I remember little of my childhood.
Or perhaps I remember too much, but all of it in fragments.
Marabá Paulista would wake up before God lit the sun.
First came the smell of packed lunches being prepared—mingling scents
that slipped uninvited through the cracks in the houses' weathered wood.
Then, the diesel fumes and the red dust.
Old trucks, like monsters, rumbled through the streets,
swallowing up the adults and vanishing down the dirt road.
During the day, the town belonged to the children and the elderly.
We thought that was freedom.
At dusk, the trucks returned,
spitting out bodies that were barely alive;
my parents would arrive—worn out, stooped, and weary.
As a boy, I didn't yet know
how to put a name to it.
Today I know:
the trucks didn't just carry workers.
They carried away pieces of childhood.
to get over her heartbreak
Winnie had steak and a shake
the café rumbled a bit during the quake
She wondered if the roof might flake
They dove under booths for safety’s sake
She saw a little girl take her birthday cake
She also saw that no-good-ex named Blake
He was holding his pet duck, name of Drake
Winnie wondered if this whole scene was fake
Was she dreaming it? No. Because she smelled cake.
She looked out the window and saw a tree by the lake
The wind blew it down and picked up a rake
She was so stunned by the sight, she began to quake
Luckily about that time, she came fully awake
Graffiti flourished underground
works by young artists
who found their voices
by sharing visions
in tunnels and on trains
commuters took to work.
They painted flowers
purple monsters
and people dancing
on the street
a celebration
of life the artists knew.
As subways squealed
around curves, first-time
riders never knew what they’d find
under the city
the stories told
before commuters found the light of day.
Skyscrapers above poked into clouds
as the city lived and breathed
but images of graffiti lingered
lingered in recesses of minds
the art left in tunnels
where trains rumbled underground.
The grey light of dawn spread softly over the hill,
In the Blue Ridge, fog covered Ashville.
No birds dared fly high above the dark clouds,
The wind blew, and thunder rumbled like shrouds.
Time passed by slowly, the wind felt low.
Only one star twinkled, its lonely foe.
A whisper of grey could not be deprived
Until the soft sun rays lit the sky and light arrived.
The hour held a promise of persistent rain
Until the sky cleared and all was gain.
The listless world woke for its usual chores
And all went hurrying to their overstuffed stores.
I watched as the dandelions blew away in the breeze
Like small tornadoes beneath me
You chuckle, then rush to collect them
Scared to see some unique begin to bloom?
Hunger rumbled through my body
Like a shouting gladiator
Piercing my stomach with his blade
Gyros spread across the set table
I watch as you sink your teeth into them
Starving like a ravenous tiger
Yet a heart softer than lavender
So, darling, let the games begin
Please offer me your hand to hold
Whisper to me, skin warm like tea
Olive complexion luring me in
Like I'm stuck inside a trance
Take this break while the tides are high
Guide me into this deep ocean
I'll backstroke through love's reservoir
This aura, it calls out my name impatiently
Sandalwood dances to my brain
The scent attracts me like a magnet
Farther away than Andromeda
My worry for the future, it drifts away
Now that ecstasy has incarcerated me
Nothing can ensure my soon release
Top trumped, no surprise by the leaders of others
Rumbled by common sense, but his followers meld
Undoubtedly the time is nigh, when trump tower is felled
Momentous Presidency words and his rambling on
Proof that such in office, his song simply doesn't belong.
I wondered whether or not God was talking to me
again, I was asked for a line that would 'make things easier'
a line that would make things easier, I pondered on it
but this time it was a line with a twist
the line had to hint towards betrayal
and pain
and growth
the line had to be sweet
but cunning
the line had to be gentle
but pierce the ears of whoever heard it
a line
essentially about things that are extremely complicated, and ever so painful
I thought to myself
and for whatever reason the crowd sat up
in anticipation, waiting for me, the amateur
to speak
to share the few lines that I had in mind (this was only my second night at this bar)
I called the poem "Carpentry"
and I went on to say
"I trusted the carpenter
with the tasks of Carpentry,
silly her, silly me"
the crowd rumbled
"You and I grew old sitting under this tree,
remember when we carved our names in the bark?"
the crowd went wild with whistling, applause, and demanded a few lines more
(to be continued)
The Sky came to Light, tonight.
Rumbled quietly, its might, tonight.
Soon such Truth was spilling down in
twilight rivers - washing fresh the birds, the stones.
We muddy, ragged, self-wounding Liars drowning.
Twilight rivers, taking hold by letting go.
In the newmade petrichor
we saw what we’d been before.
