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Best Poems Written by Hannington Mumo

Below are the all-time best Hannington Mumo poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Hannington Mumo Poem

The Silent Code of the Animal Farm

The tricky question of how many animal farms we have
May be more complicated than most of us think;
There are at least some fifty-five animal farms in the world
Where wild mammals play and eat and drink.

And although there lightning is feared more than law,
These farms all seem to have the selfsame collective code.
Since different from the mainstream law, we may call it lore:
The silent cipher that governs the primitive farms.

There everyone is entitled to their share of breath
As long as they breathe within their native home,
Breathing within the territories of other beasts
Wins you mob lynching according to the animal tome.

No animal may acquire such vast knowledge
As to threaten the rule of the Elephant and the Lion.
The acquisition of illegal learning only leads
To the doom Artemis wreaked on the restless Orion.

There you must not shout of forbidden things 
Such as animal rights and equality of beasts oppressed;
For it is clearly stated by the immutable silent code
That some mandrills are more equal than the rest.

A beast of worth begets offspring of the same worth;
If a beast be an outcast born, the same must a pariah remain.
No animal may rise from the bottom to the aristocratic realm:
No beast must such thoughts of improvement entertain.

The lore of the mandrills is not lean, 
As said, these codes make a huge-volume tome
Which you can’t leaf through in a day,
Though you may get a copy and read at home.

Yet the problem is that censorship there is tough
And as such the lore has never been put in print;
The few Cheetahs who championed for a free press
Were one by one snuffed without a hint.

Details | Hannington Mumo Poem

The Paradox of the Jewish Youth

There is a disturbing discrepancy
Between mortals and the spirit world,
Such as the eternal salvation of man
From the curse of sin and its hold.

The paradox of a meek virgin conceiving
After being by the Spirit overshadowed,
And then a perfect chap is born in a manger
Is a narrative of its own peculiar mode.

That in death life was made everlasting
And in suffering relief was won,
Is a creed that requires bravery to embrace,
And great conviction to believe in such a One.

Perhaps the reason why I believe in Him
Is because he only asks that I believe,
Perchance I would abandon my little faith
If was not a mortal so powerless and naïve.

And perhaps the reason why you believe in Him
Is because you only want to look fashionable enough,
Or are simply totally unsure of your afterlife
And fear finding the Judgment Panel so solemn tough.

And maybe your preacher finds it even harder to believe
The tall story he has been telling strangers day by day,
And he maybe he would quit being a peddler of funny tales
Had he another way to earn his keep and his expenses pay.

Perhaps the reason why pagans and agnostics refuse to accept
The story of this Immortal Chap who is reportedly the way and truth,
Is because they find it a bit safer to believe in nothing at all
Than to place such great stakes on the escapades of a Jewish Youth.

Now there’s the little matter of the Helper,
The benign Spirit who descended on the Pentecost
To prove without doubt that the Chap indeed was God,
But then He’s still unseen, and any may claim his presence.


I do not write to spurn the endless graces of the sky
Nor to quash my eligibility to eternal breath,
I without blasphemy observe the uncertainties facing man
And his innocent inquiry into life after death.

To believe in this Jewish Chap who forgave also the unborn 
Is a risky business, and one of the greatest tragedies by the way;
The only bigger tragedy being your refusal to believe in Him
And yet find Him at the gates of Paradise on the Judgment Day.

Details | Hannington Mumo Poem

Flirting With Someone's Wife

To uphold clean ethics you may strive,
But which unfeeling fool does not know
That stolen honey out-tastes that of your hive,
And that the grass is always greener over the fence?

Silver and golden rings do strongly bind
And vows of chastity nail heart to heart,
But the pulsations of newfound love
Rock and rewind things back to the start.

So return that honey-coated flirt with a flirt
And let the tides of destiny take their course;
Nothing ever happens by accident or some luck,
For it’s the hands of providence that gather and toss.

Feel the warmth of newfound love invade your heart
And, babe, return that sweet flirt with a sweeter flirt.

Details | Hannington Mumo Poem

Tribute To My Father

You taught me how a mortal should live
And this I value more than what Kings give,
Your meek gait from the church into the grave
Such long-lasting wisdom and inspiration gave.

You read the Scripture under the noontime shade
And this taught me lasting lessons that will never fade,
That hope is dead that comes not from the Savior above
And that the rest men seek in vain until they seek his love.

Had you left behind colossal measures of gold 
Such that all before me unrequested bowed,
Vain I would grow and think everyone stunk
And treat my fellow men like unwanted junk.

But kind heavens loved your darling kid
And something greater upon him did,
The rare gift of faith the Almighty gave
And poured the water and blood that save.

When he surveys his surroundings and sees
The twinkle of the stars and the dancing of the trees,
He thinks of the eternal wealth of hope past death
And mocks the cares that come with fleeting breath.

Details | Hannington Mumo Poem

The Steel of a Mother

Her face is invaded by networked wrinkles
For she gave to the world all her valued best,
Her input to the current world has tired her
And she looks up to the grave for final rest.

She chose for herself a deprived lifestyle
So as to give to the young something good,
Cars and houses and clothes and fine jewelry –
All were junk if her children had decent food.

