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A Good Cry

Listen to poem:

i wait at the river for the cry of the loon
from below 
in the muck 
grow tall 
there are no lips that will draw music 
from these clarinet dwellers

i stand under the brightly lit dusk
nearly motionless

the moon above is glued in place nailed in to its spot
holding on to a piece of the bedtime sky 

the little dipper reminds me of a rocking chair
my favourite star shines just a little dimmer 

time passes 
does so 

its metronome beat replaces the soundscape 
of an otherwise musically crowded air 

a hand descends from above
cuts the trapped moon down to a sliver
leaving the twilight mostly blind

i'm getting old
still even my worn out senses 
are aware 
of the days
of that single golden eye
of its rise
its set 
its endless loop

quiet is my flow of sand

stressed beyond reason
my lungs want to burst
my brain explode
my emotions are stretched passed their limit

my chest fills
my chest empties

the choice was 
has always been mine
i have not lived the life i was gifted

i'm frozen
i'm hot
like a statue baking in the unforgiving rays of Sol

wide awake in the after dark
with all the usual players

the wolf with his cool stance 
dressed in a zoot suit 
snapping his beatnik fingers
wooing the maiden night

the lynx with a fluid stride plays 
the ground like bongo drums 
negotiates the air like brushes on snares

a choir of flyers lend their songs

there is a chasm of nurtured colours 
engulfing me in its rich deep tones

having stood here longer then i know
i inhale my time in tiny puffs 

i am void of the sanity i once possessed
i happily dismissed that blurry concept a long time ago
it is you know an overrated attribute 

time moves with a second hand like a plane propeller 
i live every moment as fully as my strength allows

all the living at the river and its surrounding land
add their breath to the natural air of the eventide 

i breathe in the chill of the nightfall air 
and i 

i wait at the river for the cry of the loon

September 28 2015

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

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The African Cry

Mama Africa, 
Land of my ancestors' birth;
Source of all mankind, 
the once Shangri la of mother earth.

Stir up the spirit of the Mau-Mau in vibrato on the bongo.
Your ways are far higher than the crags of the Kilimanjaro. 
Let the cry for freedom rides the winds of the Serengeti,
 and the walls of segregation fall like confetti.

With careful utterances, 
ransack the minds of the pig-headed souls.
Uhuru milele! Milele bure!
Adamantly, gluttons deprive her black gold. 
In the villages, griots will invoke a new story.

Follow the way of the lion, 
and watch out for the hyenas.
When the rivers are dry in Tanzania, 
danger resides in the mud. 
Remember; when liberty is threaten in Somalia,
 freedom is written in blood.
Blood stained her crevices with love; 
black sons’ and black daughters’ blood.

Copyright © Earle Brown | Year Posted 2010

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My favorite song

I cant remember the lyrics but it goes something like
then some lyrics about a girl
then the guitar goes
(ba ba ba papapapa
baaa babababa baaaa babababa
then there's a kind of cool rythm to it that sounds like a bongo being played under water.

Copyright © Casper Daccary | Year Posted 2014

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Life Music

Oh, hear the rattle of the rolling train; yhe clap…clap…clacking rhythm, beating like a conga drum; every trip it sings along, with the tracks repeating song; such simple, inexpensive music. Listen to that music, of the heart-beat, of the train. Sing along, with its melodious song. Come, join in the rhythm; don’t you love, to sing along; with the clack..clack…chugging, of that rolling drum. Run and grab your bongo drums; we’ll play a little music. A grand neighborhood, sing-along, to the rhythm of the train. Oh, what a wondrous rhythm, is the old, Iron Horse’s song. In the heart’s, always a song; the body’s beating drum. It keeps on pounding out its rhythm; the heart beats of its Chrystal music; beats with tempo of the train’ just clap…clap…clacking, on along. All the people sing along, with the old Iron Horse’s thrilling songs. If with instruments, you’re untrained; perhaps you do not own a drum. Still, you can join the music; just clap your hands in rhythm. Revel in that rhythm, sing and play along. Just be part of the music and belt out your own song, to your own heart’s rhythm and that musical old train. Lighten up that rhythm and revel in the music. Have a glorious, sing-along, to the many beating drums. There’s nothing quite as joyous, as the songs sung with the trains.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