We each are truthsellers. We each are liars seeking Truth.
We are aging away from our birthright innocence, our youth.
Has the Sky ever lied to you?
To anyone?
Has the Earth ever offered falsity?
To anyone?
Can our breath, our step serve as Apology?
Can I be me, can you be you? Can we be true?
Summer swimmers began to depart.
Waves were no longer calm but rumbled with unease.
Kiosks and bar dismantled their wares.
It made me sick to see all gone.
Where was my Cynthia whom I loved so much?
Disappeared without a trace or a good-bye.
She had forsaken me without a reason.
I packed my things and went back home.
Seattle began its blasted drizzle.
Autumn is back with a vengeance.
Leaves changed their greenish hues
into brown, russet, or golden themes,
a kaleidoscope of prismatic colours.
Trees turn bare only slippery grass remained.
I wandered round the wet streets,
I wondered where my Cynthia were.
I entered my favourite coffee shop.
And there she was smiling impishly.
She served me a latte and gave me a kiss.
Leaves flutter slowly to the ground,
a carpet strewn all over the paths
that zigzag through the lonely gardens
or long forgotten forest trails,
whilst fragrant flowers wilt and wither
Yet it was the birth of love.
Fall seven times, rise eight
Shake off the dust, shed the weight
Soldier on with increased stride and pace
Unwavering and wearing a brave face
For the man who believes lives
And God who forgives gives
All have sinned and fallen short
No man’s will is a formidable fort
His building and watching are in vain
His own ways and means must be slain
And too his appetite for transgression
If God’s Will must find expression
The old must waste and face ban
For the full making of a new man
The Spirit of God puts up insistence
Overpowering the flesh’s resistance
And since so little of self was involved
No flesh claims to have had this resolved
Praise be to God for His Grace
Being our edge of Truth in life’s race
For the picture would be grim and dim
Had it not been for Him
And so where we gloated and rumbled
We now stand redeemed and humbled
Not by might, not by power
Nor by the apt knowledge of the hour
Did we find ourselves favored
Or claim to have so laboured
We were carried on eagle’s wings
We who are now made priests and kings
K. Muitherero
Uranus once ruled the ethereal realm
And for a while was at the helm
Until his son, Cronus, overthrew him
But Cronus, too, would have the crown seized from him
Cronus feared he'd lose the throne
Which caused him to swallow more than his pride
He swallowed his children; his wife did groan
But Zeus, she managed to hide
Zeus would eventually rescue his swallowed kin
A potion given to Cronus caused him to 'hurl' them out
But for the throne, there would be a war to win
In their battle with Cronus, victory came about
Thunder rumbled, and a dark cloud coils
Now it was time to divide the spoils
Cronus was imprisoned, never to be set free
Zeus got the sky and Poseidon the sea
a shriek,
a high-pitched scream echoed against the walls,
lightning flashed,
thunder rumbled deep and hard into my chest.
pain,
tightness,
ache,
sorrow.
it cannot be real, this is not happening, I cannot believe it.
to never again see,
talk,
hug,
love on,
joke,
dance.
our son was –
our only boy was –
our eldest child was –
our headache was –
our heart was –
our angel is –
forever 26.
As I fondled my plunder
A wind from down under
Got caught on the breeze
It wafted and floated
But still I felt bloated
And dropped to my knees
As it tore me asunder
I recalled days of thunder
What'd help to appease
My stomach just rumbled
In agony mumbled
Some TUMS if you please
Took more than two rolls
Prayers read from dead scrolls
To cure this disease
But then belly now loaded
The wind then exploded...
And blew bark off the trees
Pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.
Proverbs 16: 18
she stood tall on the jagged edges of the cliff
face worried as she noticed the rough seas
whilst above high dark clouds rumbled
though the sun shone straight at her face
could it enlighten her about what had happened
thoughts came and went, as she remembered
the letter he had sent her and wondered
was she deceived by her soldier and sister
he insulted her refusing to marry him
and she insulted him back vowing
she would never marry him come what may
still thoughts rumbled inside her mind
was he really proud or was she prejudiced
the jagged edges of a knife pierced her soul
could there have been some half-truths in his insults
she still hated him but admired his handsome face
facts churned in her head and confused her even more
could she face those jagged edges of truths
she turned and walked down the rough cliff
her soul lacerated with truths and pride
Placed 1
on our way back from a trip,
got down by the bright streetlamp.
hunger raged, bowels rumbled.
the inviting smell of food,
wafted from nearby cafe.
noodles and spicy meat fry,
with a cup of steaming tea,
titillated our palate.
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