Long Picks Poems
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In the dark she is waiting, 200 kilos of velvet
separating one world from the other.
It was art to her, she was under no pretence,
she was an instrument, and she made the other instruments merge in a delicious unprecedented harmony.
A poet, a warrior, a lover, a sinner. She has tasted the divine and the melodramatic, to capture moments, photographs, for the use of summoning emotion and reality.
She had been hurt and she had hurt, she had walked towards hell and ran away from heaven. Beginning as a muse and then enslaving the musicians one by one with her whispy and sultry tones.
An electric keyboard breaks the mumbling, vibrato, a pause, a cheer. The drape rises and she peers from the darkness, masked by shadow to the floodlit mass in front.
The drums are brushed gently as the crowd softens to the figure emerging from the dark. Not knowing if they were permitted to break the spell or join it, the crowd pay their respect with silence.
You can almost see the phantoms she has witnessed being beckoned into her. Short linear smoky essences, touching her then being pulled inside. She saunters slowly towards the mic, eyes closed, and with both hands it becomes a sceptre. This will be a heartfelt song again.
She inhales, her belly fills, and she breathes life into the mic. Her tones slice through the thick air, soft yet with such projection and feel. The crowd can not contain themselves and let out a cheer as their eyes fill. She masterfully picks up her bass, as if resurrecting a lost love, and it sings for her.
Her hair is gone now, most of the crowd know why and they want to cry. But she holds them, captivated, and hypnotises a smile into them. They sway to her, some hold their chests as if covering some hole for fear of their hearts falling out.
This will be the last time we will feel her grace. But she will be summoned herself. The band know this. She sits, the treatment has taken it out of her. But her voice never falters. That chair will be kept alongside the drummer that loved her. Her bass will be his kryptonite. But he will keep it close anyway.
The curtain will not fall tonight, it shall remain at half mast. She will bow and we will fall at her mercy one last time. In homage, and respect. She will leave but she will never be forgot. She has trained herself into them, and she will always be singing.
I write in remembrance of the late Dennis Liwewe (Zambia's No.1 and Celebrated Football Commentator). Here is a short football commentary:
"Ah, this is Dennis Liwewe. We are here in Mauritius, where the two sides, Zambia National Team and Mauritius National Team will battle it out this afternoon. Capacity crowd 40,000.
The referee is from Kenya and match commissioners from Nigeria and Senegal respectively.
At this point in time, the referee blows play on , and Mauritius team take the ball back to their goal keeper. A loose ball pass the centre circle, a bad pass by Zambia we are in deep trouble, Only to be saved by the Goal keeper Efford Chabala. This is no other than Kapambwe Mulenga, defending very well. Ball zooms out for the throw in. We are beaten in the air, Ashios Melu picks up loose ball, he beats a man in a double one two situation, he kicks a tumble, which is well chested by Kalusha Bwalya ( popularly known as Great Kalu). Great Kalu beats two, three Mauritius defenders. Great Kalu within a firing range, hammer. It's a gooooooal 1-0 to Zambia. Back to the studio for our sponsors. Mauritius are coming in a counter attack situation, their dangerous striker is breaking even, Bomber. It goes away. Again and again, Zambia takes control of the situation here, Efford Chabala pumps a long ball passes the centre circle, we are good in the air. Kelvin Mutale dribbles two Mauritius defenders, hammer. It's a goooooal Zambia leading by 2-0 . Second half , Mauritius are very aggressive at the goal, they want to equalize. We are in deep trouble again here, sliding tackle by Kapambwe Mulenga, and the ball zooms for a corner kick for Mauritius. Headed away by Ashios Melu, a little pass to Charles Musonda, passes the centre circle, he turns 360 degrees. He passes the the ball to Kelvin Mutale ( the master dribbler), it's a gooooooal, 3-0 to Zambia. We are in the dying minutes here,
And the referee blows the final whistle. This is Dennis Liwewe signing off. Pick it up ZNBC studios in Lusaka, Zambia.