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The westerners eat Amala and Ewedu
We eat Akpo and Ofe Nsala
They dance Juju and Apala
We dance bongo and atilogwu the beat of life.
T^he Northerners speaks hausa whilst we speak igbo
They married with no bride price and dowry 
But we marry with bride price and huge dowry.
Cut the man"s hair low, short to remind him That
Marriage is never a bed of roses therefore he must look
After our pride, princess, prestigious priceless pretty queen 
Who must painstakingly bear his name abandoning her 
Humble background and journey with him amidst roses and bullets.
They wear buba and agbada in an architectural design
Darshiki from the north domain whilst we wear Ukwu george    
They plate shoku, koroba and kpatawo and make beads round their neck
Igbo speak, yoruba frown, hausa dance, itskiri watch
Kanuri laugh, Ebira smile, Nupe point, Tiv demonstrate Fulani pick.
Idoma cry, Awori cry, Efik console, Ibibio comfort
Yet Unity we stand despite the cultural diversity.
One for all, all for one, we stand.
Bound to the humble land in hundred fold
Relevant is our culture and tradition 
In defend shall we die and perish for our 
Precious country.

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2014

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The cow was playing cowbells,
Giddy Goat joined in on his guitar,
The horse was hoofing bongo drums.
Animals started coming from afar.

The chicken clucked an egg out,
Pig was oinking right in time,
Duck was tinkling on her triangle
While dog was hammering on his chime.

Pussy picked up her piccolo,
Goose was flapping on his flute,
Donkey brayed on a big trombone,
It really was a farmyard hoot!

-more poems like this can be found at:

Copyright © john williams | Year Posted 2014

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Swahili Praise

English verse>
gimme sum mutual praise
gimme sum mutual praise
gimme sum mutual praise
All them there people's of the world;
Coastal dwellers praising; All day long, all the day long;
Rejoicing, and repenting of their wrongs.
Everybody on the islands;
Everywhere on the coastal Regions on the seas, lakes, oceans, everywhere;
Sahil  praise;
Sawahil praise;
Boundary dwellers
capture to the heavens bound;
Islanders playing  bongo-drums and tambores
Kusudi sabatu purpose, purpose
Rejoicing, and repenting of their wrongs.
Everybody on the islands;
Everywhere on the coastal Regions on the seas, lakes, oceans, everywhere;
Sahil  praise;
Sawahil praise;
Boundary dwellers
capture to the heavens bound;
People dancing, praising and praying all day this is their Swahili praise;

Swahili verse>
jumla Gimme kuheshimiana sifa
jumla Gimme kuheshimiana sifa
jumla Gimme kuheshimiana sifa
Kwao kuna watu wote wa dunia;
Wakazi wa pwani kumsifu; Mchana kutwa, mchana kutwa;
Kufurahi, na kutubu makosa yao.
Kila mtu katika visiwa;
Kila mahali katika mikoa ya pwani ya bahari, maziwa, bahari, kila mahali;
Sahil sifa;
Sawahil sifa;
Wakazi wa mpaka
kukamata mbingu amefungwa;
Wakaazi wa visiwani kucheza bongo-ngoma na tambores
Amejenga sabatu lengo, lengo
Kufurahi, na kutubu makosa yao.
Kila mtu katika visiwa;
Kila mahali katika mikoa ya pwani ya bahari, maziwa, bahari, kila mahali;
Sahil sifa;
Sawahil sifa;
Wakazi wa mpaka
kukamata mbingu amefungwa;
Watu kucheza, kumsifu na kuomba siku zote hii ni sifa yao ya Kiswahili;

written by James Edward Lee Sr. 
from anthology  "Swahili Praise"
written by James Edward Lee Sr.

