sat in the sun
while the goldfinches
chattered,
acknowledged
in their lesser shades
of glory
I sat in the shadow
of a red oak tree
and drew their feathered,
frantic souls
next to stiller,
yellower
houses
next to a stiller,
yellower sun
People in glass houses
Shouldn’t throw stones
Fighting feuding spouses
Make unhappy home
Rocky words heavy with hate
Sinking souls as hearts break
There never was me untamed,
pushed to the limits without these gates,
i am nobody with you, but i have the world,
as if it leaked out of my ears into my mouth
i can taste it the troubled fires in love with dust,
control and greed in love with power and selfishness,
we don't want this we are the seed lets breed,
let the whole world see innocence is free,
injustice knows the belief system is ill,
poisoned with will of unwilling to sacrifice,
all that we have we earned than taken all away
over night streets and cities filled with pain,
memories flood all the gutters of houses
that kill all that is evil in my back yard
poured into the soil remember when,
one key, one door, one secret, one home.
When we were in secondary school,
we used to hold brooms like reign and sweep and sweep
and sweep and sweep clear and clean each an every
house.
And race to sweep Hamman Dikko house;
and race to sweep Tudun Wada house;
and race to sweep Ardo Sali house;
and make hay while the sun shines.
I remember the brooms were sharp and fine like rainy
water shattering amidst rainy season O a flowing river
towards the sea.
Our mathes teacher would almost punish us for assuming
that we can anyhow shatter in in in the wood- I remember
the duty perfect used to say as etiquette let begin
from jss 1 to the staffroom , let the ss1 and jss 111
sweep the senior classes and the computer lab.
I remember the motto is keep out impurity and clean
your school and the society at large?.
When we were in secondary school,
we used to hold brooms like reign and sweep and sweep
and sweep and sweep clear and clean each an every
house.
And race to sweep Hamman Dikko house;
and race to sweep Tudun Wada house;
and race to sweep Ardo Sali house;
and make hay while the sun shines.
I remember the brooms were sharp and fine like rainy
water shattering amidst rainy season O a flowing river
towards the sea.
Our mathes teacher would almost punish us for assuming
that we can anyhow shatter in in in the wood- I remember
the duty perfect used to say as etiquette let begin
from jss 1 to the staffroom , let the ss1 and jss 111
sweep the senior classes and the computer lab.
I remember the motto is keep out impurity and clean
your school and the society at large?.
When we were in secondary school,
we used to hold brooms like reign and sweep and sweep
and sweep and sweep clear and clean each an every
house.
And race to sweep Hamman Dikko house;
and race to sweep Tudun Wada house;
and race to sweep Ardo Sali house;
and make hay while the sun shines.
I remember the brooms were sharp and fine like rainy
water shattering amidst rainy season O a flowing river
towards the sea.
Our mathes teacher would almost punish us for assuming
that we can anyhow shatter in in in the wood- I remember
the duty perfect used to say as etiquette let begin
from jss 1 to the staffroom , let the ss1 and jss 111
sweep the senior classes and the computer lab.
I remember the motto is keep out impurity and clean
your school and the society at large?.
Something About Glass Houses
We
HURT
Easy.
-Gray Squirrel
11-04-2024
Glass Dolls
Glass dolls in glass houses.
Glass dolls with glass douses
Of reality, don’t they know?
That the girl who lives in fantasy
Still sees a rainbow?
And all the poems seem so hollow now-
Because the light inside her is almost out.
Because of the existence of
Glass dolls in glass houses
Dosed with reality, but they are so
Hollow now.
I will NOT be like them.
No, not twisted and molded, not me.
Not my hope slipping through
The cracks of reality.
But my brain is so hollow
And Death is like a swallow
Fluttering around in its little nest that is me.
Through my brain, through *my*
Reality.
Does anyone care? I ponder with these thoughts.
No, surely not.
Because if anyone knew that me and Death are still friends,
That I’d play cards at his table
Until the bitter end, surely *that*
Would disturb them. And so I am quiet,
Day after day. Because at night my brain shatters
Deep
Against the duvet.
