The robin roosts
In thick thickets
Feeds on worms
And quick crickets
The raven hunts
From thick pickets
Feeds on mice
Thru stick snickets
The wren's hidden
In thick thickets
Robs robin
Of quick crickets
The globe is a shrubbery we must safeguard like our own world,
World of women’s physiques with un-upkept in between,
In-between growing huge shrubs untended and jamboreeing silent bugs,
Bugs spread as weeds when a savannah of hair buckskins the sun.
Sun vanished in thickets can distress the peace of hubbies,
Hubbies ramble like agrarians looking for grounds that respire with health,
Health produces where spotless rivers run and razors clear the trail,
Trail through the wasteland teaches that shaving is pruning.
Pruning protects both soil and skin from pungent shade,
Shade over basins or over women offers unseen diseases,
Diseases cautions us that negligence of earth rears regret,
Regret dwindles when we shield every allotment with affection.
Affection describes such a woman who never weeds her land,
Land producing human beings should not be that bushy,
Bushy and causing it smelly, a condition able to generate germs,
Germs that spoil the body and the feelings that repel lovers.
Poem by Mugisho T.N
When we lived beneath
The thatched-roof houses,
Curry cooked in earthen pots,
Flames burning from firewood gathered
From hills and thickets.
When bullock carts creaked
Under paddy loads,
Harvests reaped from fertile fields,
Bicycles ridden on dusty roads.
When the sound
Of hand-pounding paddy
Was heard from homes every day,
Women weaving at fly-shuttle looms
Sometimes till late at night
Then, in our land,
We helped one another-
Lives were simple and self-reliant.
Today, though we dwell
In grand concrete homes
And ride in cars of luxury,
We survive on grants from the Centre.
The food we grow falls far below our needs,
While blockades on the National Highways
Bring us untold pain .
Meanwhile, the gap between the rich and the poor
Continues to widen.
Today, the spirit we once knew fading -
The spirit of independance, equality, simple joys
Mutual help and cooperation.
(A revised verson of the poem When Life Was Simple posted earlier
The poem published in the poetry anthology DIVERSE VOICES :POETRYON HUMAN RIGHTS AND PURSUIT OF PEACE.)
“Wilderness has at once a mysterious beauty and horror entwined within. Human mind also harbours wild urges and benign emotions. When wild urges take precedence, life becomes an untamed jungle” ~ By Poet
The jungle sprawls hauntingly scary
Where light and shadows together dance.
Here the wind howls fiercely
Thickets and thistles grow wild
Creepers twine around trees.
Branches of trees droop in disarray,
Blocking the paths and obstructing entry.
Under jagged rocks and holes,
Snakes crawl and rodents flee.
The ominous hoot of owls rent the air.
The rocky boulders in dim light look so monstrous.
Leopards and tigers roam free looking for prey
Their carnivores urge, hidden under their soft paws.
From hideouts, raptors and beasts come to the open.
Screeching bats keep flying overhead
Here in this dark grove, light seldom falls
There is a morbid silence, interrupted
By howls of predators and screams of the preyed.
Is not our world too, a wild untamed jungle
Where wolves roam ready to pounce, ready to strike!
.
'neath thuh prairie'z
thickets
'long it's lush open
hidden
mostly
'twere that pink
halter yo
stuck it were
in duh visible
thump
'cross mine dome
her daddy'z
warn
")
Checked by www.howmanysyllables.com>syllable_counter
**************************************************************
Lost
The sun sinks low, the shadows grow,
No moon is out up high,
A chilling breeze begins to blow,
With stars up in the sky;
I wearily wade my way in vain
Across serpentine lanes of a forest,
Speckled with thick thorns and thickets,
But each time tumble at the same spot;
My heart is sore with seams of strains,
I feel lost in the night,
My feet are tinging with deep pains,
No pathway greets my sight.
Most of the trees seem to sneer at me,
Some to snarl like wild woeful winds
Treating the spot as their enclave,
A guarded setting of their own;
A voice soon whispers in my ears,
A voice from inner self:
“Move straight without a grain of fear,
And steer ahead yourself.”
Coming back home, after a long stint south,
I passed the blue sign on the turnpike that reads
“Massachusetts Welcomes You.”
Under the “Welcomes,” some Mayflower blooms,
And a chickadee perches there, under the "You.”
I’d seen this bird busying our woods as a boy,
Seen its black helmet with small streaks of white,
Flitting from thickets to rest on a branch,
Or maybe on mother's stone up on the hill.
From there, it’d cheer the winter woods with a call:
“Chicka DEE DEE DEE!”
Standing as still as a young boy knows how,
I’d see how it puffs out its tiny, tan chest,
Then sends forth the words
It hopes someone might hear:
“Hello!”
“Please be careful!”
“Let’s share what I’ve found!”
Sometimes, my human chest puffs out as well,
Set to deliver my own human calls:
“Hi, there.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So, where are you from?”
