Each year the amber season arrives carrying its quiet cargo of dreams,
and I walk the bronze-lit shoreline where gold settles like soft breath,
trusting the world’s gentler side, the part that doesn’t break.
The sky deepens into a copper and lavender calm, a place where nothing seems to break,
and even my thoughts drift softly, arranging themselves into slow-moving dreams
that glide like leaf-boats along the gilded corridor of the river’s breath.
I breathe in the warmth rising from autumn’s breath,
feeling the annual turning of time, the way it refuses to rush or break,
and in that stillness I sense the amber pulse of returning dreams.
Amber dreams,
held by autumn’s breath,
refusing to break.
Weird Witch cunning most sitting with scary ghost
eating rotten mutton toast and burnt butter toast.
Octopus spinning twisting terrifying tentacles
Witty Witch showing black magic, doing miracles.
Ghostly Gibbous Moon peeps through clouds, winks wizard.
Nocturnal owl whirling eyes turns back to attack limping lizard.
Eight eyes of black widow sparkled through wide window.
Moon cast ghostly shadow os shrubs in adjacent meadow.
Vigorous going on scry Halloween Dance.
All are exulted , hated to miss the chance.
Violent Viper always hyper continue shedding tears
' I love you , Dear' to whisper close to my ears.
Wicked Witch danced in guise of Fairy.
Suddenly showed her face weird scary.
Emerald eyed Mini Cat chased macro mouse.
arranging party in dark haunted log house.
Jumper Vampire hugged me swift to inspire.
gifting , a shiny sapphire : Me ! About to expire.
Vultures and Hawks coming in flocks ringing gingle bells.
Me in party at haunted house trembling and heart fails.
Many things are not explained.
I fell asleep in a sepulchre of words
in my quest for further understanding.
I gathered their meanings one by one
arranging them in patterns
according to colour;
aligning them in rows
according to size.
Some comforted, some injured;
they all tasted different.
Not all of them meant well
and many were ambiguous.
I was bewildered by their variety,
their complex duplicity
and singular simplicity.
Some were sharp and well defined,
others dubious and unrefined.
Although not native to them,
I felt at home in their midst;
and from the time they started
to visit my dreams, I felt accepted
and became one with them,
almost.
You can tell I’m not the real McCoy,
not from the words themselves
but from the way they are strung together:
Byzantine pearls from the Near East
held together by
a Hellenic twist.
What I called accident
keeps arranging my ruin
into something like light
A hot jazz box time to listen to Eddie Henderson's big tenor, spontaneous spirit stirring way high
Ron Carter's bass groove on " Feelin' Alright." Man, like way out into the new
Jerry Garcia and Miles Davis in vinyl heaven, amen
Guitars for life, Wes Montgomery, and Django Reinhardt, Barney Kessell scales from the far side of the moon
tasteful execution and brilliant arranging, man, it's the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Orchestra
Band comin' home, baby, to the Storyville club
The power of jazz and a rich hip space journey through time, and thought with the Sun Ra Arkestra at the Tone Deaf Factory recording session
Right now, and then John McLaughlin's reflections on Zen at the Jazz Showcase, Shi Town cool is the rule
Like now like wow electrical acid Jazz field of love and hope man, is the new pope dope
First time I ever heard her voice, Roberta Flack and the color theory of her keyboard life
Nightmare
When you have a nightmare, it is good not to be alone
She came into my room with a pillow tucked under
her area arm; wanted to sleep with me, OK.
She switched on the light and saw how untidy it was
She began arranging my clothes, making sure
I was full awake, I thought of having a drink, the brew
My mother had warned me about
The woman had been drinking, though, and was in
a frisky mood; this was a part that my mother told me about
She made sure I had a restless night
But I never told my mother about that
In the eyes of the beholder
Of arranging Holy jailbreaks, and stealing people..Away from this world.'
While you sleep,
we are the tide coming in to smooth the sand,
leaving the beach perfect for morning.
We are like birds building nests in the dark
gathering, arranging, making ready what you'll need at dawn.
The janitor's mop is a paintbrush erasing the day's scuffs, stroke by stroke.
The baker's hands fold dough like sheets on an empty bed,
tucking in tomorrow's warmth.
The nurse holds vigil like a candle that burns all night so others can rest.
You wake to a table already set,
a fire already lit, a path already cleared
not knowing we walked it first in darkness,
our footprints disappearing behind us like snow melting at sunrise.
We are the moon's workers,
the dream's stagehands,
the ones who polish stars you'll never see falling.
At dawn, we slip away quiet as fog,
and you inherit morning clean as new paper,
forgetting that someone held the pen all night,
writing your day into being.
Choices are made to fill the space,
Embrace the still small voice,
Rejoice in what it has to bring,
Cling to all that comes through,
The things you hear are true,
It truly does love you,
The best part of you,
Is hidden from view,
Smothered by all you do,
Becoming an anchor to hold onto,
Through dark and stormy seas,
Energy is creating reality,
Entities translate whats to be,
Waiting patiently to see,
The masterpiece unveiled,
Sailing an ocean of choices,
Curtailed by an inner voice,
Hoisting up the anchor,
Releasing the anger,
A stranger I must face,
Chasing away the danger,
Exchanging places,
Re arranging the space,
I choose to erase mistakes,
Retracing my steps,
Prepping for whats to come,
Welcoming something new,
A choice can change the view,
A small voice will guide you,
Before everything you do,
Chasing space through,
The choices you choose.
