Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Show Me

Show me the lady walking down the street,
Tears on her cheeks, wounds on her feet,
Show her with her eyes cold and blood steely,
Then give her the white lilies.

Show me then street urchin his clothes rugged and beat,
Show me his toils his struggles and his defeat,
Show me his perspective on life bleak and unfeeling,
Then give him the white lilies.

Show me the widow of a man just passed,
Show me her sorrow and pain that forever lasts,
Show me her broken smile show me her her why's and needing,
Then give her the white lilies.

Show me the man just broken hearted,
Over a lover held close now a soul departed,
Show him bashing himself, telling himself he is being silly,
Then give him the white lilies.

Show me the lady selling her soul on the corner of the street,
Who for a couple of shillings will part her feet,
Show me her despair, show me her heart bleeding,
Then give her the white lilies.

Show me the man shoving his fears down the bottle,
Unsuccessful and broken his course to death on full throttle,
Show me his emotion, show me his heart ripping,
Then give him the white lilies.

Show me a mirror so I may see myself,
So I may read myself and not be a book on the shelf,
Show me my fear, show me my pain,
Show me my tears and show it all to me again,
Show me on the floor like a river my tears spilling,
And if all else fails, give me the white lilies.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Procrastination: The Poem I Will Write Tomorrow.

I wanted to sit down and write a piece of literary genius.
I really did,

But there were places to go people to see,
Masks to wear, people to be.
My boss wanted that proposal on her desk earlier than yesterday,
My girlfriend made me swear I would text her all day.

It was going to speak out against all evil in our society,
It would break glass ceilings pierce the very soul of our existence,
It would conquer any form of internal resistance
It would be profound, it would be eloquent.

It was going to be extremely well structured and full of clever punch lines,
And all would say that piece is divine,
But my day was too busy and it was such an effort,
With work to do and a family to support.

The day was unwinding and my mind was spinning,
This amazing poem of mind wasn’t even at the beginning,
So I gathered my thoughts and numbed my mind,
Held my pen, to write this poem of mine.

But the television set looked so good,
And in the kitchen mother was cooking glorious smelling food,
I needed to unwind I needed to rest,
My head was aching, my little brother putting my patience to test,

Five minutes on the couch is all I needed,
Then I would write the best poem ever conceived,
The minutes passed by and my head got heavy,
My concentration slipped and my eyes got weary,

Now its 1.A.M and I’m running on time borrowed,
I think, maybe I will write my amazing poem tomorrow.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Waving Flag

Our children sing that when they get older,
They will be stronger and be called freedom,
Just like a waving flag?
Well I guess I missed the memo.
Because as I got older the world got colder,
We had to sing our songs of freedom,
Just like Bob Marley sang.
See we living world that has the hood Robin principle,
That's Robin hood only backwards,
We enjoy our hood robbing via sales pitch,
Steal from the poor and giving to the rich,
Then smile and go... Sorry, life's a bitch,
Paying taxes to a corrupt system to keep a corrupt government in power,
Complaining about it but voting for the same guys come election hour,
Teach our children greed from the second they are born,
Yet act surprised when they shortchange us when they are full grown.
Superficial socialists living in a capitalistic nation,
Claiming to want to change the system but leaving it all to the next generation,
Trying but not really trying to achieve global unity,
Understanding not that our globe begins in our very community,
Questioning our very being yet ignoring reality,
Hidden behind self loathe disguised as vanity.
But hey, when we get older we will be stronger, right?
The USA invades Iraq yet Iraq are the terrorists,
Africans kicked out the whites yet still in love with their colonialists,
Human beings turned against their own soul heart and mind,
Calling ourselves humankind makes me wonder are us humans really kind?
They'll call us freedom,
With our ten foot high walls topped with barbed wires,
Electrical alarms, guards, dogs, guard-dogs more then we require,
And I'm just talking about our homes.
Jails are overcrowded yet more are being sentenced,
Hiding behind righteousness of pretence,
Damning the more 'sinful' so that our own sins we don't have to repent.
I guess I missed the memo.
Older stronger freedom,
Just like a waving flag,
Just like a waving flag,
Just like a waving flag.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Cognitive Dissonance

I reach out and want to touch you,
But not really,
I don't want to spoil what we have right here,
Judgment cloudy really wish it was clear,
So hear hear but don't adhere,
My dilemma is how to overcome my fear.

I want to hold you close,
But not really,
Your scent may overcome me causing me to do things I really shouldn't,
Things in normal circumstances I really couldn't,
Tricking my conscience thinking I would've fooled it,
But knowing in real sense it would've schooled me.

I want to understand you,
But not really,
For in understanding you would have lost your mystery,
Maybe I should be your future and not your history,
Take the 60% cotton leave the 40% glysterine,
Take away forewarning and reasons misconcieved.

I want to hear your voice speaking to me,
But not really,
Because hearing will bring with it understanding which brings with it all the above,
And opens my heart to a fountain of love,
And makes you mine forever to have.

