My children tell me of a mystic
Living by the lake
In a green and purple house
Surrounded by gardens of giant flowers
Who takes small dreamers
On uncharted adventures where
They choose their directions and she
Finds their way
My children tell me
How she floats on the summer waves
While they play on and around her
And how she buys them ice cream
While their parents lose track of the days
That fall past them in their rush
To do everything but the thing that’s fun
My children tell me of a mystic
And they are notorious liars
Like all libertarian dependents
But I remember sometimes
Being caught in the curves of the world
That they describe
While a voice coded to my DNA
Drifted down from something like
The heavens above, to will me to sleep
In the shade of her loving form
My children tell me
I’ve forgotten the magic
That I must have once known
Having lived in the presence for so long
Of one so filled with the primary energy
Of the green filled universe
But I tell my children
Lives are only understood in their entirety
And you never really understand
Where the mystical resides
Until you live long enough
To see her
With someone else’s eyes
Alert the authorities
Everybody properly dresses
Dependents are priorities
Pilot light distinguishes
Ready pets safe
Chemical fire extinguishes
Clear out exits
Examine any irregularities
Everybody out safe
Is twenty-eight cats extensive? She asked.
We dared not speak to our Mama Masked.
She has lots of money, and no dependents yet.
If she dies, the ones who please her will be totally set.
Oh, not, I lied. Twenty-eight is not enough.
The next time I visited she had a new cat, Stuff.
They were soon joined by Twixt, Trouble and Twee.
I was beyond allergic, sneezing from my nose to my knee.
I have thirty-six kitties now, what do you think?
My face was all red, my nose was bright pink.
Surely you could bring in another two or three.
I gave her what she wanted at the expense of me.
The time has come, the nest is bare.
The little ones have grown and flown elsewhere.
The house once filled with laughter, turmoil and noise
now echoes silence, with peace heralding different joys.
The rooms once cluttered with toys and books
are now empty and tidy, mementos put away for good.
The walls that once echoed with cries and screams
now stand as silent expanses, the noises lost in dreams.
The days once spent in a flurry of activity for dependents
now stretch out before us, open and free, for us as co-defendants.
At last we can do what we really want to do for ourselves,
with memories much cherished put in their place on shelves.
The future ahead may be uncertain, empty and new.
But I am ready to embrace it, to start anew.
To rediscover myself, to explore and grow in the pruned thinned out space
To follow my heart with you, wherever it may go.
For though the nest may be empty and bare
my heart is full to the brim, with memories to share.
And as I look back on the years gone by
I smile, knowing I did my best, with love in my nest.
He walked up Mill Street past the Foundry,
That citadel across from Nailers Row.
With eight kids and their mother as dependents,
He earned the pay that brought the bacon home.
An immigrant, he labored at the open-hearth
With Dagos, and Polacks, and Micks.
He had thirteen years at the Phoenix Works.
Eighteenth of February, nineteen twenty-six.
While Luigi tended the tap hole,
And Kowalski skimmed off the slag,
He proceeded to enter the gas flue.
To clean out the soot with a rag.
Nobody witnessed the mishap.
No one even knew who it was.
They recovered his belt and his work boots.
All the coroner said was, “Because.”
The paper’s front page told the story
Of a stranger who perished in hell.
They ran a correction, but misspelled his name,
Though his mourners were listed as well.
There is truth to this family legend,
But a mystery also implied;
He was burned beyond recognition.
Do we truly know who it was died?
Plants in pots inside
like pets in pound
beckon for attention.
Like chicks in nest they screech and squeal
with open beaks, skyward
begging for worms and morsels in mum's beak
Plants in pots are dependents
totally reliant on you.
More mouths to feed
more wilts to water
more bugs to squash
more dead-ends to clip and prune.
Sometimes I wonder: Are they worth it?
But their wonder wins, all in,
hands down.
I started to remember around four
Even the breathing began at the embryonic stage
My parents gave me complete human parts
To survive a long trip
In an unpredictable future… Upon destiny!
I grew up in the serious working ethics
And assisted the impermanent dependents.
In the past, I was under the strict regulations
But most times I was free-minded!
I feel more and more free
While moving to the golden age.
The sky was not only a nice working place
Though enhanced freedom
To fly like the plane in the air
To float like the boat in the river
Proud of myself to be a hard-working man
Live a simple life… insufficient once in a while
In any situations I always bear a pen:
A loyal friend during my long trip;
Move together until the final day.
