Confessions

You've gotten  comfortable
with.... the essence of waterfalls
mixed with a vanilla back drop... in Spring
And the flavour sits on the flora of your senses
Popping a fragrance that slithers into your tomorrows

My sorrows have faded
My flesh degraded
But my spirit travels down stream
to sip the nectar of your sentiments
Like cream on snow cones...i want more
i want to be soaked in every blooming moment
to keep the stain on my tongue

it's not fair when....the rain washes me
the seasons...change me
you enter my senses again and again
like the inhale of coloured acquatic deities
and the exhale of instrospection
.....................inhale of order
.....................exhale of affection
.....................inhale of broken breaths
.....................exhale of broken thoughts

I am saddened
As petals in summer
As leaves in winter
As imperfections...and the Tsunami of my tangled world comes rushing in
naturally, by the plate shifts of confusion and selfishness underground
Magma of differences melting the rocks and pebblesof reminisce
and this bliss becomes a mystery

within the tablet of my misery
Why? Why, must you engrave your signature too?
your confessions are epistles on the monuments exposing the death and heroic tendancy of my love
Love given, sacrificed, slapped, ignored and rewarded

I'm afraid
this monument may be too chipped from the weight of 'sentimental calligraphy'
and fail to reflect the significance of my time...

Are You Kenyan?

Tucked, shielded and depleted under a wooden frame

I saw you from a striking distance… too far to recognize the shade of your sculpt and too far to know what you were..who you were...

I sat now……only inches away from you and sensed your soul cry

I sat here…….a million times before but never heard the rhythm of your heart as ‘sweet n slow’ as now, as your days….

A beautiful soul….I can imagine your maker…..his heart buried in your ceramic chest.

If I had one wish; it would be to touch with those hands that made you and I would co write your story on my disk of “surreal moments”…..because… with no face nor feet, you are this and more!

Are you Kenyan?

 Your maker’s heart speaks to me!

Are you Kenyan?

I would choose this day to celebrate your arrival with a popular dish!

I wish! That you would dine with me…..in flesh and bones!

Are you Kenyan?

It disturbs me that you were only stamped with a worthless piece of tape marked with cheap ink!

Are you Kenyan?

The cemented smudge on your left cheek is but a clue of battle….. or… your birth mark…

And Your heart beats a familiar native melody….imprisoned body, but you!…you fetch his free spirit so gracefully!

Are you kenyan?

Because the beautiful jewellery strung around your ceramic neck reminds me of my past

Are you Kenyan?

I want to sit as I am now old ‘n’ grey reciting this poem to my grandchildren and they will  be know you

I will dance to your beat sweet 'n' slow and even though you’re ‘dull and broken’

I will carry your spirit with me… until I’ve drawn the final fibre of my borrowed breath!

Pure Love

Stifled breaths

Toiled in dried dust

That chokes the aorta of my affection

A dozen dots; watch in confusion

A dozen dots; fooled by subtle expressions

Even as the garden of my love withers

The sun weeps

She has no purpose

I weep with her

Sadly, one can’t help the other

It’s a cycle that occurs

Every time I made a bed for a stifled lung

Stifled, to a depth that melts misery    

Stifled, to a certain consciousness

Stifled, to a craft beauty

It happens when saplings miss the dew

When flowers miss the bees

When tree tops quit trembling

When friends mature

It’s official

Comfort is a paint brush

that smears the substance of my wounds on a wall

For the world to see, stare, muse

Only then, I know my fingers were worth the tears

Only then…I’m free…

Enigma

I've left my harp hanging on a passing cloud
The reflection of an earthly lonliness matches...her symphony
and the moon cheers her....wrinkled strings
The cheer is infectious
when she's happy, i'm dancing
when she's happy, i'm crying
and nothing else reciprocates to fill the hollow 
of this broken vessel


She's missing !
my scented oils have all  lost their potency
drums beat twice to remind me that music exists
and a few are still strung to the melody of....hope
she's missing !
and im thinking, are her strings strong and shiny?, is she still beautiful?
they say "all the pieces can't be found when something is broken"
Is this what it feels like?


Unfathomable as it appears
My vision is transforming because i tried scraping the nut butter
off of last week's bread and it's just too soft !
The softness that once decorated the room of my gloom and i know soon
the softness that smoothes the roughness of my pains....

