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Best Poems Written by Festus Mwiti

Below are the all-time best Festus Mwiti poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Festus Mwiti Poem

Balm For the Soul

I reached out for you once again
after eons of pretence, snobbish disregard 
and plain neglect.
Yes I reached out, not with strong steady arms 
that usually attend others
but with emasculated courage and battered pride.
Yes indeed I sought  you.

I summoned you dear one
from the far far seas where to sail I had cast you
and had briskly walked away
to find solace in another's arms.
So now I sought a vantage point
from whence I could peer
into the darkening horizon
to see your approaching mast.
Yes I did indeed summon you, indeed I did.

Yes I called out for you 
to attend me from the depths I had banished you
when life to me had smiled like the morning dew.
Yes indeed I called you,
to serve me in rhythm and imagery
to fill my plate with tone and hue
and soothe me with your rhyms in rhythm.
Yes call you I did, I really did.

So now I lie in the warmth of your words
like a lover cuddled in embrace
as you stroke my erstwhile desolate state
with the stroke of your flowing stanza's
and my heart you've now lulled to a soothing calm
with the rhythm of your crafted lines.
Yes indeed I reached out for you, 
for I missed you.

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Your Form,First Your Form

YOUR FORM, FIRST YOUR FORM.
I sought to write,
of  thoughts ubiquitous in the mind,
so with forlorn eyes I peered into myself,
sought the flame that once  warmed my heart,
the last bastion  when in grey shades I oft found myself.
Ooh you elude me, lifeless you render me, a still statute you cast me,
the flame in me  quenched ,  bubbling mirth  buried,  laughter stilled.  
But like a groping in the eerie night I recall you
a beloved wife not a mistress, a brother not a colleague,
 a bubbling warmth  not an apparition. 
The teary nights when with sobs I punctuated, 
And the gaily afternoons when with warmth I rhymed
Like pearly waves upon the shore, they flood back,
 like a  horn call for grazing cattle in the setting sun, they call back.
Like a beloved mother’s cooking they beckon  me  from afar,
From the dregs of a  life long abandoned to the draining of time, 
From the corpse of a life washed ashore nibbled to the steely bone.
Those voices etched in time now call me back,
 To a lover’s embrace long forgot , to a whiff of  air, 
a tasting of the morning dew, a warm blushing of the skin .
Aaah I can now make you out ,  in the mists afar.
Your  form. 
First  your form.

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Ooh Lord Give Me Time To Pen a Verse

Ooh Lord,
Lost between files, forgotten in daily schedules
slipping away  in the daily humdrum of dear life
 and quietly  ebbing from  my mind is  a verse.
Of the warm embrace of the yellow orb that attends my mornings,
And of the friendly chatter and heavy pats that at times encapsulate my afternoons,
Of the sounds of lowing of cattle with their clanging bells that I yearn for in my evening, sauntering from the rolling hills yonder into the open kraals besides the warm smoking huts, 
And of the patter patter of the of the pearly ocean waves, quietly muffling the hooting madness to gently lull me in my nights.
Or better still of that first warm smile replete with promise, or that parting embrace heavy with looming tear,
Or of gentle pets and carefree laughter in the lush park, or one of a forlorn bench beside a moat of solitude.


 Give me time 
Before the tender caress of the yellow orb no longer thaws my frame,
And the friendly chatter is quieted to soft sobs,
The heavy pats emasculated to pale caresses of loss,
The lowing of cattle is supplanted by solemn sermon,
The clanging bells begin tolling atop a turret 
and the soft patter patter eases in to  the unbroken still of placid waters


To pen a verse
Before a warm  smile I can no longer partake,
And a sad embrace and the welling tear no longer prick a steely heart,
And a cold frame is no longer attuned to gentle touches   and gaily laughter 
Before busy schedules ebb away, deadlines fleet, and files dissipate,
Before waters yonder muffle the humdrum  of a busy life,
Till only the dregs of a forlorn bench besides the moat of disappointment
quietly attended by all the time I should have penned a verse, is all that remains,
Ooh lord give me time to pen a verse.

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I Forget

The worth of a simple word spoken or implied
the meaning of a seemingly casual gesture
the value of uncompelled gratittude,
These I forget yet they texture life.

