You boffin from The Caucasus Mountains, are you a devil or human?You have destroyed my seeds, the source of my survival.
I used to grow my seeds, which gave birth to more seeds on the same piece of land, but today, you have killed my original seed.
You boffin, are you a curse or a blessing to humanity? Why have you assassinated our ecosystem,which was self-sustaining and thriving.
I never invited you to come upon my land. You have sucked out all the nutrients from my original seeds. Your goal is to see us Perish .
You boffin, are you simply a long-term liability to creation, or you are here to colonise my food by contaminating my original seeds.
What have I done to you to deserve so much evil and wickedness from you? Everywhere you go, you create chaos and miseries.
You boffin, you have brought synthetic seeds upon my land and total destruction of the natural world.
You boffin, are your acts of human or devil?
By Chanda Katonga.
Why should man destroy Istangene wold, where zombie, s
if they like should colonise it how tomorrow may
it be fooling and manging their still assumptions
for instance?.
Dreams.
I want to stand out
To be looked up to
Revered and praised
I want my live to live on
Be a member of history
Do something memorable
Achieve a mythical goal
Invent the saviour of man
Fly faster - go deeper
Reach the centre of the earth
Go into outer space
Land and colonise planets
Be the real Captain Kirk
Write the perfect song
Act; a tear jerking Macbeth
Dreams only dreams
This is what mediocrity means.
Acrosss the timeless realms of space
The battered starship streaks
Spitting forth its probing beams
To trace the human signs it seeks,
Left by the sons of sons of previous ones
Far in the ancient past
To find and colonise a world
So the human race would last
But with fuel so low it did,nt show
With all their hope deminished the saga was finished
But the returning gleam from a reflected beam
That returning blip now steered the ship
To a world with a trace of a human race
With the return of belief and joys of relief
The crew set to land and renew
Frendly relations with this long lost race
And replace them with a human trace
But the first expedition that had been before
Had taught the natives to question more
To build a pyramid and realise
Its the only way to the heavenly skies
And live again in paradise.
So Adam and Eve lived a life of ease
To do as they please
and to mate with a local ape and create
a humanoid
FIRST MEN TO LAND ON MOON
We were returning from space
To colonise would become a race
Over population is bound to come
Moon or mars would become home for some
Tension was mounting high
I didn’t hear my companion sigh
History was been recorded
Would we survive to be rewarded
Almost a fait accompli
We were hurtling towards the sea
Our mission must not now fail
I nervously adjusted my mask to inhale
First men to land on moon
Reporters would write, very soon
But first the big splash
Let’s not be rash
Neil and I were alert
Politeness was trivial, we were curt
Stand by for countdown, copy me
Minutes later we were in the sea
Men helped us out
Proud of us not doubt
Some could only gape
Astounded we’d arrived ship shape
The people began to cheer
Not having lived our fear
We thought of our future fame
And revelled in it once again!
Negritude has been invaded,
by carefully instilled dread of better change
while misery endures a standing ovation
Power is methodically toned down
in phases,
to colonise freedom…
Don’t allow it
The future is now related,
servitude ingrained
by liberation’s inflated egos’ quest to quench,
Blind to constitutional elevation
of these masses, and an impending storm,
We are not surrounded by defeated fighters…
These lies are unfounded
This battle cannot be grated,
By weakly defined attempts to wrench
a revolution from our roasted patience,
History coloured in sweat may lie forlorn
but piously spawns patterns in melting snow
Don’t let it slip unseen into
a miserly pit…
Let them know
you know
SEPTEMBER
Sneaking a few minutes from each day’s waning sun
Each sunrise is later up, and its setting partner earlier down.
Pigeons will soon be the only fliers left in the town:
The migrants are going, or are packing bags quickly,
Escaping to the warmth and song of the south country.
My pansies are spreading without my restraint daily
Because they know it’s last chance to colonise extra turf:
Each fading beauty desperate to cling to mother-earth,
Reaching down for sustenance now in dearth.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck for
Carol Brown’s Contest FALL IS AROUND THE CORNER