May his soul rest in eternal peace
Concept by Zambian Sports Lovers
Poetry Chipepo Lwele
Note: Dennis Liwewe made Zambians to love football in the 70's, 80's and 90's when we had 2 band radios and few television sets, we were glued to the radios young and old, less educated and highly learned. He made sure that the message is loud and clear.
If you stick your neck out for a friend, you’re likely to lose your head.
A friend is a potential enemy in disguise as a loving wife just before vowing ties.
Friends are of all kinds but the kind you want them to be.
A friend you use is a friend you abuse and who has no use of you.
The friend you call upon in need is always in greater need.
If you give a friend an helping-hand, make sure you take it back as soon as you can.
If you trust your friend with your girl, you’re the biggest dope in the world.
When friends meet, they always talk about beating meat.
If you take a friend to dine, make sure he leaves his horse behind.
The friend with daughters is the kind you wished sported blinkers.
A friend who works in banks, we always drop in - in person - to say thanks.
The friend’s wife even if she’s a bad cook is no chinook to hook.
If friends go on vacation with their wives, they always know who connives.
Friends who live close-up always end-up in the lock-up.
A friend with an axe to grind always uses it on some friend’s uterine.
A friendly father is one who takes a lasting interest in his daughter’s girl friends.
A friend who loans you some dough is always knocking on your door.
Only a friend who walks his dog picks the hour your wife goes out for a jog.
A friend at your beck and call must be wondering why you don’t him enthrall.
A friend by any other name is a still a friend you can put to shame.
A friend is someone you can entrust your shame with, but never your fame.
Keep your distance from the friend who shouts in your face for it’s a downright disgrace he spits in your face.
Friends who work for rival companies tend to share daily work memories.
Friends who work in different embassies are thick as thieves.
The greatest friends are those married couples with very large families who realize far too late they are/were really homo-sexuals.
Friends who give one another too many presents ought to look for friends who only give presents.
The best friends are those who need no psycho-analysts for they can see each other without waiting for appointments.
Childhood friends always end-up wishing their friends on other friends.
A friend of a friend always turns up for a spend or a lend.
Long lost friends who meet to go out for the night leave behind wives happy, whallop-py and tight.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
rain. so cold. like small whips at my face swung by a man in a yellow coat too old and dirty to show sunlight anymore. waves attack the boat like a pack of wolves, darting, biting, gnawing, retreating, repeating. in the waves i see my reflection, a ghost, already drowned in that big blue leviathan. my body just floating in its depths, floating free and unchained. liberated from the deck beneath my feet, the comforting terrain of the beast we sail through these uncaring waters, the only thing to keep us from the depths below. the depths so deep no sunlight would go. depths so dark. so dark.
there are mountains down there, mountains and monsters and little rocks with little fish to call them homes. big rocks with big fish to call them little rocks. bigger fish to call the smaller big fish food, and monsters to call it all a playground, a training ground for the endless struggle of land and sea. the monsters will battle and kill and win and live to fight and kill to die and these wars between the krakens, the serpents, the behemoths and titans of the sea. they clash with such bloodlust and splendor that the blows carry to the surface and release tidal forces unseen.
diving. deeper and deeper, blue, purple, midnight black. soul crushing void surrounding, so open, so empty, so oppressing, so tight. i am flying, i see stars, i am a satellite through this expanse, my radar picks up nothing. blip. something. something close. blip blip. things. close things. curled in a ball i am an asteroid, hurling through this darkness, i want to escape. every direction is darker, there is no north, there is no up. there is no trail of soggy bread crumbs. there is no expanse. there is a chasm, the walls are close and cold. they cannot be seen, they cannot be felt. they just are. the longer i look out into that black the closer they get, and the smaller i make myself the smaller i must stay. if i stretch out a finger, an arm, a toe, i will collide with something, or something will collide with me. i will be sent off course, careening into the walls of this underwater canyon, forever bouncing from sharp stone to sharp stone, ever falling downwards. or upwards? there is no bottom. i do not know which way bottom is, there is no top. there is nowhere that i came from, there is nowhere that i go. i am just hurling through black, and the black is crushing.
A figure, sickle in hand, wearing a dark cloak
approached a couple of woodland creatures.