She rolled up her piano and tucked it underneath her chinny chin chin
off the the courtyard she went to play a tune from Mama Balloon
"Absolutely not or never" said porky pig as she played shiny, to win
inside the water fountain a red cap bobbed and floated like a loon
Singing to the top of her voice every tonsil quivered as she did her gig
bass lined to the music she strolled the keys on a piano forte made of pulp
"Play it again " cried Petunia Pig while re-arranging her imaginary wig
but as the rain began to fall, Suzie stopped playing and began to gulp
Suffering Cilantro your piano has turned into nothing more than mush
said the little piglet with a tiny little bugle nose as bright as a red rose
"I got a rockjam keyboard made of foil at home" she began to gush
but all she heard was " Tsk tsk tsk" and suddenly the oink just froze
"Send out the clowns" huffed Piggly Wiggly Bob who lisped his nouns
and so Suzie with an origami thingy ma jig fined tuned a little trumpet
"Keep it coming" whooped Porky Pig and Daffy Duck painting the town
they danced to the beat of " Oh Susannah" without hurry without fret.
As gold streaked across the western horizon
Weighted down by red smeared just above
God sharing His beautiful sunset with all who look
A thought of you arranging it my love
When I woke up with, " Have I told you lately I love you"
Running through my head, I wondered again
Then before that the Holy Spirit whispered
____, I love you, a message from you I did attain?
Why would I share this in poem for all to see
Why not, maybe it will encourage one grieved
Will it place in a contest, who knows
Maybe a message from beyond, I perceived
It doesn't matter if it places in the contest
All I know I felt your presence each time
God I needed the feelings of your presence
To help me make it since I'm past my prime
Help me oh Holy Spirit to make it through each day
I am weak in this period of grieving
Steady me, give me visions of your love
In ways to make it very believing.
The most beautiful song in my book, strategies that I used in my wars
I sang the map and rivers into silence,
where shadows lent their counsel to the dawn.
I learned the weather by the footfalls of men,
and turned hesitance into a folding blade.
The best victory is a harvest unseen,
when enemies wake to empty fields and quieter hearts.
I placed my army like a thought—light, inevitable—
so their choices shortened to a single path.
A general must be a mirror: hold no face,
reflect strength where none is needed, and none where needed.
I listened to the silence between drums,
and found there the true positions of fear.
Deceit is but a softer wind; ride it, do not drown.
Move like water that forgets the stone's name,
and strike where the soil yields without complaint.
Honor the lives you borrow for a single day,
leave no hatred to bloom behind your feet.
Know when to advance like lightning, when to wait like frost.
Strategy is the quiet art of arranging chances,
so that luck mistakes itself for design.
That is my song—the most beautiful song in my book.
peep beyond space-time, through heart’s looking glass
melding with the dark void and becoming
energised consciousness as a dense mass
wherefrom life’s born when God begins humming
brilliant luminous darkness unchanging
stillness zone from which light cannot escape
manifest worlds in Itself arranging
held solely by power of love agape
thus renewing Itself within Itself
all that is, filled by consciousness alone
which is That Brahman, The absolute Self
deep knowing we have been by God’s grace shown
Brahman is That of whom naught can be said ~
All that’s manifest, is by God’s will led
I have been watering it for months—
the small black bulb in the cupboard
that I never let touch sunlight.
It swelled in the dark,
fed on steam from my cooking breath,
fat with the whispers I never spoke aloud.
I told myself it was only a seed,
a pebble in soil, nothing more.
I would open the door,
look at it once, and close it—
like checking the locks before bed.
It learned the shape of my glances.
But today, I reached in.
Today, I held it in my palm.
Its skin was slick as a fish
and when I pulled, the roots screamed up from the earth,
all tendon and white hair,
and the cupboard air smelled of rust.
You said it casually—
your mouth arranging the words
like setting a cup down on a table.
As if the syllables were a button
popped from a shirt, no one’s fault.
I felt my chest open—
not like a door,
but like a letter slit with a knife.
Paper-heart curling, bleeding ink.
You were already talking about something else,
your voice trailing petals across the floor.
I sat very still,
the bulb still in my hand,
its black head beating against my pulse.
I did not crush it.
I only held it tighter
until my fingers forgot they could let go.
Time and time again
Rhyme and rhyme I gain
The old words I put together
Their fluff and their leather
In their old conveyance business
Arranging them in a newness
Over and over again
Offer and offer I gain
Divine providence
Manifest in lyrical evidence
Manifest in reader approval
A staying power without removal
Circle and back again
Chuckle and buck I gain
Joy and reward
Trade and meaning all aboard
A gift that keeps on giving
A life that I am living
K. Muitherero
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