Bawls Poems

African Rain

It falls with grace.
Metallic bawls hail the strength of zinc roofs.
At the mercy of the thatch,
Drops drip from needle points of skeletal
Palm fronds.
Particles of rain descend on thresholds
Among dewed terrains.
The petrichor befriends the atmosphere,
Caressing limpid warmth with floating cold.
Lightning, a white dancing Anaconda, races with speed,
Filling the tenebrous plains with lights of hope.
Troubled skies ululate through the power of thunder.
I always recline on that liquid voice!
Rainmakers cream their palms
And roast fresh leaves of
Epochal petals
Plucked from somnolent trees.
Bubbles, green and full of life, puke,
Filling up the mouths of burning woods.
Grey darkness suggests the pleasant wars of
May through October,
When distant wayward drops
Trickle before the deafening deluge.
I hail the blandishments of July
For the society of fattened yams and the
Worthy tendrils —festooned confetti of ceremonial
Harvests.
Droughts yawn in vain when the attitude of
Wet seasons befriends the skies,
Yielding fecund grimes that grace the soil.

Dig Your Grave

We stand outside the inn
Arua is a kiln
We crawl back in
But we know no kin

Mungu ni mukee!
Bawls Pastor Paddy
From the inside of a robot
Mazarau's robot

When we look outside
and can barely view any clouds
We know this is no place
for normal sons of men

Bococo bay

Bococo bay
beyond Ballay,
beyond Bar Reef,
beyond belief;
big booby bawls
brash booming calls
bedraggled beasts
bake bacon feasts
boss bozos boast
beside bad ghosts
blue butt Baboons
bemuse with tunes
bone bodies boo
(boil boogers too)
bombastic boys
bang, bang with noise
bijou boats float
bob bob in moat
blind burping bird
begs to be heard
Bococo bay
beyond Ballay,
beyond Bar Reef,
beyond belief;
beyond Bopeep
beyond my sleep.

mr cottonmouth

sad and lonely inside, like a hollowed tooth with cyanide 
groaning and bemoaning about the market, the trade, the money in his bank, thats who mr cottonmouth is
a very rich man with a house in his south
who whines and pouts, while others put his fires out

his tongue is long and split, with two little twins that drip
be careful, if you work for him don't trip, don't make him flip 
he'll rip the stage, and try to mend the page
with the same greed that would make your mouth go dry

and like an animal, crass
or a poor child cornered in class
if you ask, why he basks so in the glow of his so called foes
he'll say its me or them, i deserve better than their pen, while he bawls and points, at the street

but if confronted with any form of the truth, it's almost comically as if theres a little cute cat, holding his silvered tongue, straight to the roof

he'll start to mold, his mouth like a snakeskin wallet that can't fold
filled with unpaid bills
but his voice won't go shrill, or squeak, he's adamant you see
that it was "them or me", refusing to believe 
that he has soured all the nuts, giving them an awful bitter smell

freedom's vibrant canvas

Where job creativity's hated
We will weep and feel castrated
But after quitting
It's real and so fitting
Without bawls anymore we're elated

Remorse

One day later

My ego is protected 
All the pain deflected 
From the hurt you caused 
An eye for an eye; zero pause

You cut my tongue; I take your eyes
Count and pray on my demise
Until I rise like an eagle
Up to heaven; the angel of evil 

Hurting more

One week later

My eye bawls blood
Soaked my hands, skin scrub
But the mark will never fade 
The sinner's brand; you claimed

Demons stalk me at midnight
Till dusk to dawn is a fight
Curses etched  on my wall
The thorns start to crawl 

Hurting more

One month later

Thorns crowning and piercing through
Penance; the karmic coup
No justice has been made
But baptised; in blood I bathed

New face; new name
Old sins; same game
The same inner war 
Same man, hurting more 

Hurting more

One year later

I'm soaked head to toe
Facing the red soaked path below
Towards a future clouded by guilt
From the monster I had built

Hurting more 
Hurting forevermore

No Poet Monster, No Killer of Dreams

There is no poet monster and no killer of dreams.
Some people have imaginary visions, or so it seems.
All the trolls and bullies are gone, except for one,
who continues spinning webs of lies, never done.