He decided to choose them due to their features.
The Hare he noticed was a nimble and fast bloke,
and a Tortoise who would continue on no matter.
He offered them a race. (Something they’ve done before)
The grand prize to be announced at the end.
The finish line had yet to be decided, somewhere past the bend.
Hare needed to hear no more, ready to settle the score.
Tortoise agreed in his slow and quite manner.
With a wave of his sickle the race had begun
Hare as always is off like a flash nothing ahead but this goal
Tortoise picks up his claws and started his march, a stroll
Neither knew how long it was of a run,
till they would reach that finish banner.
Hare fly’s down the road nothing in his way
All sights around just a blur
Sounds ignored like a rambling slur
As his energy began to fade away
He decided it was time for a rest, by the water
The Tortoise with his steady pace
Looked around seeing all to be seen
A little butterfly at his side, the trees so green
Sounds of the birds chirp, water bubbling apace
Continuing on at his steady trotter
As day turns to night and just past the dawn
The Tortoise walks past the Hare
“Good morning my friend how do you fair”
The Hare startled awake, stretches with a yawn
“I’ll catch you Tortoise without bother”
Hare catches Tortoise with his quick gate
Suddenly a line appears and there he stands
The figure with sickle in hand.
“Ah you tied!” he says “Let’s learn the winner’s fate.”
“Welcome both of you to your death.” he said in calm candor
“This is no prize! I won this race!” said the Hare in a huff
“Oh but there is a prize that you both receive, which is the winner will depend.
Your prizes are the memories from this race. They will be all you have for now till times end”
Death said with a smirk. The Tortoise looking around lets out a puff.
Hare arguing it’s not fair, while Tortoise agrees and takes one last gander.
Hare realizing that he has nothing to remember,
No sight, sound, smell or friends from blind sight of his goal,
begins to ball uncontrollably as he enters his eternity alone, dark and cold.
Tortoise now resting by the water he saw, the sweet smells of September,
with his butterfly friend to talk to forever in such a pleasant manner.
This persona, picks up the mask he placed beside the bed
And the actor, feels the lines he’s already read
They hang their syllables on his tongue
As they breath into his lungs
Answered by a soft restraining sigh
As he buries the reasons why
He no longer wants to be a part of this
It’s a footstep, taken through a place he no longer feels apart of
As he is cut by the angles of the brick
As they force their intrusion with their ugly, scraping intercepts
While his eyes hunger for the leaves
He hangs poised between their branches
Floating through the spaces between the grass blades
And sees the prison bars
Everything, including him constructed
This persona, so ready in its plastic skin of parody
Hopes that it appears to be an acceptable front for normality
But behind his hungry eyes
His separation dances in the skies
He’s not crazy in the spin, but some insanity beckons him
As the prison bars grow wider
If he could only just step through
And release himself from all the things
He thought he knew
As the day break, drips onto the essence of sublime
But his heart ache, tells him that he really doesn’t have the time
The repeat run between the gears
And his place amongst the cogs and wheels
Smoothly jerk upon the performance of their strings
Just like the puppet of himself, his day begins
While every piece of litter he calls his dreams
Are blown into the shadows in his soul
The eyes see, but they don’t see anything anymore
They are a horizon, on a beach of some distant forgotten shore
While he hungers for the trees
The open fields where nature breathes
He fights to break his own perception
Alone in a prison cell of his own making
Every thing about him is scratched into the unyielding brick
His persona, so ready in its organization of plastic skin
Prays that he executes a well played part in normalities theatre
But behind the sadness in his eyes
All he was has slowly turned to lies
When he touched upon the truth every person keeps inside
The desperate aching in everybody’s heart
To be free of all the deceit
Which stole their lives, from the very start
And as the prison bars grow ever wider still
He asks for the strength to just let go
He prays for the courage to step through
And pick up all the litter of his dreams
And release himself from all the things
He thought he knew
Okay, here’s a shot at those lyrics, aiming for that Prince-meets-Brandy-ballad-with-a-Usher-hook vibe. I've opted for an AABB rhyme scheme with some internal rhymes to add to the flow.