The jingling of up-to-the-minute gadgets
Does not amaze this brave and daring seed
That persisted through the lows of a mean life
To birth and nurture the wits that ages feed.

The ticking of time has forsaken her
And failing strength betrays her fast
Yet the world salutes her undying feats
As she unbowed breathes her last.

Details | Hannington Mumo Poem

The Face

The day’s wearing labors reluctantly close 
And the stars of the night slowly emerge,
It’s my plan to dine and then anon recline
But then starts this unending mental scourge.

This anonymous dame overseas has stolen my heart.
How I find myself punching her line after line I wonder,
Could she be merely exciting me for her fun and then claim
That the past joinings of God no man should put asunder?

I ignore the dissolute image of her adorable face
And elevate my sleepy thoughts to loftier ideals:
How I might one day write like Bernard Shaw
Or how being the commander-in-chief exactly feels.

But then I do not go far with my fanciful thoughts
Before my drowsy wandering mind is swept bare,
And the face of that unceasing dame obliterates
All the far-fetched castles I had built in the air.

My attempts to disregard her appearance are all in vain
And the more I dodge that face the more it stirs my pain,
Her eyes lock into mine and our arms involuntarily embrace  
As I consider what to do about this ever-appearing face.

Details | Hannington Mumo Poem

A Glimpse of the Future

What is this resplendent thing that sparkles ahead,
Pacing faster than limbs of incapacity
Beyond the all-pervasive dakness of want?
Could my eyes be playing upon me some sly pervasity,
Seeing things untrue, askew and errant?
Or is it a reality that they will be resewn
The torn bonds that  linked me to the world of bounty,
Where I may be returning soon? 

I've had a glimpse of the future;
What a beautiful and gorgeous sight!
Streams of milk do freely flow,
And pots of honey glitter bright
Against the blinding rays of a rising sun.

This days of plenty seem set in the Promised Land,
For I see the fertile shoots of a germinating future
Guarded by an armed angelic band
Recruited from beyond the azure;
A fulfilment of a trashed prophecy.

And children of fate weakened by ages of plight
There do sing day and night;
Feeble frames malnourished for centuries
Enrich themselves from celestial treasuries,
Where the obedient minions of the sky
Gathered in response to their cry,
While they laboured on the red soils of Egypt
Before God heard their cries and His mercies leapt.

Who else can see this vision
Of relief from pandemics of fate
And the gaping gallows of death?
A time coming when sons of men
Shall storm this ogres den
And avenge the murderous terror
Inflicted upon their long gone kith and kin!

And the forbears long dead,
Shall be awakened by cries of war,
And with might reserved for decades
Shall avenge the pain inflicted before
By their wicked adversaries 
Who maim parents and drink the blood
Of their offspring left behind.

Details | Hannington Mumo Poem

The Poet's Ubiquity

Methinks pilots are such superior mortals
For their ability to make metals fly like fowls,
And soldiers have such an impressive mettle
That makes you salute their daring prowls.

Surgeons are such a precise and thoroughly seasoned breed
That will dumbfound with details of capillaries and veins,
And commanders-in-chief such colossal powers wantonly wield
Till they addict themselves to honor and extend their reigns. 

A charismatic preacher will yodel tunes and heal the lame
And win a hefty standing among their peers in a moment;
The teacher is the final light and bearer of the last opinion
And their learned views sail without a single opponent.

But the poet is the chariot of thought that inspires them all.
He’s the silent roar of the Boeing with the pilot in,
He’s the muffled ricocheting of the soldier’s Kalashnikov;
The unspoken overtones of the preacher’s condemnation of sin,
The subtlest incision of the surgeon’s authorized blade
And the president’s solemn inspection of the honor parade.

Details | Hannington Mumo Poem

Atrophy

She'd had her round in Life's blighting furnace,
Where stealthy wear and age blurred her face.
Dents shot where dreamy dimples had grown,
Lightning smiles usurped by involuntary frown.  

In her livelier turns by Midas' glowing shores,
She galloped and gleamed like grated brass. 
Time’s grim cankers fell on the rarefied feast
Of the cutest eye ever cast on envious glass. 

If as a reincarnated phoenix's her gone grin
Could twirl and morph into its erstwhile arc,
She’d anon repulse her timing nemesis’ sin,
And give her faded glories an eternal spark. 

Bereft of that fairy fowl's sheen-saving magic,
She’d to inevitably brave decay's stoic scythe. 
Merry rhyme sung her sweet charms to mimic
Faded to ethers wherein dead beauties writhe. 

No looker who her earth-blemished visage espies,
Can know she was the fairest star in kindlier skies.

Details | Hannington Mumo Poem

Tomorrow

Remain hidden from me the uncertainties of tomorrow,
Whether I’ll have enough or shall be forced to borrow;
Whether it shall hatch the pregnant egg of dreams
Or shall remain hidden from me its cabalistic themes.

I fear not the unknown prospect of disaster,
Whether they slow in their coming or race faster;
Ordain upon me eternal bliss of things beyond my ken,
Whether it shall reward my adroit pen
Or shall be swept to perdition before its ink pays,
To mark the end of my sorrowful days.

Tomorrow, the best for you I do hope,
With you I’ll endeavor to cope.