IN ECHOED MEAN SORROWS TO HER
(A Tanka Duet)
Peace rang the doorbell:
“Sorry, you’re at the wrong door.”
“We only do wars:-”
At the next door, she heard:
“Sorry, we’ve no vacancies.”
Moving on, peace heard,
“Your sorry butt got some nerves!”
“Get the hell away!”
In sorrow, Peace keeps belling;
Hoping one day, its God’s door:-
Put on your soft mittens as you mete out punches
The stench of despair has sent the flies flying
As wretched voices die in the agony of the trenches,
Smoke, fire, death, silence, blood slowly crying.
Don't let those tears disappear without telling
Of how they came to be. From aching gland burning,
From swollen heart entrapped dreaming of belling
Of events that cause in all for justice a yearning
Don't let the fires chew up the browning pages
Where once sordid tales told the willing student
Of what would come this way, or that way, the wages
Of right, wrong; the way of the vile, of the prudent
Telling of wretched voices dying in the trenches,
Of smoke, fire, and of blood slowly crying.
Don't let memory die as they split us into tranches
To silence half, then lead both halves into trenches.
(c) nyonglema
you hear the belling
people singing
fires bruning chestnut
and other stuff
YOU CAN
TELL ITS CHRISTMAS
Quite like a moon, will you gloom in to my doom?
Soon and ever I shall stay like a soothing plume
Shine in your smile, can reclaim my life in no time
Unto belling then, I’m undone without someone.
O' touching the leaves, you did loom it to flowers
When you chant, I’m possible is how impossible sounds
Everything changes for you, why dn't you begin a change?
Living with your seizing mirage, do I sound so strange?
Letting me hollow, you stroll into me solo.
Beginning a walk, you stood in my heart. Bravo!
Indifferently you may render, still I would stay nearer
Unto globe finds nowhere, merely for you, I’m there.
Quite like a moon, will you gloom in to my doom?
Soon and ever I shall stay like a soothing plume
Shine in your smile, will reclaim my life in no time
Unto belling then, I’m undone without someone.
Occurring being fearful the winter
while the mid-night minutes
by anew wake of dawn —
the snow-alike rain been falling
and the Cathedral is hollow-ringer
sudden gave off fifth pealing of belling
and hour done announce by dawn turn,
over the semi vision bout darkness
and through my window glass
the winter I listening
giving a sound in torment whimper —
and the illusion, the dreamy
and memories apart
occupying sort, my mind
the childhood and romance left moment
the school ever by a placenta winter
ever as passions area
the fountain and inspiration
a meant-up dynamic thy precious
the beauty–the greatly there
moments in life
and by the end, I wrote
the winter I’d listened
in respond and convert ill temper
over hard fury whimpering sound
in landing in torment . . .
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