Title: Cinnamon Skies (For Him)
(Intro - Soft synth pads, a low bass line, and a light drum machine beat – very 90s R&B)
(Verse 1 - Prince-esque vocals, slightly breathy and melodic)
Streetlights blur, a hazy gold, on my way to the pump
Thinking 'bout you, future unfolding, a gentle, subtle thump
He showed his fam, so soon, a shock, but felt like home, you see
Talkin' life, where we goin’, destiny, and you meant for me
(Pre-Chorus - Beat becomes a little more prominent, slight vocal harmonies come in)
He asked about my faith, my dreams, showed such soft respect
Never pressure, just intention, true love we connect
(Chorus - Usher-esque catchy hook, layered vocals, more emphasis on the beat)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you
(Verse 2 - Vocals become slightly more spoken word, still melodic)
Cinnamon dad, a sweet embrace, a fleeting, stolen kiss
Fueling up, for that precious place and that love I can't dismiss
Values deep, he spoke with fire, a vision we both shared
Future plans, burning desire, a feeling, well, it's rare
(Pre-Chorus - Beat picks up again, harmonies a bit stronger)
He honored every line I drew, cherished every side of me
This ain't just a fling, it's true, the man I was meant to see
(Chorus - Usher-esque catchy hook, layered vocals, more emphasis on the beat)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you
(Bridge - Ballad feel, vocal harmonies layered, beat drops to just a basic pulse)
Goddess Abundance, blessed this path, intertwined our fates
No doubt, no turning back, sealed by love, no debates
Early on, showing his clan, that I was meant to stay
A plan so grand, a holy span, now that future’s on display.
(Chorus - Usher-esque with a slight vocal run at the end, powerful and full)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you, oh yeaaaaah!
(Outro - Synth pads and a soft bass fade out, with a final echo of “for you…”)
The smoky clubs of thought/ where shadows dance and poets talk of truth whispered low/man, a story without end/ can you dig it, my friend/ improvisation’s the key, always unlocked in time, a jazz riff echoing truth in research of a paradigm/
assumptions about the nature of reality in jazz talk, scales, and harmonies, the framework we embrace/is not life the same? like established knowledge, but thinking out of frame, lighting up the space, to build on a jazz note we create, we innovate, say, give the funky drummer some/
just like Miles on his horn, exploring what's in the score, man, the vibing brain, a hipster’s thought, where networks of creativity ignite, and a conscious soul control breaks through/
The mind unfurls its thinking wings, a melody takes flight in a jazzed-up symphony of science, burning ever so tight/
a rock steady beat, the rhythm deepens, but the jazz spills over, it paints a wider scene, Pollock's action strokes, vibrant, raw, and jazzy, mean/
Oh, but the freedom in his canvas, a rhythm in his hand like McCoy Tyner’s dancing on the keys/
improvisation's spirit, always in jazz and graffiti wall art on subway trains sprayed across the Bronx highlands/Miles himself, he painted too, abstract hues so bold, from horn to brush he journeyed, a creative, restless soul/ life jazz influence profound, taking its hammering toll on his body and soul/
man, the tempo picks up, into the evolution of funk more emphatic, much more in the pocket of James Brown/ ya dig? exploration, a pattern found, a quantum leap into the unknown jazz heap of sounds/ like a jazz horn solo taking a giant step into the ubiquity of a jazz riff, a seed that has been sown across the river of stars/
In science and music, the spirit intertwined/a quest for understanding, etched upon a circle of fifths/ and the universal wind cries Mary, a jazz solo vast like a Jimi Hendrix acid jazz blast/
repeating rhythms echo across jazz music and cosmology/ in spoken word harmonies with in and out thinking with room for improvisation, improvise your life, and breathe it in/ get hip to the rhythm in your soul/ let it flow, man/
Let the jazz of physics make you brilliantly whole/gung-bow-chi, chi, gung-bow/ drums as the backbone to the funk thing/ It’s a strong emotional and spiritual bond into Life, and the physics of the Jazz sound
It's Friday! And it’s “Girls’ Night Out"! His favorite dinner and wine we shared!