The sweet scent of a stranger
the flowing hair of a passerby
the lingering smile on a colleague.
These too I forget, the colours of life.

But I do remember,
the excruciating pains of life
the lingering shame of rejection
the throbbing of a heart break.
Yes these I remember, yet only outlines of life.

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Directions

say Hi to misery on your way from love
as you bump on to old sobs,
but be sure not to stop for a chatt 
lest you miss the next bus to pining.

While there please stop by loneliness
it's the only place you can catch self pity
doing a smooth rendition of memories
 as you toast to a bleaker future.

For accommodation for the night see miss givings
where a room only costs a few mistakes
and guess what, she'll even warm the bed for you
that you may wakeup with great misgivings.

On 22nd avenue Rock bottom street 
is where you will find hope,
but be not late
for the bus back leaves in the morn.

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Those Things

What's time?
It's that ticking second, that greatly unnerves me,
It's that flitting moment, that captures me,
It's that immutable hour, that unsettles me.
What's time?
It's that time I want to be with you.

What's a moment?
It's that stillness in time, that brings you closer to me,
It's that unshimmering second, that pops your picture in my mind,
It's that unending wait, for a communication unforthcoming.
What's a moment?
It's that moment I'm with you.

Then what's happiness?
It's that smile, I feel in my dreams,
It's that love, I want to keep,
It's that affection, that runs so deep.
So what's happiness?
It's that which I have with you.

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To a Friend

I sat to pen a remembrance of you,
in poetic subtleties and disguise
I sought to paint a picture you.
But subtleties are no veil
for a pain in the soul inscribed
for a mild discomfort, maybe
but for a friend you, no.

In verse did I seek to consider you, oh poet.
in rhythm and imagery 
I sought to tell a story, a story you.
But rhythm neer does in step move
with sobs and muffled wails,
and what imagery attends
hollow eyes gazed upon pain.
For commentaries on faceless statutes maybe
but for my confidant you no.

"Be strong and pen", I steadied faltering arms
"to immortalise a friend in verse" I commanded,
with all the tones and hue of a poem
that of a boast you'd make from the heavens

But a poem neer will 
of this poet suffice to tell
for you were first a friend to me
before a poet to the world.
A poem thus cannot tell
of the pain and hurt deeply felt
May be if it was in tears pened
and with sobs punctuated.

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Dare

What if in life's stare
you dared unveil your bare.
If only for a flitting moment 
you were not encumbered in a conceal.
That the soft rays and cool winds
carressed the folds and wrinkles
while harsh eyes and rude reprimands
attended your every step.

What if you dared consider 
yourself  human wrought with fears,
and with falsity didn't seek
 to climb the glass ladder of angels.
That the creepy bug spooked you
and in courage steeped in crowds
you didn't seek to strutt the globe.

What if just for a time 
You sought yourself,
bare from Adam's fig leaves
that even in jeers and sneers
a tear you'd not be shamed to shed.

What if you dared, to be happy.

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What If?

If I shouted and hollered
If I begged and grovelled
would you falter in your steps,
would you halt and consider me ?

If I wrote you numerous love poems
laced with rhymes and sweet words
would you be swept away
would a night's dream be of you and me?

If I walked in the heart of danger 
riding like a glorious knight
would your eyes adore me
would a wish for me cross your mind?

If I jumped from the heavens for you
and met my untimely demise
would a tear be found in your eye
would you grieve and refuse comfort?

Therefore if I loved you
with all that is me and in me
would feelings be evoked in you
would you love me too.

Details | Festus Mwiti Poem

What I Am

What I'm good at isn't tackling a most taxing sum
or dealing with most pertinent problems
neither is it giving wise counsel to the wayside fallen
or liberating mankind from chains self imposed.
what I'm good at is far more of import than this

I'm not greatly talented in wading through water's at high speeds
or Kicking my way across grounds at amazing velocity
neither am I talented at echoing my voice in sweet melody tunes
or writing in verse till tears strongly held are shed.
What I'm talented at isn't at all this great but greater.

I couldn't even with great expertise sweep a lady off her feet
or with a might blow sweep an enemy to the ground
neither can I even with great effort make nonsense of an exam
or stand firm and not be cowed by great thunder
that those who begot me would nod in pride.
No I'm none of this mighty things
 but what I am makes sense to me still
and that is me.