No poison snake slithers inside these poetry halls.
No toddler antics committed, but for one who bawls,
crying out about leaders on lists, not being humble.
Boo hoo and hiss, with a pen this one does grumble

With references to "him" and "his" it's plain to see,
the one being slandered stands when he has to pee.
Bitterness runs rampant through veins of cold blood
and malicious words pour forth in an angry flood.

It's a shame this good man has been falsely accused,
but his mind and spirit remain unscathed, not bruised.
His soul is not empty and many call him 'my brother.'
Acrid words don't hurt him when penned by another.

Mildness is a virtue he shows many, without a doubt.
He doesn't look down on others with a haughty snout.
So, Milt, I am proud to be among those you call 'friend,'
and pity the one who besmirches you, trying to offend.

Winter Coller

Winter Coolers

The air of Delhi,
Giving the pure air bely,
One-time visit to our Suraj valley,
Where even stone mosses give pure air.
Where the discussion on the Chinaberry,
Giving Great Green Back Order,
To  Cloud Computing cloudiness ( pollutants ) Maker,
Giving Originally order to Organized Oregon,
When Cloud bawls and fallen teardrop,
Telling The Kohinoor salvation,
Where on winter flour Dive from Sky,
The rind of the Seville Soar Orange tells the Winter Cooler Current.

Crazy Town

No one goes down to crazy town
they stay put or don't care,
but floods seep
tides rise
snakes swim.
Crazy town does not knock
before it comes in.

Murderous are the many
who though few
do much when they do.
Bedlam glowers
bawls naked from gothic bell towers,
the batty belch bawdily
in the public square.

The cops run guns drawn
but they run the other way.
Crazy runs the subway
green are the goblins of crime.

Crazy craps in the street,
rats deplore the mess;
it's all so cruddy and awful
change the tv channel,
or turn the volume down

on high-jinxing, carjacking,
dog nabbing,
crazy town.

The Skater

The skater falls
The girl bawls
The agony of mistake
So much to forsake

Dreams realized
Fans and commentators idealize
A flawless routine
An injury not foreseen

The blade glides
The coach guides
The thrill of winning
Their head spinning

The loser's misfortune
Points earned, only a portion
Their head bowed in emotional upset
Replaying the error, lots of regret

The winner soars
The loser closed doors

The Fear of the Unknown

The small girl plays
A crimson thing falls
She doesn't recognize
So she screams and runs and bawls

A crimson snake?
A stinging bug mate?
The poor girl looks back to
A crimson leaf, what a fool.

Johnson's Job's Worth

Little matters the Corona Curse, little matters stockpile's dearth;
Of Johnson's job, clearance for virus is the very worth.
Infested with infection and inquietude, the entire Britain bawls: 
Boris, Boris, brought barathra engulfing my bedside berth!

Indigo Silence

i feared the innocence of indigo silence,
            it swept away my inability to voice my verse-
i tried with might so fierce i could not see,
        and in this moment of feeling worse 
i start to see the free inside me;
always knowing what was meant to be-
                a life without the strain of debris

     not once have i walked a path of vain,
for i count not kindness, just give away-
so why then does pain not recede
            when shadows creep in disarray-
for this woman has but one need,
    go to emerald fields and plant love’s seed;
when starvation calls life… i shall feed

            feel me in the cool brisk of a dying dawn,
sense my spirit in the dusk of a raven night;
       believe i can be more when failure calls,
have faith when i call onto the lord’s light-
   as the reverie flows over the waterfalls,
i feel stuck in a room with one hundred walls-
              on the brink of solitude, my soul hauls and bawls

            when i come to terms 
                       with what i cannot become,
   may my flaws transcend 
                into what cannot succumb



02.08.20

Haiku-5

madcap lamb
bawls for mum
wolf hound watches

Bundle of Joy

born 
baby 
beautiful 
breathes...so soft 
bliss 

bawls 
bottle 
bedtime cry 
breastfed...instead 
boy

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