Many words and many burdens to fathom
when the head is locked and full of tumultuous blood,
The world is before us, we are yet to see all her ores
though they lie near, they are nothingness for our eyes
And less weighty than dust
Flesh is as steel after the kindness of the heat
from the darkness of the unseen,
turbulence keeps the ship fit
I am the dust motes in the sunbeams, dancing only when the world is looking elsewhere".
"A ghost in a crowded room, watching the living laugh"."My voice is a letter that never reached the mailbox".
You spoke, and I became a wallflower, watching your words land while mine evaporated"
."I stood on the corner while the traffic of life rushed past, never once looking my way"."
Sitting here, a silent guest at your table, feeding on the crumbs of conversation"
The hardest part is not being alone, but being forgotten in a crowd"."
I have learned to hold my breath, hoping to fade into the wallpaper"."It is a quiet war, fought with shadows and unspoken words".
I am present, but I am past"."All eyes on me, yet no one sees"."I am the most loud when I am silent".
Just as a lone rustic row boat awaits its lonely passenger to grasp its worn ores, disappear into the fog to not be seen, for my presence on thus earth is invisible..
I met them at work,
Dressed perfect for this art—
Crop tops that teased,
And curves played their part.
They were mining,
The rarest of ores—
Soft as glass,
Pure as stars.
No shovels in hand,
Just allure and sway.
Bodies bare, daring to be
The "baddies" of the day.
A man desperate to find,
Something pure, something kind.
Craving love to ease his mind,
Like a baby, unrefined.
But miners know not
To linger deep in the hole.
Once they've struck the ore,
They abandon the soul.
Leaving the earth exposed,
Erosion sets in fast.
Cultivation forever lost,
A once-green man now a shadow of the past.
A gold digger's task,
Weeks of mining, fleeting sight.
The ore uncovered,
The gold stripped overnight.
I crossed the archives as one walks through a field of ruins.
Decrees were bones, dogmas were nails.
Kings signed treaties in ink darker than darkness, a pact forged in daggers.
Papal bulls oozed blood beneath God's varnish.
Codes etched the systematic animalization into stone.
They legislated hell, administered suffering, theorized the slaughterhouse.
Even science became an executioner,
draping contempt in formulas and measured skulls.
I didn’t read history,
I breathed it,
its ashes glued to my lungs,
its screams wedged in the margins.
They crucified continents for their gems,
their plantations, their ores, and their silences.
They told me: progress.
But I saw boots pressed to throats.
They told me: forget.
But the graves still speak.
They told me: democracy.
I saw tanks circling the ballot boxes.
And you, West, with your carnivorous grin,
you demand forgiveness without returning the bones.
You scream values with your pockets full of plunder.
You dress up your hunger as mission.
You baptize your rape as liberation.
You persist, you insist, you gorge yourself.
But our memories are neither dead nor tame.
They sharpen.
I've met lots of people in my life
Most have just passed through
But not one person who I've met
Was anything like you
We haven't even combed the mine
Of what you and I could do
If us together, ores refined
Became one mind from two
Many are knocking on Gods hidden door
trying to escape brimstone floors
Some views are narrower than peepholes
while others see through open windows
Lifes a beach with many sandy shores
that go deeper than any ocean floor
My advice is to go with life's liquid flow
& enjoy the boat with all its rows
The mind is the center of this earthly core
& all of its rocky ores
Brave the waters & mold your will into the hardest steel
because life hardens feelings on a massive scale
Mass appeal blinds many to what lies in store
to what's housed behind attractive doors
I tell you this series of dreams are more than real
but many lack the awareness of their lucid feel
light of life's reflections be seen as
within minds meme-ores...easier...
than heard as some physics-call of a
ringing headache as a reflect...shun...
stan sand
hours be our...
treasures as
hours be ores...
so we build
oars from hours...
that time be
our oaring of hours...
of ores
stans sand
Remembered the 1940s, the season of the holocaust.
Six million irons, disjointed from their ores
Were forged in bottomless pits of anvils.
The swarming bees in a ceremonious buzzing
Were uncoupled from their hives through Reichsbahn.
However, a tensed, stale wind of discord swivel
On the creeks of Dachau, Auschwitz, Treblinka
And other shores of darkness.
Never shall the bloody sky efface again
The innocent faces of seedlings in chains
Suddenly transformed into smoke under a silent sky.
For not four thousand micrographic scrolls
Of antique Pharaoh, hieroglyphics could symbolize
The petrifying carrions glutted by black vultures.
Two rivers parted by mountainous fiend
In no time of twilight
Laid eyes into the seas.
Two branches glued to tree trunks
Would in a bit of an eyelid
See those white balloons.
The mockingbird is set among the pigeons
And doors of golden rainbows
Crept in the fog.