We give each other a little bit space, at least, once every other week
Any given night, always a special treat, we may choose to cuddle instead
Whatever desires the other may have, each makes sure to prioritize
That’s the routine in our love nest; it’s just how we sail this boat
Dressed in stretched jeans; curves seemly more pronounced and I feel burning eyes upon me
Yes, I know that look so very well, but tonight, that can’t go down
To put him off, I attempt light conversation; to sort of change his unspoken
suggestion
I nonchalantly ask, “What game are you planning to watch, Love?"
With a silent, hope, that craving eyes would deflect
Deliberately, I avoid his intense stare, speaking loudly, a language I know too well
Too late! In just two steps he’s all over me; and I melt like butter in the sun
“Can’t you call? Say you’ll be a little late, hmm?” He whispers in my ear
“No, Love, the last time I did that, we fell asleep, remember?”
“Look, I’ll set the alarm, just one hour will do; I’m missing you already”.
Like a kid, he begins to pout and guilt raps at my heart’s door
Planting warm butterfly kisses the expanse of my neck
Murmuring low, words he knows I love to hear
And though I feign disinterest, persistent hands unrelenting
“Will you call and tell her? Will you, or I’ll call if you like?”
He may be unaware, though it’s hard to tell, as there are no secrets which I can maintain
In my mind I’ve already begun to disrobe him; my favorite dance flats cast aside
On the verge of giving in, I raise up my head to gaze those smoldering eyes
In that instant, I’m captured; cornered, again
His brilliant smile from lips so soft appears plastered on his chiseled face
Fully aware he’s won like so many times before
He picks up the phone, hits speed dial with one hand free;
The other is wrapped snugly 'round my waist as I admire his one track mind
“Hi Caitlin! Listen... …Yes, she’ll be late. Now, how'd you know?”
And her laughter rings throughout cyber space as she's made a prudent guess
“That’s fine, I just know!” She replied, still chuckling. “Ask her to call me before she leaves, will you?”
“Oh sure! Whatever you say, dear.”
~*~
For: Francine's "Whatever You Say, Dear" Contest
A nobody
Scared by the sound of his own voice
Following the girl home from school
In his mind this is normal
Stalking girls
He grabs her jacket
Pulling her backwards unto the ground
Placing a cloth around her nose and mouth
Gagging her until she sleeps for a while
He drags her through the woods
Branches hitting her every which way he turns
Dragging her along until he reaches the cabin
Picking her up over his shoulders opening the door to the cellar
Locking the door behind him he walks down the stairs slowly
He places her on a chair and ties her wrist to the handles
Tying her feet to the legs of the chair
Tightening the rope around her neck to the back of the chair
He undresses her waiting for her to wake up
Several hours pass
She wakes up
Sweating and screaming
Crying and yelling at him
He places duct tape around her mouth
Placing a knife against her stomach
She groans and yelps
He takes the knife away and looks at her
Grabbing her face and telling her shes beautiful
He turns around and stands with his back towards her
As he starts to say
But its the beautiful people that need fixing
He takes the tape off her face and holds her chin tightly
He carves a smile on her face
Cutting her mouth from ear to ear
Telling her
Smile dear it makes you adorable
He grins and sits the knife down
Laughing as she bleeds
She tries to move her mouth
It just drops open
He looks at her smiling
Now that makes you truly beautiful
He leaves her there for a while
Later returning
Placing a needle with a string attached to it
Sticking it into the skin around her mouth that is hanging open
He stitches her back together
Cant make up his mind
He slaps her and leaves her there for another few days
She sits with her eyes peeled wide open
A tear falling as she tries wiggling her hand free from the rope
As she frees her hand she runs her fingers over her stitches
Only to find out her whole mouth has been stitched together
She cant speak
She can only mumble
She frees the rest of her limbs
Trying to stand up and walk but she's to weak and falls
He runs down the stairs
Yelling at her to get up
She doesn't move
He kicks her in the stomach
She doesn't budge
He picks her up and uses her as a puppet
For his own needs
He then buries her beside his other victims
Only to find out shes still alive
Her hand slips through the dirty old mud
5-28-2013