Copyright © James Edward Lee Sr. | Year Posted 2017

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A Pencil Without Lead

The earth knows your business child;
there's nothing anonymous ...
about alcohol.
Them drunks like to show off ...
yes, they like to show their strength.
They beat women like bongo drums.

Them gal down at the factories,
they love a man on cannabis;
a mellow man - 
in a constant mellow mood, 
always hungry for good food 
and a good cook.

Their pencils are always sharpened, 
ready to write - 
in rain, sun, or sleet;
Not so with them funky drunks, 
theirs are more eraser and less lead.
they'll erase even wet dreams,
their pencils are nothing but dead,
carcasses for the crows.

Write love on puffs of cannabis clouds
just like Nesta Marley did.
How bloody is Mary
after glasses of your spirit poured out?
love is forever yours Mary Jane, 
my darling and consort.
A finger will never hurt thee.

Copyright © Earle Brown | Year Posted 2010

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American Haikus


the moon falls west-ward
the tule fog saunters east
summer ends early

New Siblings

puppy petite gold
bouncing around black dog's space
I know you’re in love

Swimming in spring fog
wind plucked guitar string in time 
Tule music plays


fog braised Fillmore
ready for full moon to wane 
while waiting for Jack

Dreams while Sleeping #2

when I piss in dark
All my prayers are sombreros
night of a new moon

Wake up Calls

first chirp of the morn
different from dog barking
five better than four

Midnight Ride

some full moon wheeling
search werewolves in the quag
Robin Hood’s fire

Unnecessary Student Loans

lifestyle to uphold
says I to financial aid
just give me the loan

English Dept. Building

walk paper footsteps 
through hallowed hollow hallways 
already relics

Jesi Naomi

tuba bongo blues
like a freight train serenade
echoes in the night

New York Fall

tinged purple and red
nothing to rhyme with orange 
rolling New York hills

Gutter Glitter

lock jaw by myself
keep me imprisoned for hours
mumbling into phone

Danny West
it's raining outside
but I'm frying potatoes  
the all-night kitchen

Closing Time

staring at my beer 
one blue bird in the rafters
too it's closing time

Good Witch

She has rings and bows 
She has glasses full of hours
Honey from the bee

Copyright © Stephen Barry | Year Posted 2015

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Oh No! Oh No! What has my son done? I hope it’s, not already to late!
He lives at a fraternity house, and surely, you know THAT intense mental state.
March has St. Patrick’s Day, Spring Break, and has, of course, Easter in it, too.
So they decided to have some great fun, yes, a fun filled month to happily ensue.

They invited a Leprechaun, the Easter Bunny, and the king of bongos, a gnome.
Apparently they convinced everyone it’d be more fun, to Simply… Stay… Home.
The whole campus flooded thru that fraternity house, in the party’s that ensued.
And they convinced the Easter Bunny to do jello shots in every color and hue.

He became known as THE BUN, yes, The One who finally, truly could fly…
And the Leprechaun danced till he dropped… to a great bongo serenade, aye.
There was no SIMPLY about this! As the music rocked the frat house, next door.
And girls were seen coming and going, at all hours, even passed out on the floor.

This was the party no one missed… even the frat house with the snobs, were there.
It’s said even some of the President’s security attended, partying there, somewhere.
Before they were done, a plan was sown, as the gnome found it’s yearly, new home. 
Yes, it got there, in Washington somehow, on the top of the Real ‘White House’ Dome.

But along the way THE BUN was lost… some where along the never-ending roads.
The Leprechaun called me, our Dragons and Trolls, to help, to search the highroads.
The poor little guy was so pie eyed, when we found him along that crazy way, so…
We fixed him up, we didn’t give up, until we could send him, into that Easter Frey.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013

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The UK borders are falling
While Theresa May wears
her frown,
Not knowing how many
criminals are here,
Round them all up – for
very good cheer.

