressing intellects you fell giants
Brave and slippery, cunning and provocative
You learn me and you know me
You understand me and my lateness of thought
Waking me up at my sleep you help build a nation
Stirring the hero to ignite the engine
You speak my language, you hear it
Words dense and broken you employ
By an assistant's armory ghosts bleed to hell 
Whilst I think of my want
You meander in sprees uneven
To bring home my desire
I never thought love yet you provoked me early
Where finds I gratification you know exactly
And pile stocks of jubilee for your contented master
My love begins and ends with you 
And time soon I’ll stop life
That you may live my behalf
To tell them my story, philosophy and theosophy
For trusted are you
And I man will take a nap, nap, nap
And one more
Yet they’ll hear, feel and see
You imparting sagacity this style
On their deafness, blindness and mess
And I’ll take posture and coffee
But they’ll notice me all-where 
Squeezing into their spaces and seizing their power
And the conclusion will be like the beginning
I hope my proposal is accepted
You to be mine device for justice
A spike to the short changer
Justice in the middle and compromise without


Poem created on 16/04/2012

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Insatiable

I implored myself with money and okay,
thought that feasting at the time was no crime,
and as the chyme soothingly rolled in my head's threads,
then in pretense covered that craving with a palm,
that craving very agile and corporeal.

upon my lulling, the asking defied;
i gave it money and honey,
filled up with joy and future employ;
i promised burgers served with kandara,
njugu karanga and bits of cars
yet the desire waxed insatiable!

i gave a good girl to woo,
it looked out the more.
and i got another maid of the style princely;
her bosom decorated with flatness and uniformity,
reaching up to the moonlight in height,
digging deep beneath the heels of fashion,
she walked gracefully like a drunken monk,
the music of buckles and golden rings begged much;
and that's what i added to this creature of ghostly beauty.

then this calling wants a third one! 
it wandered to the ages of history
and excavated childhood dreams,
dripping with rottenness and obsession,
in the life of civilisation i was tormented, 
degrees but tormenting,
good jobs but tormenting!
sooner i resolved to quench the question of "enough?"
and made myself a vocation
to drench the injustice of childhood poverty
with the justice of excellence.

a redeemer of sorts,
the light in the way of a night walker.
many looking from my reverse
see hope under my feet-stool.
i am become the man of going,
and going i do.
behind is troop of people unseen,
jerking forwards, themselves a foothold to obtain.
soon they'll play this game my style,
and it's a vast quiz.

tell me, 
how vast is it?
the sea of desire,
all opportunities begging a piece?
shall i be satiated getting a graduate degree? 
or a postgraduate?
first-class or distinction?
will adorable mistresses and pageants
announce your destination,
oh desire?

i sought, and i'm seeking,
behold nothing satiates.
it's insatiable this life.

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Petal Power and Police Prudence

power, police and prudence,
the mainstream monsters of mimicry,
like patels of a flower playing far from the fulcrum,
their power derived from dismal points interior,
of state sustainance and centres,
assistants arrayed according,
to authority anchored beyond,
to pry prudence on paupers,
thus pour power like powder,
on supra-orthodox options,
and security sanity perforates without.