Best Raffia Poems

They are not from Chiang Mai,
they are a tribal people
who speak a hill language.
They ride through the night
on bicycles to settle at dawn
beside the Ping...

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STANDING ALL ALONE
THINKING NON BUT ALL
NATURE AND DESTINY AT
ITS BEST
AT WAR BUT WHO WINS
GRIEVE NOT WOMAN
GRIEVE NOT
FOR IS THERE A REASON TO
NO SEED CAN EVER...

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Quizmasters often test mentalities, 

by asking folks to name pluralities, 

of things of many different sorts.

Like, soldiers might be called 'cohorts'.

There are 'flights' of geese...

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A man who is yet to find for himself a maiden
       Absolute success yet, is he to find.
 ...

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*SON OF NOBODY*


I was born in the Trenches 
In the walls and roof with no fences
Drank from the seasonal rivers
Trust me we knew no povereties
...

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How come Stephen,
When do you forget defence?
Why don't you hack death with your golden boot?

Do not disappoint me,
Do not let me down Keshi,
Your crown is...

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(Dedicated to the memory of my mother Catherine who died June 3, 2011 and was 
buried June 24, 2011)


Sleep. Wake. Sleep
Sleep on empty stomach
Food and...

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(Dedicated to the memory of my mother Catherine who died June 3, 2011 and was 
buried June 24, 2011)


Sleep. Wake. Sleep
Sleep on empty stomach
Food and...

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How Blissful Thy Smiles Honey
In Thy First Lob Into My Arms
The Grin Of Thy Upturn'd Mouth So Sweet
When We Dissolve In Blended Embraces

Thy People Produce...

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As the day dusked yesterday,
The deflowered sun shone down 
with those eyes of a goldfish

'KATH’, got a light; 'EER’ lit a room;
And ‘AH’ illumined the...

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Under the torch of the crescent moon
On bare pants and catty eyes
Our hearts yawn for the story line
Our ears gulp saliva, hungry to hear
The tasteful...

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At dawn a ********** crowed aloud
The man and women all alike
Woke to the noise and set to pray
Beside the stump, they all did kneel
Pouring...

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Under the tree in Africa, we sap strength
from the songs of the sparrows before sunlight.
as we walk to the farm, the 
morning breeze brush our...

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The cry of my baby tears through the night, again
Waking everyone, including the birds whom use
our tattered raffia hut as nest
I know why she cries...

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An hour before dawn,
the market people arrive
then settle like resting birds
beside the Ping river.

Girls squat over large straw hats,
hats brimful of dried chilies
or small freshwater...

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