The mambo jambo dance
is all so new,
But you will have to join a
We have people from the 
Bongo Bongo – 
All come here via the darkest

No more money for our NHS,
Why is this? It’s anyone’s 
Osborne lurks in the treasury,
Looking for migrants to give
them things for free!

The Calypso boogie we do all
know – 
And when the dark comes in -  
we do all glow,
We have to celebrate the 
Come and dance to the Calypso,
my queen!

Altogether now, we dance all
But the UK immigration does
give us a fright,
We need a party to sort this
mess out,
Enter Nigel Farage...we now all 

Honour thy neighbour as friend
or foe,
But when you grab him – don’t
let him go.
Ukip will lead us to mend the
Join me in a dance – or just sit 
and hum!          

Everyone dance we celebrate,
With so many people who do
Don’t just sit there feeling moody;
“Let’s all dance to the Ukip Calypso


Copyright © Darryl Ashton | Year Posted 2014

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Shara's Christmas Journey

Lust of the flesh is sin.
Sin is lust of the flesh.
Try repeating this one once.
What word was miss-pronounced?
Hearing is believing.
With fellowship and greeting.
Duffing our sacred billow caps.
To gifts of public speaking.
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our covetousness protects our purity.
Let the bongo and snare drums play.
Till bandaged skins wear all away.
Don't nod the other way.
There is no other way.
No need to even quiz-it.
As I plot out my exit.
An out.
Knowing to pretend.
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our covetousness protects our purity.
Outside Shara parks.
Eagerly I mount her.
Oh, How I still love her.
Her long-sleeved pointed ears.
On four legs she steers.
A steady course, slightly up hill.
Away from the Sunday fast-lane.
I so much disdain.  Such pagans.
Away some distance, her peg hoofs clear.
Where no-ones ears can hear.
My boisterous thoughts giggle.
Off Shara's back I wiggle.
"I'll partake your cookies."
" If you embrace my poem."
"How I disdain begging."
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our Covetousness protects our purity.
I re-mount Shara, looking back.
My eyes see cautious female flirts.
All dressed up in pilgrim skirts.
Watch them nod, Godly men,
Way, way up the tall steeple.
To mount our lightning-rods.
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our covetousness protects our purity.
A couple A' blocks A' yonder.
My eyes see a ghastly host.
Unshaven Greeks N' Romans,
Unwilling to yield their posts.
"Howdy", I babble.
" Would you like a poem, or almanac, or Bible?"
"To embrace".
" Not really," They stubbornly reply.
"If we encounter ill will."
"We'll visit Dr. Phil."
"His pill helps us feel better."
As they march unforgiven letters.
To grave sites.
Where they'll recite.
To dead folks.
That didn't treat them right.
" I see," I gently mutter.
Why renounce their sorry fate?
By now it seems too late.
Before I get away tho.
They bark back.
With tongues N' cheeks.
" Hand over your donkey"
" Else we'll call you a honky."
"We will."
I capitulate the leash.
No will.
Before I walk a step.
My eyes see,
Thru my yellow blind fold blanket,
Covering my snow white pirates patch.
The real world.
A world on no conscience.
Our conscience being.
Of Jesus :  Our loving savior.
Or Satan : The claw plucking-up vulture.