Love old houses,
there is something intriguing;
walking quietly I feel connected.
The past whispers to me,
the wood floors creak;
love old houses !
I wander rooms,
imagining all the former residents;
there is something intriguing !
The pigeons coo,
I find that comforting;
walking quietly I feel connected !
City walls,
A riot of colour,
Whispering stories,
Lives painted in sunshine,
Blooming.
Breathe deeply my legacy,
My mysterious abandonments
My asylums of the dead.
So many forgotten dwellings
Now boarded up and cold.
I once wore them and shed them
Like snakeskins.
All these mental spaces,
What was their meaning?
What visitations did I encounter?
So many giant houses of horror,
Gothic crumbling, rotting
mansions of ruin.
There, I was imprisoned
In solitary confinement self-imposed,
Like a rodent feeding on garbage,
I never thought to look beyond.
I breathe deeply into this meager legacy.
Now all these houses remain idle.
Why I occupied them, I will never know.
In my final chapter, I see,
Everything was empty.
For twenty years I have walked my curvy tree lined street,
and there're neighbors I have yet to meet,
I look into the windows of the oblong and squares,
and wonder about the people who live in there,
I was once a happy and energetic child of the nineteen seventies,
now I'm saddened and tired by modernity of the twenty twenties,
imagination and derring do were great companions,
now the children have safe spaces and isolation,
who really cares about the people who live in the other houses,
or if they have partners or spouses,
their living rooms flicker from televisions and cell phones,
sedantry activities for the lazy bones,
their style of apparel hasnt really changed,
and their values are generationally ingrained,
celebrating the holidays like good citizens do
I wonder if the moms and dads desire to start anew,
I walk up and down my curvy tree lined street,
gazing into windows and wondering about the people I have yet to meet,
sometimes I want to be a child and say,
hey, you want to come out and play.
The bizarre scene when Earth has been pressured
And on Richter Scales this can be measured:
When the immovable readily quake,
Not a single hard rock failing to shake…
A punishment too familiar to Japan
At a period hitting her like a pan.
Often her feared National Tragedy
She’d kept devising a ‘Stop Strategy!
How preventable it was ‘Quite Doubtful!
Whenever it struck whisky a mouthful…
The matched with Virulent Epidemic,
Cruelest act of God to Academic:
Wars orchestrated by commando…
Habitations could look like Dog’s Breakfast,
High Death Tolls asking for Religious Fast:
No longer wise raising brick houses,
Better rooms as light as today’s blouses…
Not a thing she could contain with Judos;
The day Judo does, by all means Kudos…
Black Americans in shark
houses
And caravans
Imagine how many black
Americans dying
In strong winters as
They can not afford
To build
or buy proper houses.
The American system pushed
Them to be
Where they are till now.
It is very hard
For them to come out
Of that bad
Situation without
The full support
Of the American government.
My daily song , "
God loves me so much ,
I love people so much. "
Do you think USA government does not have
Enough founds to build houses
for poor Americans ?
If not ...
What make them giant economy country in the World
When they fail to do what
The government of late
Mohammad Kadaffi did?
Huh?
Investing much money in terrorism
And wars in the World
While some Americans
Continue dying
like flies
In Winters
Due to missing
proper houses.
I think Uncle Joe Biden
Will work to change that system
Or Uncle Donald Trump
Will help
If Americans will vote
For him again.
I speak my mind as a poet
Which is reality.
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
I recall, as a kid, I liked to check out scary abandoned houses,
and I would let my imagination run wild in my adventures.
Empty, dilapidated, broken-down houses attracted me.
I'd often take exploratory excursions on my own,
hoping to experience the ghostly apparitions
frequently associated with haunted houses.
I felt inexplicably drawn to such places.
Enigmatic creaking often startled me
and yet, I'd investigate every creak,
forcing myself to keep on going.
Old scary ruins frightened me,
but that is what I wanted.
Fright cultivated my
sense of mystery.
Spooky places
still tend to
give me
chills.
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