Everywhere, the white dove’s skull
Is at the bottom of the picture
While the frogs and wasps play their lyres.
But, the wild hyacinths grew among Linden
The lion; among hummingbirds
With every twist, Lynx's eyes.
I believe in beautiful mornings,
Lapis lazuli skies,
Cotton ball clouds,
Waking up slowly,
Feeling the lovely warmth,
More ardent than a trillion suns,
Emanating from the person beside you,
As you can’t help it
But embrace the small of their back.
I believe in dusk,
Sunsets of roses and tulips,
Red, pink, orange, purple.
I believe in star shine,
Coal-black nights,
Pierced by billions of stars,
Precious sparkling ores and gems,
Surrounding a crescent moon,
Like a smile amid the darkness,
But still finding it not as wonderful
As the way they smile
When you gingerly caress their face.
I believe in beauty,
The beauty of nature,
The beauty of the world.
But it isn’t nearly as wonderful
As when you have someone
To share it with.
. for public domain
Wind has long formed ripples,
pebbles too, upon a shallow river bed,
a hand agrasp a wooden oar,
fingers dangling in play,
skipping rounded stones,
a gentle breath exhaled,
a sound so soft and brief,
a water bug lept off a fallen leaf,
rumbling hooves upon the ground,
an earthquake miles away,
a sonic boom high in the sky,
a blast of thunder from a storm,
a raindrop, a teardrop, a dewdrop,
a letter torn to pieces tossed upon the waves,
a sealed bottle with hope in a message,
a piece of litter thrown thoughtlessly,
bows of gliding canoes and great ships,
muscular arms chopping in competition,
cannon balls and falling masts in war,
sailors who stepped off the plank,
melted ores from raging craters,
and kites and balloons with broken string.
In every ripple a partial record of a history,
some great, some small,
much forgotten, but not all. That's all. That's all.
What a glorious thought of being created a little lower than angels on high.
We have been blessed at birth to do what we choose, and thus far have created wings on which to fly.
Put purpose in your life and work a plan, be resolute and strong and nothing against you shall stand.
Do not meander along in life like a floating branch that always winds up downstream stuck in the sand.
Put both oars in the water, raise anchor and pursue that passion as a salmon swimming upstream.
Surround yourself with good friends and family, which inspire you while you help others reach their dream.
Two oars are in the ocean of life one of which is called faith, so let God be your guide.
The second ore is the ore of prayer and these two will overcome any rising tide.
In her words I find ore
Of grace through which I shore
And as the mix is deep, it gives ores
On which we ride our desire as horse
To make deposit bless her fish's roe
Making me feel better being her only hero
And as well; my heart: forever hers
Leaving no chance in gap per luck to others
Peeping at my heart afar through my hose
Unknown to them who I've planned to give rose
Whom shall make onlookers watch like foes
When at the end my world owned all to her
Reading her eyes to light moments so blur
After the night is free of the morning sore
And every flaw we permanently restore
Then, no one would ask-- "who is she?"
Each will shut h/her lips for no one will say sh!
The one who has always be in my own shoe
Of a truth without explanation shall definitely be shew.
We have the world all to ourselves, free of cost
We own everything on and above the earth,
Abundant food and the water and milk to drink,
And gold nuggets sprout from deep earth for us
And the richest of diamonds and precious ores.
They are there for you and me. So worry not.
But sit back and inhale the cool breeze, the air
The One has cleansed of toxic fumes and smoke
And the bees bring you honey from flowers
And heavenly perfumes and colors of Paradise.
Man claims he makes all these and struts earth
As though he bought them on his own bourse.
Or elsewhere from his hard earned cash or loot.
He is paranoid: some day he might lose all these
He has to defend against enemies unseen, unheard
And he ends barricading against himself in despair.
Africa, Africa,
Africa Wake up, wake up,
Your time of success is coming,
The future awaits you.
Wake up from your seat & walk,
You're not there to stay.
Africa, Africa,
You have a dream to work on.
Stop sleeping in your dream.
Your friends are heading to their,
Journeys.
Africa, Africa,
The hope is still there, what are you,
Thinking of?
Is it natural resources?
No, no, no, no Africa, l don't think so.
You have all, but you don't want to put,
Them to use.
Africa, Africa,
When l turn right, l see mysterious of things,
Occuring on the surface of Africa.
When l turn left, l see tears rolling down,
The map of Africa.
Africa, Africa,
You are the problem to your children.
When l think of the physical features,
Tears roll down my eyes creeping towards,
The center of my chest.
Africa, Africa,
Iron ores, we export them and import,
Vehicles.
Why don't we use those ores in,
Manufacturing those imported vehicles.
Why Africa?
Africa problem is Africa.
©®2021
A.M Ngumbu, Jr.
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