Copyright © Oliver Krier | Year Posted 2014

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Beatnik Snaps

           Beatnik Snaps

(poet sits on a stool in the café and begins)
I could onomatopoeia all day daddio
With cool sounds in the iambic pandemics sphere out there.
“Far out man…far out… Onomatopoeia all the way” (The crowd shouts and snaps fingers in approval.)
On the down winds jive below slow jazz notes I go
Goatee Joe eats the avocado on the down and low 
Basements bottomless souls measured tuna outlet cries out
The bongo boys drag on the joint while munching on the tacos loco
Cigarette smoke lays down a cloud…talks to the humming bird
Laying down some heavy tones to the bones with the smooth sax
Cats calling in the alley way cruising on the cat nip trip 
Waiting on a little miss kitty called Pussy Meow
She’s a no show Joe.  Man, that’s no way to go.
In the wild thick woods of words working on his behalf
The half past 1952 Johnny, goes marching home
Alone down Bluesville Avenue in a zoot suit out back Jack
Slick black jacket looking for some chicks on the beatnik clicks
Notes raining down on the sax as some jive time chumps 
Get busted by some jive time cop
Flat foot flopping down the street with some flat foot beef to pound
Drowned on pounding grounds outside
Down in the drip drop flop of day….Grazing on the rain.
                    “Shows over Jack and Jill.”
                    “It’s been a thrill.”  (More finger snaps from the beatnik crowd)
                                Debaucheries Departure
Sooner or later we gotta blow this café gig…..Dig?
Slurred speech measured beats by bongo boys bid a retreat
In matters like this …..tipping matters….and meter matters…My meters dry man.  
We tapped out our tab long ago so….One last drink!
What’s your poison my onomatopoeia friend?…He retorts; “You’re right.”
 “ I don’t want to pay it either”…. but we gotta get out of this joint.
What kind of iambic pandemics beatnik friend do you think I am?
In deed briated with liquid libations I guess….. (Snaps)

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

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The election is looming –
so we all pretend to care,
We need the old age
pensioners – we lure them
to our lair!
We’ve promised them the
world – as only we can do –
But our promises to them –
really are untrue.

If we win their vote – and
get into power –
They will soon find out,
really quick; ‘we are all a
crooked shower!’
We’ll scrap their winter
fuel allowance – and
scrap their free TV licence –
And scrap their essential
bus passes – because
they are a nuisance.

We’ll slash the NHS – and
create more language
‘Maybe sell the whole
thing off – to the highest
We must import new
nurses - who cannot speak
our lingo –
And more doctors from
the Bongo Bongo Land –
headed by Ali Bongo!!  

The queues will grow
even longer – that, my
friends is a fact.
Me and my Tory cronies –
we now have signed a
We, the Tory Party – we
never use the NHS;
‘If we win sole power –
we’ll really make a mess!’

We aim to create more
havoc – and look after
the bankers’ more,
They then can donate
to our fat bank accounts –
what a lavish life - we
all will adore.
We always punish the
disabled – and we despise
the welfare state –
We’ll stop the disability
benefits – we’ll really
seal their fate!

We always say; ‘let me
be absolutely clear,’ it
really means; ‘let’s spin!’
The day we are ‘absolutely
clear’ – it really will be a
You’ll get more sense out
of Alibaba – and his forty
knock-off mates,
And even Guy Fawkes will
swear;’ a good explosion,
now awaits!!’                                                  

Now, let us, the Tory’s, be
“honest” - as the election
is getting closer –
We’ll welcome more
Immigrants – at the port of
We don’t know how many
are here – or, how many
have gone away –
We really have messed up –
the asylum’s gone astray!!

But now we have lost out –
and a winner will be
The Tory elite cronies – all
have been trounced.
The Tories say goodbye –
and from Downing Street
they slip –
As we all do welcome Nigel
Farage – and the nations
choice of UKIP.



Copyright © Darryl Ashton | Year Posted 2015

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Into the Demiurge

 Darkness envelops 
the city 
  the demiurge is open for business
    hookers on the street 
show their wares
   Speed freaks hearts 
beat like bongo drums
In the shadows 
   a needle pierces flesh 
Night people come out 
   in the shadows 
The smell of stale beer 
      and laughter 
comes from an after - hours club 
    The dark side of the city 
sings and dances as the 
   clouds block the  moonlight 
the night people 
   in the urban shadows

Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2012

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holy candle blues

“holy candle blues”

in the rust red sunset - angel brother bends his blown glass ear over the wall of eternity listening in on my sweet restless rathouse jam

she entered peeling story-caked walls riding a lightning broom swept me 

out to half dippermoon bridge 
we swung downtown where
waltzing heirs warmed six-figure derrieres above smorgasbord fires
I faked all the right questions into hell’s Paradise

panting at the emerald city ****** waiting beneath her olive skin gypsy thin cocktail feast
ignoring the runaway beast

and someone beamed—they make a great couple
as we sweat to god’s blistering last-chance desperate romance bugle call
my ragged sailor heart pirouetting out the hornpipe door over muddy cliffs 

on the way down a devil in white linen gown serving dark red obsession wine flaming flambé soft brown coconut limbs 
the fly doing backflips in a honey pot 

over the lava baked sea 
a million miles away 
the moaning rusted ship creaked like a red infection begging to be freed from the last ripples in a skin game port

You knew all along prophet of the beautiful tracks
That my ramble played in a forest of doom
I surrender dear monk in the sad samba night 

that wind pushed me mountains away
flushed me out of hiding in the prehistoric pubescent
road-burnt grotto
at the piano bar you played me like a thundering chord…till a

midnight candle grabbed the shades
and a fire came roaring down in flames

we crawled like god’s sweet snails to the clear-as-a bell day

glaring up to the dark blue smoke where a cherry red sunset angel rained wild woolen ashes down on love’s last twitch…applauding the singed curtain call
live! live! ... he cried from his bongo perch on heaven street 

hot orange coals fading in the chilled breeze
words we’ll never speak again you and I
Unless fate has too much time to deal strange train cards

this harp strung midnight reverie 
sad violins hijack innocent dreams and twist the arm of violet coated wishes  

In my hidden dark room 
holy candle blues…
whispers of sea wind blowing 

Copyright © michael amitin | Year Posted 2014

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I have been made mad before
With my clothes on my hands
Shabbily treated by children in the street.
My hair shaggy and rough.
YOu could see me going through the hoote-nanny
Smiling to every one that comes
on my way in a mischievous manner.
Then they sang the lost song of missing instrument and Bongo 
And i dance stupidly in an open field crowded with fools.
They watched my buttock going higgledy-piggledy with no questions
I flagged off my clothes and let them see my bare chest
Swirling and twisting its Skin.
I have tolled every night and day upon the ugly mountains 
With my back welcoming the dust of the ground in agony.
I have been pushed to the lunatic asylum because they thought 
I was mad but your love made me drunk and insane.
Lyrically, my songs boomed and welcomed thousand children 
Home to celebrate your bravery yet you seems  not to
admit my effort as i sustain lumbago which made me lumbering.
I have embarked an arduous journey on the south west to obtain the
Roses and egg of life made for you in the land of the spirit
Because the priest confirmed you to be Ogbanje.
I have worked in the zoo, worked in the oceans, fought
the masked spirit and won for your sake.
Worked in the farm land where the monkeys mocked me 
With their ugly black teeth abusing my personality.
I made the ridges with your names written boldly on it
To remind the birds and wild creature that it is 
Untreadable land for a pretty damsel.
I have pronounce your names millions time with the parrots
Taught the toddler how top read your names on books.
I have become a hooligan and hoon all because of your love.
I have worked in the vineyard of the king as his servant,
Many maiden clutched to me and laid down their humble
Lives for my soul rescue but i denied them all of love.
Millions tears have i drooped for your sake,
Rebel against my flesh and blood all because i love you.
I am bound to your body by ardour love,
Love me so that every thing would be hunky dory.

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2014

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Mop Handle Blues or Rowland Thunder

Young Jesi Naomi channeling Trish Roland 
incarnate professedly. Hour: you dead now?
Tuba bongo blues like a freight train serenade 
in the American night. You slammed life against 
the wall, slammed it. Drank it down 
with booze stained splinters and mop handle blues.
Guitar licks and microphone screams,
taste like swill and Lysol. If nausea 
Permeates your pours, belt it out
From the reaches of your bosom. You
Never played the possum.

I can’t wait for summer or autumn.

