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Terence Msuku Poem
Meet me at the park bench
So I can breathe in your fragrance
Meet at the park bench
So my words can tickle you
Til your bosom shakes
Til your belly aches
© 2015
Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2016
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Terence Msuku Poem
Natural love
Love cooked over a wood-fire
Smoky, smoked, well-preserved love
Well-worn love that fits just right
Like an old leather jacket
Love with wrinkles and smiling lines
Freckles and blackheads
Love with all kinds of kinks and twists
Love that writes love-letters in blue ink
Love so enduring it has callouses
Hard-working love
Love on vinyl, the gramophone kind
Love with no expiry date
No warranty required
Love that embraces the tedium of life
Slow-brewed love that numbs the aches and pains of life
(The elixir)
Love that flows from an infinite source
Natural love
Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2017
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Terence Msuku Poem
My Car
If my car had a mind of it's own
(Which I think it does sometimes)
It would honk its horn in horror
As the hoodlum disguised a mechanic
Attempted to open its hood
And visit ruthless abuse upon it
It would activate its alarm
Causing alarm and despondency
Its engine would roar menacingly and it
Would keep its hood firmly 'clenched'
Refusing to let this hoodlum lay
His dirty hands on it
Its lights would flash and its siren
Would wail
Causing the mechanic to run off
In bewilderment unsure how to fix this 'problem'
Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2016
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Terence Msuku Poem
I am not my grammar
My English may be poor
But I am a straight talker, woman of my word
My speech conveys much meaning and wisdom
I do not mispronounce words, I put a St Lucian twist on them
I like to drink, dance and smoke
I love men but I am not a whore
Not your whore
Your woman friend perhaps
But I am no scarlet woman
I am not my grammar or lack thereof
English is a medium of communication
And I have no problems getting my message across
I have no shame coz my grand-parents raised me with dignity
I work hard and pay my way through life
I like to look good and take care of myself
But I am not my hair, my nails, my perfume
My grammar
And I am certainly not a whore
(not your whore)
There is more to me than meets the eye
I am not a whore
Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2016
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Terence Msuku Poem
Poverty shoo
Rent ain't paid, kids not fed, bill collectors knocking
No penny, no cent, no rupee or kwacha
Hunger stalks, stands there to watch ya
Poverty shoo
No dollar, no pound, no euro
Belly aches, smile is fake
Wife is not happy, kids are screaming
Poverty shoo
Give me a break, go someplace else
Leave me in peace
Lord give me a job I pray
Rent ain't paid, kids barely fed, bill collectors tripping
No dime, no nickel, no quarter
Nothing to sustain me but water
Poverty be gone I pray
©2016
Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2016
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Terence Msuku Poem
My hands asked me what a kiss was
And I told them that it was
A sensual handshake done with the lips
© 2015
Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Terence Msuku Poem
Poor man's prayer
Lord, don't fix the hole in my sole
For the shoe can be replaced
I can walk a mile, tread softly on the sole
Avoid the puddles and pebbles
The thorns
Deftly reaching my destination
Lord, fill the hole in my soul
That life has dug deep, lord
Make me feel whole again
Let me steep in your love
Like a tea-bag, Lord
Lord, I know the hole in my belly,
In my shoe, in my clothes
Is only temporary
But the hole in my soul
Is taking it's toll, Lord
Fill it, Lord I pray
Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2017
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Terence Msuku Poem
I owe it to you
If I stand ten feet tall
On your platform of love
If I open my eyes wide when I see you
If I am always smiling bright
If I display Herculean strength
Never spent
If each day I rise
Jubilant, expectant, hopfeul
If all my fears and doubts
Have been erased
If my heart Zumba dances
Yoga stretches, Pilates pulses
From your love's pasture
It has grazed
Filled with organic goodness
Many many are amazed
If I, once again, am filled
With youthful idealism
Self-belief bordering on arrogance
Walking barefoot on Nike air
No callouses, no bruises
Moon-walking over life's obstacles
Waving at the haters with a gloved hand
My love for you knows no bounds
My heart is yours, you own it
Take the compliment poupée
You deserve it
Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2017
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Terence Msuku Poem
The Soup Kitchen
She made soup that kept the whole town warm
One by one they’d line up and request their usual
The soup experience was mid-way
Between pleasure and torture
As the limits of the taste-buds and the palates,
Unaccustomed to the spices of the Islands
Were put to the test
She ladled out the hot stuff, laid it on thick
And, as if not to be outdone
The compliments were equally effusive
The red-faced customers, perspiration
Dripping from their faces, ever ebullient
Would soon be on their way, leaving generous tips
She would continue to stir the big black pot
Adding ingredients, stoking the fire
Never taking her eyes off the bubbling, hot soup
Nursing it, churning it, tending to it like a child
Staring into it as if the answers to life’s questions
Lay therein, like the soup was to her
What tea leaves are to a soothsayer
She may not have had the answers to life’s questions
But many a truth was poured out to her in the ‘heat of the soup’ (kitchen)
The kitchen was a ‘safe house’ where people could leave their secrets
(People dropped their secrets like they were hot)
Little did they know that keeping their secrets was an impossibility
It was mid-way between pleasure and torture
As, unlike her big black pot, she was unable to hold
Steady.
She would eventually fall over and the secrets
Would pour out, scalding the entire town
Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2016
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Terence Msuku Poem
If it were possible
I would get on my bike
And ride away from my troubles
I would ride right past them
Waving at them gleefully
Taunting them and daring them to follow me
I would switch to a high gear
Lean forward and ride away from them
I would have no qualms about it
I wouldn’t spare them a single thought
I would just ride into a brighter future
If it were possible
I would live on a farm somewhere in Africa
From the earth I would get my sustenance
From the locals I would get wisdom
My mind would know a peace
That was previously inconceivable
My body, through its newly-found agility, its glow
It’s Herculean strength would speak to a health
Physical, spiritual and mental
That would have modern-day health nuts going nuts
As they sought to get a piece of my Zen
If it were possible
© 2015
Copyright © Terence Msuku | Year Posted 2016
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