Long Mallets Poems

I quite enjoyed writing these two line poems for the Bantu contest - the idea of the call and response with two different statements but the same sensory response to each line. A bit like...

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On my first day of kindergarten, Mrs. Miller takes roll.
She begins some sort of symphony, a rapid chorus,
Emma, Jake, and Katie sing, Here, Here, Here!
Then, I hear a cacophony that doesn’t match 
The melody before,...

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CHANGE by Ian Munywe
upon his visage boasts sweat,industry an upheld virtue.
firm stature is exhibited,hard labour an accepted custom.
a time for toil yearns,wheat and other victuals for the future.
every stride to strive in burning heat,a quest...

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Across the globe, music ascends—a universal zephyr,
Bridging cultures in harmonious yearning;
Chords converge from Andes to the Zangezur, xenharmonic,
Dulcet tones of a duduk—in the air, they whisper.

Every note—an echo of humanity's vibration,
From flamenco's fire to the...

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I miss so many things: the old pear tree, which once lived by the walk and the bees inside. The bees almost never stung, but made the most delightful buzz. The smell of the pear...

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When I dream of sun graciously leaving the scene,
I could feel how crueler in these-days he has been;
Hasn't the dear summer said his grin-filled goodbye?
Why, then, is the naughty sun still high in the sky...?...

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On the bus,
On the bus,
On the bus,
Again.

Practicing the beats,
On the back of a seat,
All I can feel,
The beat on my seat too.

Cause we're the band on the moon,
Gettin' ready for the contest,
Got my black dress...

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His salt and pepper hair, 
The short, flat-top cut,
The brown and gray mustache, 
Surrounded by the five o’clock shadow.

The man I fell in love with, 
Tall, dark and handsome,
Reduced to a cold, uncaring tyrant,
Ruling my...

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MRS. SOCIETY WEARS IT TO ALL FORMAL EVENTS

So they trekked up the mountain covered with snow
surrounded by white with only one place to go
they were headed for a place where money could be made
but the...

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MRS. SOCIETY WEARS IT TO ALL FORMAL EVENTS

So they trekked up the mountain covered with snow
surrounded by white with only one place to go
they were headed for a place where money could be made
but the...

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It's not really fair for the one who stays in fear of being defeated, whose choices are swept away by the other's single choice is a single self.

It's not really fear that keeps one too...

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They are in need of me today
of all days
so the table can be set with unbent forks
and their silent
roosters--ye soft wattles play on.
White linen veils
the ancient splintered picnicktop
for small hands
as chipped mallets tick-tock clumsily
between bowed...

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With palms so chaste and a grip so pure
She wraps her fingers around the mallets
Letting them sit in the space between her thumbs and first fingers;
When she makes her first few strokes
Hammering smoothly up and...

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When the Special Olympics roll around. 
Otis hears the call and the whistle sound. 
Whether the games are winter or summer. 
We bring the fun so it’s never a bummer. 

In Connecticut the events take...

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Enticing beat,
ancient accolades, achieving ancestry
 backbeat barrage, buoyant beats
crescendo chorus  calculations
 dulled dirges, double drumming durations
environmental echoed egos
 faint, fading fervent falsettos;
Ghost-Note grooves
 hi-hat hoop heads hued
intended isolation idio-synchrony
 jembe jaunt journeyings
kidi kick knockings
...

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Beethoven smashes one piano after another.
He shears through keyboards,
a peasant scything hay.
The composer's fingers listen
through touch,
they become deeper, more blunted,
a vibration of mallets.

Frown the brow,
push the plow
make music drive a steamroller.

His apartment is disorderly,
tools and...

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You pick roses
And bundle them together
As I watch from the door
Like piles of sand
Pressed against the shore
Now the flowers are dead
Petals fall from your hand
Away from it’s lifeless bulb
And land onto the floor

Your voice once...

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Beethoven smashes one piano after another.
He shears through keyboards,
a peasant scything hay.
The composer's fingers don't grow deaf,
they become deeper, more blunted,
like mallets.

His apartment is disorderly,
tools and equipment
are hidden in Dresden figurines,
in elderly Delftware,
ball-peen hammers crammed
into...

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Beethoven smashes one piano after another.
He shears through keyboards,
a peasant scything hay.
The composer's fingers don't grow deaf,
they become deeper, more blunted,
like mallets.

His apartment is disorderly,
tools and equipment
are hidden in Dresden figurines,
in elderly Delftware,
ball-peen hammers crammed
into...

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Emilia In Romagna

Somewhere a lost little girl
Is crying in her bedroom closet
Because she can’t hear
Her mama
Moving about anymore
She can see dim shapes
Mama stored stuff in here
Luggage scarfs tennis racquets
Croquet mallets 
Boxes of old photographs
Useless 
Rubbish
Apparently...

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The lions are not called upon to dance,
                          High-stepping dragons...

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