I don't want to go my own way, Stevie
I want to rush through the weeds,
the thicket, the gnarls, the never-will-be trails
with you, sharper than machetes,
blazing our way backwards
on bicycles through hell
cutting ice sculptures in heaven
when we need a challenge
Time is an impatient bastard
on leopard legs
but you outdance Shakespeare
"Then I remember"
how your voice of silk and cactus cords
molded the clay into
what I would call me
"But if our paths never cross"
I will keep hacking away at stubborn verses
and insidious cucumber vines
that don't produce
All the guitars are weeping for you,
glorious gold
Now, let's tango time
across the moon
The school bus crawled into the village
just as the sun slipped beyond the horizon.
Villagers emerged with machetes in hand,
clearing the road for their visitors—
men and women united by a mission
to protect and preserve marine life.
Joy filled the island.
Laughter echoed from every corner.
The local captain, Pastor Kagoto,
could not stop reciting his poems,
while songs drifted through the evening air.
Village girls came out singing,
their voices carrying across the shore
as they welcomed the newcomers.
Later that night,
the visitors pitched their camp on the island.
The women retired to their tents,
while the men gathered around a crackling fire.
The waves whispered against the beach,
their rhythm clear in the stillness of the night.
Above, the sky blazed with countless stars,
as if the heavens themselves had joined the villagers
in welcoming the guests.
As darkness settled over the island,
hearts were filled with anticipation,
and every soul carried great expectations
for the days that lay ahead.
Where have all the brave men gone?
They break into your house, steal your money,
Car keys, wallet and whatever they can.
Masked men, or covered faces with hoodies.
They assault the old, children, women and defenceless men.
What has become of facing your enemies?
Not that the innocent people are their enemies.
That’s right! All they are guilty of is trying to
Live in peace.
They attack mostly in the middle of the night,
Waving machetes, knives and guns.
And, if that’s not enough, it’s illegal to afflict
Any bodily harm to these aggressors.
Unless of course if it’s due diligence of self-
Defence. What do we do to defend ourselves?
Sit back and take it on the chin? Willingly let them in?
Judge, please refuse bail and throw these
Scumbags where they belong, even prison
Isn’t harsh enough for all these crimes committed.
The sun mounts over crumpled roofs and streets,
Beats from machetes and trombones disconcerts the air,
Brides and husbands-to-be bosa nova where joy and gossip meet.
Little ones run run past stalls,their joy sharp as knives,
Grandmas share gossip,drinking Joko Tea in chirped mugs.
While dear uncles sway,remembering old wasted lives
Smog billows from grills where meat roasts and fry,
Fires burn,mixing ululations and cheer,
Even the emaciated township dog pauses,ears to the sky.
Hubands-to-be jive,hats tilted,praising feats of might;
Ladies-in waiting in skirts that sparkle under sun.
Every furtive glance a nod and a story of delight.
As night comes,lanterns flicker in houses and alleys;
Music is tender,hearts stay buoyed and awake-
In hoboland love and joy endure amidst the pain.
dogs are barking
loud deep hoarse angry barks
staring up the driveway
I expect to see soldiers carrying machetes
or machine guns
or the secret police
dogs are concentrating on a walnut tree
there are moving shadows on the bark
reflection of moving leaves
My dog is outside warning strangers off our property
the neighbors, delivery men, me if I walk up the driveway
stay away or you will be sorry, says his ferocious bark
it is deep, hoarse and fierce sounding
He treats us all as if we have machetes and stabbing knives
until we get closer….
if we get close enough, he leaps all over us with joy
me, the delivery men, neighbors, burglars, murderers
He is joyful to have a person to play with
If a child comes by, he goes nuts
Follows them home
His bark is totally deceiving
Beau my young dog gazes toward the west
He stands, barks, and runs up the driveway
He comes back from the east
Meaning he has circled the house
He stares at me
plunks down and puts his head on his front paws
I hear other dogs barking
At least two, from the south
Beau does not seem to notice them
A loud rough bark from my right startles me
It is Buddy, my big dog; I did not know he was there
He begins running up the driveway, Beau chases him
They are barking as if bandits with machetes are up there
Lopping off the neighbor’s heads and feet.
They come back from the east,
With long tongues and happy smiles.
mack trucks on the road
big, burly and loud
angry rumbling sounds
my guard dogs hear it
they run out to stand between me and the road
barking as if virile hitmen with machetes are after us
holding their ground, showing their teeth and their verve
Hundreds of yards away from trucks who will never know or care
Beneath the cobalt sky, where legends are spun,
Island life unfolds, as traced by the sun.
Amidst the palms, a verdant ballet,
A choreography of chores, in the island's sway.
Fishing boats gently bob, tales in their wake,
Nets entangled with the morning's ocean handshake.
Fishermen, weathered, their hands tell the story,
In salt-stained shirts, a testament to the island's glory.
Coconut vendors wield machetes with pride,
Husks cast away, like secrets to hide.
Sweat beads on brows under the tropical sun,
As the islanders toil, their day just begun.
Children laugh, chasing the tide's embrace,
Building dreams in the sand, a jubilant race.
Their laughter, a melody with seagull cries,
As the day unfolds 'neath endless skies.
In the market square, colors burst and bloom,
Fruits and spices scent the island's room.
Vendors banter, a lively exchange,
Commerce dancing in the island's range.
As dusk descends, shadows embrace the land,
Twilight whispers with a soft command.
Stars emerge, a cosmic display,
Over the island, where dreams hold sway.
Until the blood
Flowing in my veins equals
The blood flowing in theirs
The cry for freedom
Will persist and insist
Uhuru is my cry for freedom
Until the tongue
I speak and my religion
Is no different than the
Colour of their eyes
Uhuru is my cry for redemption
The cry for freedom
Will always prevail over
Machetes and AK 47s
Uhuru is my cry for freedom
Until our villages and towns
Are properly called
In their mother tongue
And not abused versions
The cry for freedom
Justice and equity will
Reach high pitch
Uhuru is my cry for freedom.
The mango grove hums,
insects sing in the scratchy thrum,
the wet-lead air.
Knee-deep, the water sweats
a dark smudging fear.
We are a party of four,
four machetes,
four slouch hats,
four men looking for
reasons.
Trailing tendrils snatch at us,
lacerate skin and courage.
After a few hours
we are drained,
barely speaking
just wading our way
inwards,
all four
longing for
that tropical beach bar
and the girl
we left behind it.
Nightfall,
Fear awakened
Guns and Machetes,
Bonds and chains.
May 13, 2022.
The third-grade students are squealing like pigs
being chased by axe murderers waving bloody machetes
I smile as their voices bounce off the gym walls
I hear the coach’s voice now; squealing is interrupted.
For a few minutes while she speaks.
Beginning again; louder now.
Is there a roller coaster in there?
The third-grade students are squealing like pigs
being chased by axe murderers waving bloody machetes
I smile as their voices bounce off the gym walls
I hear the coach’s voice now; squealing is interrupted.
For a few minutes while she speaks.
Beginning again; louder now.
Is there a roller coaster in there?
Elastic evil in encroaching European’s enterprising motives.
Level-headed land animal leaves African lowlands.
Eventually they are followed by those who shall not be named.
Private collector hopes tusks will not be a mismatch.
Horrific hunters hold hand-held machetes.
Active game wardens wait for the hunter’s hammiest moment.
Newly arrested poachers rapidly chew their pink mastiche.
Threat to tusks thwarted, wardens sit down to taste tasty tzimmes.
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