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Roger Nkhoma Poem
My lungs are black but my heart is pure
My hair is thin and falling out in the wrong places
At this point my days to live are measured with an hour glass
The size of the smallest taxa
My memory is a bank of a hundred and one bad choices
Two thirds look like a previous poem I wrote,
one which I used a cigar to craft the smoke that is to swallow my alveoli whole
I am using one as I write this, and I’ll probably smoke another one after I’m done
These are the habits I have
The habits I adopted from the apple that fell far from the tree,
The forbidden fruit.
Copyright © Roger Nkhoma | Year Posted 2021
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Roger Nkhoma Poem
I'm a wordsmith
Painting feelings with syllables and expressions
Vowels first and adjectives later
On the tip of my brush you will find no verbs
There is no action in these words I write
Technical pillars of this poetic religion
And I believe you know I do not mean them
But that doesn't mean I am lying
For I paint feelings to put in the walls of my gallery
And there is no practical to a feeling
For how else can you explain passion if not with words?
You cannot do happiness
Cannot visit love
It is the touch of feeling that makes the heart and the skin sing a melody that your lips do not know the lyrics to
It is a complex model
Only to be experienced on personal heights
Touch for touch
Smile for smile
Tear for tear
And like good cheese a good feeling is,
When you taste it,you just know.
Copyright © Roger Nkhoma | Year Posted 2021
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Roger Nkhoma Poem
Caffeine and powdered milk to stir this amour
Who needs sugar with love this sweet?
Unbreakable glycosedic bonds in the genes of our DNA
We love to disappear and make love below the microscope
Every touch is a diabetes attack
It stimulates me.
Copyright © Roger Nkhoma | Year Posted 2021
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Roger Nkhoma Poem
I wish to write an encomium for myself
Paint it's hue with my mother's advice and my father's guilt
For it will dress the colour of my heart
Purple
Which fell pale to the clutter of their voices In my adolescent nights
A glance of this write will make my eyes swim to the rivers of their arguments
I wish to entitle it childhood.
Copyright © Roger Nkhoma | Year Posted 2021
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Roger Nkhoma Poem
I wish to try paint the portrait of manhood
Tinkle a Little
For what else except humility makes humans angels?
For being a man is hard but that's something I wish to become before my tombstone days
Manhood
The unexplained and unidentified phenomenon of etymology
I've been told real men have a salvation in their touch
Eyes with gallons of gasoline two matchsticks short
And a heart filled with fire hoses and riot gear but yet still bonteous in the offering of love
They have a chest of a dragons lungs
And anguish that a lady with a bowl of cheese cannot satiate
I've known men with hearts like these
Their minds are made of diamonds
Formed from constant pressure of the rigours of tied responsibilities
Perhaps in a thousand years
We will be diamonds from the dust
For anyone is born male but not everyone is a man.
Copyright © Roger Nkhoma | Year Posted 2021
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Roger Nkhoma Poem
Here! Is where another love song is born
With every touch on the keys
An echo is heard on the moon
It's a sweet release
I am the writer of this love song
My wife says she wishes I was as romantic as what I write
She must be right
Considering our house started to dissolve right after
Her,
She is the lead singer in this two piece band
Her voice quivers like an earthquake
With every note I want rip my ears off
But I smile cause she is the love of my youth
These imperfections make us beautiful beings
Even petals on resplendent flowers must fall but that doesn't make them any less beautiful
I remind myself
I am alive today by luck
I desire to let these sinister hands play the garros roland on the strings of what I stole from my father's house
With every touch
I give breath to a lovely symphony
A sweet release
My wife in twines herself with a vibrating Harmony
Blithely and resilient as she is
We are a terrible mixture
Two butterflies flying in a cocoon.
Copyright © Roger Nkhoma | Year Posted 2021
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Roger Nkhoma Poem
How many lies until my hands are in your brows? I ask
Perhaps a couple more lavender candles?
She tells me to write her literature before I can hitch her lips....
Disgusting? But here we are
How many more lies until my hands are in your brows?
A thousand?
I'm a pitiable man with an interest of stanzas
That's the problem with losing innocence,I know the world owes me nothing
But it's the valentine fever speaking.
So I touch on her Indian hair and she brushes on my waves
Modern love stories are hilarious
A couple shots on a day someone died will have us beneath sheets
Sweating like two dragons in a rumble
Plying on what's suppose to be sacred like it belongs to me
It's these type of poems I write with my eyes closed,
Look at the disgust
The day my future wife reads this I'm a dead man,
She's not here yet,so how many more lies until my hands are in your brows?
To her my words are scripture and these are my songs of songs
Copyright © Roger Nkhoma | Year Posted 2023
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Roger Nkhoma Poem
This one I have no title for,
All I know is it's the cries of my heart
And the innocence of her chastity,
She wears the love of Shakespeare
Atleast that's what I think,
But I never find a way to the tides of her love,
I haven't written in a while, but this here is how I breathe my confessions,
Perhaps the universe was waiting for this perfect moment,
After all there's no reasoning with a man feeling love...
This is the first piece of a million I'm writing of her,
But my chest is a heat wave burning at the rate of five thousand sun's,
So I just want burst out with the lust of my heart,
So I joke about the size of her behind here and there
I know she likes it though she denies it,
She cringes that I'm a sweet talker,
But there's no asking what gift God gives us
So I'm writing embers of next summers love story,
Of you and I
I'm embarrassed by what my future sons are to
Read!
But there's no reason in the heart of a man feeling love...
So I feel like I'm on ectasy and passion,
Ready to promise this lady the stars like it belonged to me....
'After all, what would you do for love?'
Copyright © Roger Nkhoma | Year Posted 2022
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Roger Nkhoma Poem
This heart is on lockdown,
I am caught in a time loop
Re-living the same routine day after day,
Stuck between a hard place and a vestigial virus,
So I numb the pain to the thought of meeting you after this,
My quarantine goddess
I have made a mask out of the sleeves of your heart..I trust you will keep me safe,
You have gathered sticks to make a place tender for our love to grow,
This we share belongs to the sky,
It knows no limits
And now I’m caught in the web of your nest
So sanitize and stay with me
I wish to see how this story will end,
I love you shuga!
Copyright © Roger Nkhoma | Year Posted 2021
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Roger Nkhoma Poem
H-ello to this house I now live in
A-coustics here are pulchritude
P-remiering the new episode of the rest of my life
P-lan to find a miss who is to turn this into a home
Y-ou agree she sounds a lot like you.
Copyright © Roger Nkhoma | Year Posted 2021
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