But you're missing!

And i pray you return so that i can say "I'm sorry"
So that..... i can hold you.... closely and play... our symphony
I'll wear brighter colours
I'll lacquer the rim of your frame with an artist's brush
I'll become the artist that's worthy of you....

I'll become the artiste that's worthy of you....

When we meet

This is a free flow piece which was strictly inspired by poetry in a chat room

It's awkward...we meet every week..
At the same place..planned by the event...
and the silent ellipses accumulates..nestles in the warmth of our rib                                   
A prison... I'd give my life ransom, even for my worst enemy                                         
A wish... I hope I didn't have to make...but its how much I'm prepared to give when I see you
I spoke... but my tongue waved the passion of my words back                  
And it's hard to swallow them... again...the fight feels like a dull dagger through my gleaming soul.         
The dullness hurts and tears...and leaves an oozing gash...
And if I had to choose; it would be the lesser of two evils                                 
If death... let it be quickly, painlessly                                                                                                       i     i wished... we sat close...just once
maybe serendipity will show up in a mini red dress...                                 
 I hope...she does... when we meet.

Will

The last reference I've made with nature was a past love
Now that love has broken...
And... I'm on the sail again;tasting the exciting splash of frisky raindrops
And now, with the memory of poetry and moonshine 

Now with the reality of handsome hands kissing every beat of my heart...
To function...
To survive...
To open....
I'm appalled...
Like, a featherless bird that fell from the nest to the floor
To be satisfied and sufficient with the surgeon of your soul
Your beautiful, luminous spirit

Blowing  puffs of air ...as what a child would do... to a balloon
You innocently, obliviously...giving it the power to eventually ascend for the world to know
And in its innocence; there's a flame of sincerity
This is what you do...

Oblivious... to the intimacy with which this rescue creates
Innocent... to the lip of your persona only inches away from the cheek of my gratitude

Innocent to the turn of my face to you
Giving reality a pen
And she's saying:                               
as we breathe and stare into each other's eyes
As we draw closer...to each other...
My pen is praying...with my heart

Please, don't make me choose

Simply, I hate to lose you
My spiritual mate
We've cushioned the fall of emotions
We've listened and nursed the harshness of events

Don't make me choose your lips and lose a heart...my heart
Lips which are the temporary in exchange for the permanent
Trust...that is cemented
If you shatter this cement..you'll shatter me
I will fight for you...as you are for me
I feel for you...as you do me
But you must know...like your spirit which is bandage to my wound
Our pure spirits are platelets to a laceration called weakness 
Pure spirits which is a leveled yolk
Keys to a sober, untainted and unquenchable love

The Christmas poem

The Mistletoe hangs with its own memory of Christmas and the radiant green, represents the cycle of seasons relived..seasons which swell each droplet of dew that drip from Christmas trees on Christmas eve

And the merriment identifies with snow cones and kids, as the red and white delights Santa's bag of gifts

And we think of pot roast chicken with extra sauce, Ginger beer, Cheese snips, Pepper pot and Garlic Pork with a kick !
As the Season's tidings combay  a cascade of creative happenings
We hit and break glasses as the noise mounts with bottles of rum!
Rolling with laughter and diving for treats only to find none! 

Each fairy lit scene overflows into another as the days count down
and  trees rise up with....the suspense of tiny strings
 
And so with these memories we cook, we clean and we greet strangers anew
Gather in carolling to sing hymns about the  peace and happiness this season brings
And this random choir welcomes the spirit of our King: the reason for the overflow of joy and well wishing   
But,  like the putty that's smeared in the cracks and creases we choose to notice now in our houses
We melt...we melt at the core..which we often try to cover up with fancy blouses
Peace... sends our hearts roaming for a soft fill of memories we once neglected and...when found, we laugh or present it with a gift
Then, we choose to keep this awesome glory, by holding hands, calling up and hugging

And...as the aroma of ham shrivel our noses, churn our stomachs and  stir the excitement of an imminent feast,
Even as the decor sits on the summit of our clothing and our doors they colourfully, gracefully hang!                                         
The presence...the presence of friends and family will always harness the reign.. of Christ's beautiful birthing!