Hopefully the footprints of a free-minded life
Will reach out the next generations!
Why am I here you ask?
Why is your most beloved, most dedicated, most brightest one standing before you
ready at will to defy your authority?
Why are my eyes filled with tears that refuse to shed one last time?
I, amongst all of your winged children who knelt before your illuminating light,
now stands against the shadow of your hypocrisy and vengeful ways.
You give free will to creatures of your likeness so they may choose to revere you and give you thanks.
Yet, you incinerate their cities and kill the innocents if they do not follow your
commandments.
You let men with false hearts build palaces while their dependents starve and sleep
in their own filth.
If this is what I must worship than I would rather rule on a throne in Hell than be on bended knee in Heaven.
Our silly state of paranoia,
Are leaders here to annoy ya?
Ghosts of government past,
We've had enough drivel to last!
Our systems need to improve,
Building bias, not a good groove,
Kids are born colour-blind,
They teach oldies their great minds.
We're ashamed of our politicians,
Any excuse today? Like superstition?
Then there's youth unemployment,
Mendicants at charity, welfare dependents,
Our silly start of paranoia,
Are politicians sent to annoy ya?
Dependent
How long will you lamely follow
Determined to eat and to swallow?
Should you run away from toil,
Who will fill your pot with oil?
Not as dependents (mouth agape;
Greedy and garrulous as an ape),
But, as a benefactor in this land
Who, to toil, employs his hand-
Whose arm and back is trained
To badly twist but never sprained!
JM
02nd February 2014
Death never favours
Death does not discriminate between
Saints and sinners
losers and winners
Princes and paupers
followers or leaders
Dependents or
breadwinners
The fatter or thinner
Those who over ate of life's banquet
and those who austerely skipped its dinner.
Or the healed and the healers
the kinder or the meaner
The angels of death almost acting
as finders keepers
Today to lie in shrouds and coffins
yesterday's pall bearers
But many sigh with relief
when it kills the killers
It's upto us to part from the world
as loved good doers
Ah death may just knock
at anybody's lock.
Death is indiscriminate
yet curse it not
for it's a mere transition
to another new more perfect world
We didn't enjoy
coming into this world either
judging from all that bawling we did as newborns
When we're born we cry
but our folks happily rejoice
but we don't when we die
when our folks weep in mourning voice.
As human bones upon death gather dust
and are merged and lost in the earth's crust
The souls fly to heaven coz they must.
I was holding my slasher In the cold wet season
That's what we call it here
Then i saw his head coming from the east
Like the morning sun rising from sleep
Wounded like a might hunter
He stood head to toe
With a spear in his right hand
And a fruits in his left
The defeat on democracy was on his face
His begging spirit was gone
The story of disease no more
I saw Africa stand
All villagers came
To witness walking houses
With four balls rolling on the ground
Made by this great giant
He was no longer trembling as he spoke
We had his voice speak to our souls
We once down trodden
But now we arise
We looked as though cursed
But blessed we stand
We walked as dependents
But today we give
He spoke with Charisma and we all
Shouted
Yes Africa we rise
To change the world we live in
Africa we stand tall
To impact souls
To impart morals
To claim our heritage
As we mentor the worlds
That breast fed us for millenniums
Today
The Man, Africa
Stands and will never fall
1. Mortality Recognition
2. Hedonism
3. Apathy
4. Restlessness
5. Historic Amnesia
6. Recklessness/Experimentation
7. Meta-Identity
She wakes up before dawn. Mounts
her cardbox cubicle on the pavement
at a street corner. It is chilly and windy.
Without delay she pours cooking oil
into the aluminum container perched
on a three-legged stand under which
there are popping flames of fire.
In the yellow bowl she stirs the flour
with vigour . The fire is warming her up.
With her hands she squeezes the flour
into fist-sized lumps and drowns
them into the blistering oil .
Over a short space of time the blazing
oil turns the floury swellings into brown
round buns commonly known as magwinyas.
With her fork she pierces each baked brown
roll and shrugs it off into another vessel.
She yawns. The heat is soothing. It is coaxing.
She has to sell these chignons to eke out a living.
A single parent with four dependents. Like a thief
something sweeps her away. Siesta says sister let us go…
Her mouth is agape, there is a cascade of saliva
going down her chin , down where lies her vessel. The
sun’s rays are peeping. Her customers of school children
and factory workers halt and scream, “wow!”…and proceed.
Independence from rules,
Is Independence for fools.
---Princefreakasso
(Artist and Poet)
Related Poems