Winter though

Copyright © Stephen Barry | Year Posted 2015

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When Solar Flares

             When Solar Flares

Give The Sun Citations when it disrespects the laws of nature
For not following ways of man at all cost and cause and case
No matter what your rules might indicate
A certain fate awaits

Space between all atoms is enormous
The reason we don’t walk through walls
Or fall through floors is not magic
Atoms don’t hold themselves alone, suspended in empty space

It is magnetic fields that react to those two forces
That keeps the universe in place
When sun’s highways of solar flares, stream in channels 
Travel in their respective places, all is well and fine

When they follow normal traffic rules and stay in lanes
Suns don’t have our mind
They seem to stray in more than one direction
Magnetic streams collide, send corona blasts to Earth

When solar storms collapse for months or years our infrastructures
Say good bye to power grids and life as you once knew it
Prepare to rub two sticks together for heat and warmth
Get out bongo drums
Tap text messages to your friends


Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014

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The tunes of Bongo Bongo
land – are played by the
But all the seats are taken – 
and people now do stand.

The Bongo Bongo drums
beat out – as the natives
call their witch doctor,
But who does have the
magic potion – that can
really cure?

I see the tribe all dancing – 
around the tribal fire,
Also indulging, in whatever
they do desire!

The tribe is now invaded – 
by Cameron and Obama – 
But they are themselves
caught – as they try to
steal a banana!

We must send out a clear
message – to all those
world police,
That if any world leaders
who invade our space – 
will end up as grated 

We must inform you all – 
that UK MPs taste sour,
Even when on a skewer – 
and we rub cover their 
heads in flour!

Obama and David 
Cameron, they are all
on the menu,
Their heads will be 
shrunk – this I promise

Obama is on the fire – 
and his balls are fiercely
burning – 
While Cameron is next
in line – his stomach is
now churning.

“Oh my god, shouts Obama,
we’re on the bloody menu!”
“Take it like a man, mutters
Cameron – now I’ve lost my 

“Sod your shoes, wails Obama,
as he’s slowly being roasted,”  
Where the heck is Steven
Seagal – when he’s really 

What about the Expendables?
they could come and help us?
That is pure Hollywood – it is
a lot of fuss!

It’s okay for you to be calm – 
and not give a toss,
Wait till you are being roasted – 
I’ll drink to your sad loss!

Why did we come here – to 
meet these friendly folk?
We didn’t come invited – we
invaded through the smoke!

The natives of Bongo Bongo – 
freed them as a pardon
Now go back home – and 
don’t you dare – return 
with George Osborne!

So, off they both went – 
away from the Bongo Bongo – 
Until the next chapter my 
dears – I’m off for a game 
of BINGO!!

Both Cameron and Obama – 
have learnt their lesson well,
The next time you invade
somewhere – be careful who
you tell!!


Copyright © Darryl Ashton | Year Posted 2014

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Twirling into the wind
Steps moving to a pace
Hips swinging to the beat
Ears Feeling the Timbre
The tune to a melody
Its base a Bongo
Shaking to a Maraca
Accents to a Trombone
He is the Lead
So she follows gliding
Rhyming with all shes got
His moves 
He hits the spot
Rhythm of the Heart
From start to finish 
Till the end they repeat
Twirling into the wind

Copyright © Tiffany Diaz | Year Posted 2015

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Bongo Man

There was a bongoman, and he dreaming
Where the rock hovered above the blue sea
Looked through the white mist of a dew drenched morning
And clenched tight his memory of history
Black as midnight: showed me shining like day
Black Starliners, and his tears melted away. 

