From my front porch I hear, the music of evening guitars,
Flowing softly on breezes, under the magic of pearl stars,
Busy goldfinches flit singing, and I can glimpse red Mars,
Mellow music of summer, and moonlight's rapture is ours.
Nature draws upon its beauty, from deepest of reservoirs,
Adding to the happy heart's memory, with lasting powers,
A summer night of music, and frog and cricket repertoires,
Such days will be remembered, in hued autumn's memoirs.
Over the town in clear ebony
Shines down the glow of ancient stars
Their light twinkling out a melody
Of moonlight dreams in all that is ours
The people go about life blithely
Never seeing the amazing repertoires
Of glorious night lights striking freely
Against the city’s better memoirs
Everyone who walks past them
Should note the way they glitter and glimmer
Beautiful sparkles that speak like a poem
Starry nights the color of azure
After seeing the scenic night sky
I feel reassured of God’s vivid cheers
And after whispering a silent sigh
I will leave you my tears
written about the painting by Vincent Van Gogh, "Starry Night"
Over the town in clear ebony
Shines down the glow of ancient stars
Their light twinkling out a melody
Of moonlight dreams in all that is ours
The people go about life blithely
Never seeing the amazing repertoires
Of glorious night lights striking freely
Against the city’s better memoirs
Everyone who walks past them
Should note the way they glitter and glimmer
Beautiful sparkles that speak like a poem
Starry nights the color of azure
After seeing the scenic night sky
I feel reassured of God’s vivid cheers
And after whispering a silent sigh
I will leave you my tears
Inspired by my favorite Van Gogh painting – Starry Nights
Sprawled on my soft leather sofa
One Sunday after church service
Reading Okara’s “Spirit of the Wind”
And my infant son is sleeping nearby:
He would never leave me alone.
I couldn’t tell whether I was reading
Because he was asleep or
He was asleep because I was reading.
But from the wind came the laughter of my
Neighbour’s kids
From over at the garden
Where they gather to play
And the wind keeps blowing.
Oh how they laugh such laughable laughter.
Freely they laugh hysterically, sillily
As if their lives depended on it.
Their high pitched chattering
Their piercing shouts
Twittering trough to my juvenile repertoires
Exhuming them from the cemetery of memory
To haunt my childhood chronicles.
This was me again
Laughing crazily in the garden
And on my sofa
He is up from his siesta, my son
He sees my laughing quietly,
He joins me.
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