Which is what I want,
But not really you see,
Because I have these two voices fighting in me,
So on the count of love I plead not guilty,
Because I love you, you see,
But not really.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Our Home

For my aunt Jacqueline Onsando on celebrating the 19th anniversary of her 21st birthday:

In darkness we derive our dellusion of insanity,
Degraded by our destructors revamped by our society,
Realising our relations are the reality that we can confide in,
The lockbox where our secrets can hide in.
While darkness around degrades our dellusion of society,
Light of the family illuminates the spots of sanity,
While all around the raging storm swirls making us feel ill,
The silent solace in family keeps our souls still.
In darkness we derive our dellusion of insanity,
Round pegs in square holes never fitting in to society,
Beriddlied, belittled by the pleasures we find displeasing,
Accepted but never really accepted by the crowd that swirls around us,
In family we find what we seek unconditional acceptance.
In darkness we derive our dellusion of insanity,
Lost in our pride misplaced in our vanity,
Ignoring the others fighting our reality,
Grounded, and founded in our values of family.
So while in darkness do we derive our dellusion of insanity,
In family we find our foundation of sanity,
Our centre our core our past and our future,
Our power our hope our roots our culture.
Leaving all else behind seeking not for repentance,
In familly we find unconditional love and acceptance.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Honest Opinion

If only life was a musical
Then I would be a star,
And all would love my friends because of who we are,
We would have flashy clothes and flashy cars,
And they would notice our arrival even while were yet still afar.

If only life was a movie,
Then I would be in the cast,
And they would stop and stare every time I passed,
Bullets would be dodged flags full mast,
All would be well and true love would last.

If only life was a band,
The I would be the lead vocalist,
The writer the composer the tantalizing lyricist,
Disturbed artistic but all the time realist,
Yet still they’d listen every time I did a piece.

If only life was a book,
Then I would be the main character,
And as the plot thickens I would show my true character,
Have a happy ending my steps would never falter,
Weaving a tale so sweet no editor would alter.

But life is not a musical a movie or a book,
Life is not a couple a verses and a clever hook,
And the world may not love me I may not be a star,
But I love me for me and my friends for who they are.

So maybe I will make my life a song the sweetest song of all,
Or make it like a poem to put to memory and recall,
Perhaps ill make it a book and myself the main character,
Then me and my friends we could live happily ever after.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Happy Hour

Happy hour!
Half price on all the hope you can take,
So that is half of free, so twice as free,
Plus we will throw in a couple of slices of faith cake,
And a free token to the street of the love thats meant to be.
That? it's a brew made from the best love money can't buy,
Goes for half price which makes it cost a small sacrifice,
Of sorrow and gloom and all that stands in your path,
And belief that the love you find will last.

Happy hour!
We have a drink right here that was brewed from the elixir of youth,
And not some witches brew from a frog's nail and a lion's tooth,
It costs nothing but a smile and a couple of kilos of laughter,
And it will feel you feeling young for hours after.
We have the house cocktail freshly made confidence,
To be taken hand in hand with lack of belief in coincidence,
Comes with a side order of Grandma's fresh baked cookies,
And look not for a deeper meaning there those are just some really good cookies.

Happy hour!
We have caskets full of enigmatic joy,
That will have you all smiles like a 3 year old boy,
All for the small price of giving and loving,
Smiling and loving, and above all, loving.
The house special today is the triple tot of love,
Served with a smile and sent from above,
For a laugh a day and a surprise to someone special,
We will offer you a love that will make you feel special.

Happy hour!
Offer valid, now,
Just carry a pocket full of dreams and ambitions,
And some spare tomorrow,
Trade in that for a couple of coins of now,
And have a drink to your sorrows.
Drink for peace, drink for power,
Drink while it lasts, its happy hour!

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Poetry Is...

The music of the songbird harnessed into writing,
The bark of the dog that they say does no biting,
The shriek of a child on hearing something exciting,
The sound sweet and the sound uninviting.

The smell of a cake baked fresh from the bakery,
The last touch of an artist on his perfect tapestry,
The touch of a cook as he does his wizardry,
The smile on a face where once was misery.

The silence of the still evening when all else is at rest,
The feeling you feel when you know you are blessed,
The tongue from which all lies are confessed,
The bravery to stand when put to the test,

The lies unspoken the words unwritten,
The tales untold the sinner unforgiven,
The repentance unasked for the bread unleaven,
The grace untouched the speech now given.

The crossword puzzle once puzzling now solved,
The anti-social stranger now eagerly involved,
The baboon within you now slightly evolved,
The dispute of friends now calmly resolved.

The book we have read from cover to cover,
The love that we see between sister and brother,
The smiles that we pass from one to another,
The cry of a new born child to its mother.

The piece legislatory that had been repealed,
The history behind what we had thought was sealed,
The mystery behind what the world had concealed,
The words we find on a blank page revealed.