Godfrey Mutiso Gorry Poems

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African Writings

 If you meet literature from Africa
Or even their mentors
In such works
You realize a trait of madness
Pumping into the throbbing poetics.
There is a knack in it that sparks alight
The nearest shrubs;
Intrigue and sensation incomparable.
The heart of African literature
Pumping wordy blood into fragile young minds.
Rejuvenating the African word
That merges into a whirlpool mixture
Of creativity, and strengthen our verbosity.
Impregnated words
Be borne from...Read more of this...

An Ode To My Jailed Friend

 Unmasked –
The spirits' face is a black hole
Swallowing the celestial beauty
Of the stars.

Caged –
The sentinel is crouched
Subsumed in seething pain
Not pain but anger of being guiltless
Yet ‘guilty’ for being in jail.

The cell –
No crime equals its greasy grey walls
Thickly dark with no grills for light
Till the eyes, sore, feel pain no more.

The sentinel –
Was once a brother
Used to sit...Read more of this...

Publishers

 And then they pretend like owls
With marble eyes and wizened stupidity
I do not know why they cannot perceive
True art
But I will write
Until sand evaporates
And the moon consumes the sun
I will write
Even for the sake of art
For myself and for those who feel
Reading could lift them
Into other spheres of fancy
Where thoughts are much clearer
And deeds best described
As a vintage of...Read more of this...

The Garden Of Death

 Weak but alive
dying yet still alive
huge eyes
round like golf balls 
white as bones
Bony framed
fleshless
Pus in orifices
worms
teeth, white teeth
skull and bones.
Am sorry for life
Oh this pain deeper than
Only death can save
My friend, I am sorry
That you pain
When you sleep, wake
Pain, blindness
Damn anguish – no thoughts emerge
When engulfed by pain
Such heart is dead 
Am sorry;
Oh this life! A taboo
You will die...Read more of this...

This country nurtured hope..

 This country nurtured hope decayed,
The politician cruises on a 4WD guzzler,
The thief.
Feeling the base of his belly.

There is a slum in my heart
But I cannot relocate it to my foot
Nor hand nor back
Its rusted tin makeshifts make my blood flow slow.

War has filled my heart with bullets,
Steel and blood do not mix.
A bullet lodged in my head
Is another brain...Read more of this...