securely sheltering it in her shell
nurturing while within
heeding to each gentle whisper
to each tap from tiny feet
in time She curls it in her embrace
caresses it in her hug
fondles it with boundless care
cuddles it with sweetish love-
when fully fledged, sailing the high sea
will it care for the cowry shell, its first home!
Scattered on the sandy sea shore,
She was thinking of the play of fate,
She could have become a large sea conch,
But the impatient waves left her alone on the shore.
Now she waits to meet her lover in sand,
With the longing of love, in the exuberance of beating waves,
If the waves could stay still on sand for a moment,
She could be holding him in deep love.
In the misty morning, she feels lost,
She does not have any clue of what will happen next,
In the colorful dusky sky,
She creates the image of her feelings in blue sky.
A man picks cowries on the beach,
Strings a beautiful necklace for his love,
Cowries feel happy in the necklace,
Will love to see the smile on the face of love.
Africa is in need, Africa is in need
Africans may be schooled, learned
they may possess degrees and doctorates
in their bags there may carry any cowries
But Africa wants no mushroom dresses
it want not hill heaps of cowry shells
to press buttons of continental patriotism
Africa does not need those globe-trotters
Africa needs new babies not cloned
the ones with honest humility in their hearts
those with genuine love for humanity
the ones who place their species on white clouds
Africa is in need of babies of free calling
the ones who feel for Africa is their mother
those persons raised by blind families
to live blind lives of humane commitments
Prophets ordained in bushes of Africa
Soothsayers with oracles from Western forests
Saviors anointed from snow and icy hills
cannot claim to heal wounds eaten by termites
Africa is in need of those simple babies
the ones who can put aside their blue English
and rainbow French, and climb down from jeeps
babies who can sing lullaby for old mother to rest
The wind rattles and shuttles leaves into fall
And grass wipes off its tears in the pour of night.
I hear throbbing haunches and tramps of stallions.
Garlands of blinking cowry shells
Ferried long from the treasury shores of the hoary moon circle their ripe manes.
Their hooves are cobbled ribbons that swim in the vicinity,
In a green picked from the virgin gardens of orion.
Then he appears on a grandeur chariot,
Sublime in the way he stoops for my being.
Every turn of the draconian rims, grand and millennial.
Crickets kick in creak and hearts heat in beats and him speaks in flickers.
The seraph spread of the white of his wings shines,
In purest and fairest of odd
Streaming milky in the way it pours out light unto the sun
His robe was torn from the scintilla of clockless nebulae
His skin freckles in sparkles of the gold of lyra and emeralds of taurus
He is not an enemy yet carries a triple-edged stainless rapier
Fetched from the mouth of draconis.
An aura of pirouetting cub whirlstorms keep him faceless
He thirsts my glory and haunts again
He's my angel of success
Needless of your seduction I have fallen;
Deep in the ocean of love; I awaken.
Do you know this feeling you have arisen?
Coming forth like a caterpillar from its cocoon
Such, is my sweet sorrow story,
Told even by the cowry,
Engendered by love’s mystery;
Played to the gallery of misery
How I wished this was not a phantom
Already, it would have blossom
Never to be obstructed by the storm
Yes! I would cherish it to doom
Dream Catcher
You hang
crookedly
from the white plastic hook,
swaying slightly to the west.
Caught to catch.
Five cheaply dyed feathers splayed from winged birds
My dime-store exotic.
Amber, red and gold
Colors of fire, passionate sun.
Colors of purpose.
Dead birds now.
Was this their dream?
To hang near my window
Catching dust and kitchen bacon grease?
The vibrancy of temporary color disappearing
forgotten with age
You do have movement though,
those 2 inches back and forth.
Back and forth
Not much for flight
Not much for sight
Or dreams.
Your five cowry shells
Ransom
For all my desires.
What powers do you possess
In your woven macramé
to make this life
Something more
Than simply caught
or bought
or hung?
First published: Page & Spine
The Gathering
It started with the sun
casting colors on the sand, sun
tanned brown
pointing cowry shells – golden baked
An old seagull by the sea watches me collect
a gathering of shells to string around your neck
There are feathers scattered
and I weave them between my collection
of earth and sea - softness and smiles
From God - to sea and sand - to bird - me
Our gathering - an Offering
As our little old bird watches by seaweed freshly brought
sharing in this joyful weaving - for you.
Gathering too.
First published: Dual Coast
I love Africa, my beautiful Africa
I can roam in the bushes
I can run up the mountains
Down the valleys
Across the plains
Or get lost in the forests
Or the caves
I can soak the sun
On the sand at the beach
Or bake in the desert sun
Until I should find an oasis
I can stand on the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro
And if that is too tall
I can try the difficult Mt. Kenya
And touch the floating cloud
I can swim in the ocean or in the lake
Or in the dam or pond or paddle
I can also swim in the Nile or the Congo
Or the Niger or the Zambezi or the Limpopo
Or a thousand other rivers
I can catch kamongo in Lake Victoria
Or the bream on Lake Tanganyika or Malawi
Or bait the tiger fish in Kariba or Cahora Bassa
I can mine diamonds in Congo or Chiadzwa
Dig for gold in Ghana or Tanzania
Or just pick gems and cowry shells wherever I roam
From Cape to Cairo and from Timbuktu to Mombasa
Or just in my dreams.
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