Still, some calls get stuck on their way to my throat,
And with all of my puffing, I can’t get them out.
Whenever I try, I feel misunderstood,
And the message gets lost from one tree to the next.
Chickadee, have all songs for your feelings been found
Or do some stay inside, never making a sound?
.
she'z not thuh
b!tch
az in
woof woof
yet
az this once coon
uv mine
through thuh thickets
mine
hern(hugz)
followz
not az in
sniff sniff
yet
through thuh thickets
mine
hern(kissez)
followz
When we lived beneath thatch-roofed houses,
Curry simmered in pots,
Flames flickered from firewood gathered
From hills and thickets.
When bullock carts creaked
Under paddy loads,
Harvests reaped from fertile fields,
Bicycles spun on dusty roads.
When sounds of hand-pounding paddy
Echoed from homes everyday,
Women weaving at fly- shuttle looms
Sometimes till late night.
And when caws of the crows
And chirpings of tea cricket at dusk heard.
Then we helped one another -
Life was simple,self reliant,and beautiful.
( Third in the Poetry Contest entitled "Write Sixteen Beautiful Lines" sponsored by Constant La France )
Spinning a Warrior`s Soul
In the long journey of life, we embrace
Our path may be laid with thickets and thorns,
Some may plant nails along to halt our pace
Others may hold our high headway in scorn,
Let`s not dread, but stay steadfast on our goal;
Some may try to rock the hull of our boat
Others to take the wind out of our sail
Some may wish to steal the shine of our coat
Others may seek from our path to derail,
Let`s not fear but brace our will as a whole;
Some may try to stab us behind our back
Some may try to steal the shine of our seat
Some may wish to deal us a severe smack
Without any speck of shame of their feat,
Let us not shrink but spin a warrior`s soul.
When the reflections don't match the day
When the right questions aren't known
Its time to put yourself away
and be solvent
Turning your head to all you deny
When you find yourself in shambles
needed no where
thats when you have to give yourself away
You find yourself in shambles
Tis the way to put your faith in somebody
Turn the handle
away from the rose thickets
Look out for tomorrow and
live today
I refuse to run and hide.
When enemies and knaves come to seize
I have a 'no-fear' DNA that dwells inside.
I'm popping out for everyone to see with no desire to please.
I refuse to lie down.
No matter how many times I slip, trip, or fall
Back up without a frown.
I'm readying myself to answer the call.
I refuse to wave the white flag.
Though the battle may be onerous and rough
Through the thickets, I go like the white stag.
Onward and upward is my only aim 'cause my spirit says I'm enough.
A seed falling unto the soil,
Would soon learn its own tirelessly
Effort to wiggle into its foundation.
For, it was tossed to and fro
By the mighty winds and rain
Until, landing into a field prepared.
For something within felt alive
A drop of water had seeped through
With a touch of warmth from the light.
As if a new breath had filled its being
The outer shell was becoming weak
Of this fight coming from within
A little arm one day, finally broke
The outer shell to begin to dig.
Which would bring a source of life
For, the outer shell had busted open.
This seed had died, that the embryo
Might live and raise unto its purpose.
As it started to rise towards the light,
Eagerly awaiting from sunrise to sunset.
Then, a snag was felt from its arm.
What, is this thorn catching on
To slow down its own effort
There would be many more to come
But a little more wisdom and understanding was given each occurrence.
That, it would come to seek and know
The true source that had been guiding.
Growing past the thony patches and thickets,
Into a full bloom of beauty
To become what its purpose
In this life was sown for.
Late November and spring rain falls the glen,
dry nor-westers shed pine needle and cone -
and “koork kok” crows the cock pheasant and hen
who outside my window have always flown.
In the thickets and hanging gardens from
calls my ring-necked friend, my avian muse
who, silenced by the Iroquois’s loud thrum,
shines in the dappled sun its copper hues.
Behold his red faced wattle in the grass,
a white collared chromatic blue-green head
and long tail feathers that before me pass
as to the heavens his princely wings spread.
For in these hills in wild and wondrous sound
echo game fowl and the choppers inbound.
Written: November 1994
In a space reserved for not thinking
a TV blames itself for telling lies to you.
It's another fake cathartic moment.
A wall clock coughs into its hands,
Mouthing a bullet proof prayer -
I waggle limbs into more natural shapes.
Avoid mirrors for a while
until my face settles.
Stamp petulantly
over a not-welcome mat.
The sun has got itself snagged
in shadowy thickets,
a wind sharpens itself
on my nose
perseverance snaps at my heels.
“Go tell it on the mountain”
I speak this uplifting line
while grimacing through a snarl.
Shouldering an invisible load,
climbing a medium-sized mediocre hill.
It takes a whole metaphorical day
just to climb it halfway.
Pause, take a breath.
Try to remember, try to forget,
Try walking backwards for a while.
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