You have come mightily upon my brows,
Yet blessing my folly when I had cried nude and
Watery,
My vagitus loud with the frenetic timbre of wartime
You have swept through the corridors of
Silhouetted stalks, fanning lean, vertical leaves that shield
The nakedness of the African seasons —perched
And soggy,
And at waking time, when November bares its
Thunder-whetted fangs with the ruthlessness of a Puff adder.
It is cold and skin-whitening.
Streaks of flaking, dancing rods descend on femurs un-pumiced.
Dehydrated throats accompany ancestral hymns on the
Humming bees’ melody, stifling the courage of the Tchagra.
Drab, and cracking the serrated softness of heels and
Stale, moss-ridden kernels, the waves of the storm,
Blinding, besiege our common sempervirence,
Long lost among the blurred firmamental gaze
And straw-gold material upon this prostituted earth.
Snuggly warmth comes by the power of woodsmoke
When dawn, shy from the raillery of the rising sun,
Hastens to the coronation of sacred rain beyond
Our limits —a pomp of relegated and flustered seasons.
Whispers of fingers an apparitions touch
took residence inside my mirrored bones
frantic rationale is a skeletal destination
crunchy landing of hard fossil dust
This sad beast of remains stands low in the sag
dry tears of sand drips down to mandible mayhem
its remnant clothing, phalanges hanging in defeat
while random flutist sings it's hollow tune
Fleshly hand, the kindly reach gazes in piteous questioning
living site navigates the reflecting path
the maze door answered with a riddles remedy
the skulls slow lift, the femurs rise, the mirrored ripples open
All roads lead to Rome
My neighbour’s garden wall is made of stones from the disused Roman road that had stopped going anywhere for ages; smooth stones walked over by mules and sandaled feet.
No one here used to bother about some old road, now the heritage people
want their stones back, as do the tourist board,
who’s trying too hard attract quality vacationers, away from the coast;
there is more to Portugal than it being Spain’s little sister, aping her big brother.
When the stones have been put back, a story can be spun
about a road that never actually went to Rome, but to a quarry behind the hill,
a hole filled with thorny bushes, snakes and femurs of my neighbour’s ancestors,
worked to death as slaves by men with Romanesque noses.
I love to rap and tap most times ,
My wrist ,I can twist with real ease ,
Even though I’m not in my prime ,
My femurs and knees slide like grease ,
Hip for hip-pop dance and axis
for break dance which pivots the neck,
Enabling girdles to assist,
Failure can lead to serious wreck ,
But blues is safe with little pulls ,
Making you close to your dear one,
Backache is close where rock song rules,
Ballroom or ballet is full of fun ,
Wasteless waist is more used than tarsals ,
And restless chest more than carpals .
Parts of body used are :Wrist ,femurs ,Hip ,neck ,waist ,knees , etc.
DATE:9-10-2016
Mighty rumble
epic shake
Fault lines cracking
it's a quake!
Swaying streetlamps
breaking glass
Sidewalks rolling
smell of gas
Bridges groaning
wires snap!
Cars are falling
in the gap
So many lives, now
down the river
Bodies floating
some still shiver
Buildings crushing
muffled cries
Mother's wailing
children die
Killer earthquake
terrifies...
Civic heroes
riding by
Doctors, nurses
wipe their brows
Broken femurs
fractured skulls
All the armor
put to test
Broken city
laid to rest
Heaps of rubble
laughter gone
Naught but trouble
Soldier on...
All our prayers
just a token
Mother Earth, has
boldly spoken!
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