Searching
I looked up into the Ruwenzori Mountains.
Clouds glided around peeks
where blue moved into measureless heights,
into a bright sunlit sky
where God waited for
the souls of the dying.
Sunday, August 1, 2021
She was a Lioness
I fell in love.
Loved her best when she was full of animal
heaving and panting
in the joy of loving.
When she went away
I was left with an empty pillow
Stained by her voice.
Now I pull me into it,
Lie quietly,
Listen to her loving.
I long for her,
Want her to come back.
Come back to me
Not for the jewelry she left behind.
Saturday, July 31, 2021
All about me
Its all about me , isn’t it?
I do the thinking,
all of it,
I do the feeling,
all of it.
Don’t I?
Wherever
I am
it is me.
I think of doing that
or this,
it’s me all the time.
It is me.
Isn’t it.
Me, me, meeeee!
Ever tire of it?
Do I?
Should I?
If it wasn’t me,
who would it be?
What would it be?
What could it be?
It’s boredom,
idiot.
Plain old BOREDOM
My Heart
Where fire and water tilt decision
Feel
The beginning of that throb
And the hum of doing
Where I look back
On long macadamized roads.
Thoughts
Memories
My volcanic eruption
The ejaculation of passion
Where froth and foam lie
Kissed by tears.
Where I don’t want to remember
Where I feel pain
Where time does not wrinkle
And space is never filled
Where pouring
Never fills and where
Inflow, and what is lost
Separate,
come colored
differently.
Where everything finally stops
On thunders last beat
And my life is buried, forever.
Riding the Clouds
The saddest thing is when we die we leave ourselves.
Leave part to remain in a place
where we cannot be;
Left for others to care.
They hold a while
Then they leave.
All that was remembered is lost.
Finally we are no more,
Not even memory.
Is that when our spirit finally leaves the earth?
I don’t know.
Diary of a changing garden
It was another year.
The past one gutted.
I had forgotten to make continuous diary entries.
That left pock marks and scars in my diary writing.
There were few references for much of that year.
I have started again.
Begun with the same opening sentence from last year for little has changed since my original scribbles of yesteryear.
Differences were around me.
The size of the trees, questions why fruit trees did not bear heavily,
why the weather was so indifferent so changed from previous years.
I will continue with the same sentence
because I am hopeful of better things.
Perhaps it will help me forget the darkness of the past year
and start afresh with sunshine painted hope.
I begin to write:
I saw the first leaves fall today, November 22ND
Fall had started with consistence.
The leaves did not play in the breeze.
They floated to land,
lay motionless.
They did not cry.
I placed my ear close to the ground to hear the silence of their sigh, heard only the movement of green grass
Outstretched arms waiting.
I smelt the richness of soil.
Did not hear leaves cry.
More leaves will fall from the big oak
as the clock ticks into colder days.
Of that I feel sure.
Now I will begin with a new sentence each day.
I’ve promised myself to be more diligent.
All this made me think of how forgetful I had been.
Perhaps it is somewhat understandable because there had been no major catastrophe, no great catharsis, no hurricane, just a long dry summer after a short feeling of spring.
With summer rains delayed
heat stretched itself to the commencement of autumn.
Well, I could have written about that
Because it had an affect on the fruit trees.
Their long drawn out pregnancies
resulted in smaller shrunken fruit,
and midget bunches of bananas for an endless term
that stretched into winter.
That is when they froze, stayed green,
stopped growing,
hung bunched up on an extra long stem
with a small purple bag of leaves
dangling at the end.
All frozen,
all without memory,
all without colors.
Indifferent to sweetness
They remained suspended in death.
I was too disheartened to record it all
Everything stayed a drooping green,
hoping for another year of life.
I don’t really know why I came back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)