Walk softly let me sing my song, redemption brings
The whip to silence and the heart to lift its wings

And then he laughed aloud, his heart beating
Drums like a flock of bird wings. This called me
Inexplicably to stand before him feasting
My eyes on his joy, and his tangled beauty
Of hair and form, without Samson's great flaws
I heard his covenant to Afric's laws:

No swine flesh in Selassie I temple
No labor for the rag of foul Babylon
Peace and love recovered of nature's principle
Keep's the dove in the flesh of the lion
Eating herbs as a lamb. And high above 
The sea, the forest throbs with songs of love

He told his sorrows in Psalms recounting
Another's tragedy through which he claimed
His own, and whipped scuttled pride to rise surmounting
The shambled faith imposed on bodies maimed
By tyrant's culture and chains, to find
The cliff where Marcus Garvey led the blind

And made them see with power of his words
Towering Kilmanjaros of beauty
Breaking the sun, splintering its silver bright swords
Into strands, opening the majesty
Of wonders past on plain banana leaf
Feeding Anansi duckuno from grief
It does not matter anymore, the blames
The city lies upon his head; he cried
His tears for Babylon melting in oral flames
Bongo with Jah lives iver in the tide
Of Rastafari righteous inity
Behold the bongoman in divinity
I was late to school to know the bright lies
That silence permitted against his pain
The bongoman on the misty sea fastened his eyes
And searched for his Judah's Lion again
For out of him was life forever, dread
Life sweeter than the heaven of the dead.

And those ships, the angels of Marcus' dream
Make good covenant with the paucity
Of truth, and hold the bongoman in moonbeam
Dancing on rock point of belief, certainty
Mixed like bitter herbs in the ital food
Sweet as drums on the morning bright of mood.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2010

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Grandfather Munoz

As i sit here and reminisce of my 
joyful times as a kid I think of how 
big your Heart was and all the 
Knowledge you give.

While under your care no 
recreational landmark was far you 
took Me everywhere, From Toa Alta 
to San Juan or El Morro to Dorado I 
can still feel the Oceans Water, smell 
Coconuts in the Air even hear an old 
Man playing the Bongo.

Even if I was bad an 8 year old 
Tornado nightmare you never laid a 
Hand on Me, Instead you gave Me 
the Parental stare in return I would 
say ok Abuelito I'll be good I swear.

Many Years have passed since your 
relocation to Heaven above, In my 
Soul my Heart and my thoughts you 
are far from gone.

I wish you didn't have to leave the 
world so soon but God needed a 
General to guide his Platoon, You 
were a Leader and adored by many 
getting to Know You and meet You 
was a blessing.

You played a big role in my Life you 
solid Heart of Gold, Until the Day that 
I age to be to old, Forever in your 
Honor I shall be proud to be a 
Muñoz. ™©

By : Shawn Muñoz

Copyright © Shawn Munoz | Year Posted 2013

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Suicide Default

Nothing was wrong with the leap;
It was made according to plan,
but the design was interrupted
by the abruptness of the plunge.
Maybe… there was a change of heart
somewhere in midair.
It is marked by a yelp of despair.
The sound of his pain bounces like a jax ball
from the walls of his cylindrical doom.
His every cry echoes like voices on St. Hilda’s square.
Each feeble movement, in his watery tomb,
vibrates like that old proverbial sound of the bongo.
He lie there; a bundle of pain,
and regret he didn’t measure the depth to his death.
The silence pinched the minute there,
while the little dirty-face angel argued his state elsewhere.
St. Hilda’s Memorial, the place of his death.
Under soft cotton covers he stole his last breath.

Copyright © Earle Brown | Year Posted 2010

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My roots are strong stemming from bridges and scaffolds that embody the strength of a spirit Gracefully swaying in the wind
Dancing to a tune
Adjusted tempo to a rise and fall 
I move to the beat 
Battered and bruised 
Soles of my feet
Walked a thousand miles to stare at defeat
Gazing passed moving forward on this concrete
Lightning speed on this track
I twirl till I'm dizzy
Mind on rewind gyrating differently
Masquerading within realism 
Beats from a bongo 
Dancing to this mambo 
My heart races to chance 
So I dance 
All night 
Till I see the sunlight

Copyright © Tiffany Diaz | Year Posted 2016