Poetry with an african rendition
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Transcript of Poetry with an african rendition
By Christian Mowarin
poetry playbook 9
“He saw the primary school field
Annoyingly sunny and green,
The cold post beside him,
The stand by the latrine wall,
The distant murmurs and the crowd
Between chanting his own name over all.
He saw the eton side wall and bamboo roof,
The long gone tables, and the red faces keen;
The School master and the prefect aloof,
The projected teachers crawling
Leaving their bodies behind”
The dark.It’s alreadyinside.
He watched their hands
Daintily ploughing the wet mud,
He felt a trembling smell
Black blood as bones stirred
He heard the voices talking of home,
Then he saw the sign at the village post
Welcoming him for his contributions to life
He saw himself waving,
His little sister without a face
He's home. He’s alive. Is he?
Come home brother
Am with you holding hands
“The open nights are never good
Even the perfumes of the day
Old sacrifices by the water soaked jetty
The fumes in a broken tie
Lay lifeless with all the lies
Come to sell their displeasure
The sounds of night scavengers
Hitting the crescendos all night long”
Christian Mowarin
an oxygen paperback
July 2010
“I do not know
What you are
Nor what you represent
But I will stay in your dreams
On the apex as time walls
Where all your thoughts hung
And the salvation you seek
So I can defend what's mine
And free our people from
The evil analytics that divides them
I will climb the hills and the cave
Our forefathers built to Umilidu
So as to protect us from your
Unholy point of no returns”
Christian Mowarin
For my mother, clara
Holy land
Daylight volumetricsFill the village watersideLike a million mist particleWith their feathers brokenSo they are trapped downThe upward thrust too heavyBut still streaming out for battleSinging Hale hale, hale haleNaked feet in a muster stampedeHitting the suffering earthSo bad it shakes the soil foundationSinging the holy holy last songHale hale ,hale haleHaleeeluyahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhDrench the receding horizonsAs a living beacon of hopeFor life in a second hand chance
Now the long lived elders sevenIn odd numbers came outDressed vividly in smilesTo speak in outward soliloquyIn so biblical a lingoA language so written In false cobalt inscriptionsAnd the gullible mists Fighting and gasping for breathAs the merciless sun whipsUnheavenly strokes at themEvaporating and ejaculatingSinging the holy holy last songHale hale ,hale haleHaleeeluyahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
the bay at takwa
A place in timeA time to healA heal so stillA still so steerlessA land of many soulsA soul of many laughtersThe bay echoes in its own sunshine
Never seen the water so pureNever seen so many water facesAll dancing to one electric trickA peace so lovingly pleasingNever seen so many magicAll in one place, not anywhere
The man made canoes playA beautiful rhythm for the waterThe waves dance again and againTrees with coconut soulsReady to take on the coldWho can take away this natureThis powerful nostalgiaEmbalmed in so much cocoon
The evening boatIs a great swell of characterAll race , all eyes and all movingThe bay at takwa is waitingThe bay says helloHow are you doingRunning so so aroundBathed in a midday suit
The people of the sea I
They come in large numbersTo please the gods and the touristsTheir foothprints as time patternsThey come to sell their dreamsIn a canoe full of waresBreathing the mist all day long
They come to marry the wavesTo hold them from angerThey come to repair their hopeIn a cup clasped aged handThey beg to bring the harvestAnd the calm to stay
Now they set out in the seaWith masts torn and blisteredBy the anger of the sea god ochonmaMust they be appeased all timeBut who dare ask but to strikeTheir ways of rethorics
The night falls with its shadeOver the length of the amber seaTime stands on as a guideThe spirits envelope the trenchesWhere the mosquitoes play their tunes loudAn epic fever to come
The people of the sea II
The open nights are never goodEven the smells of the dayOld sacrifice by the water soaked jettyThe fumes in a broken tieLay lifeless with all the liesCome to sell their displeasureThe sounds of night scavengers Hitting the crescendos all night long
The rippled poetry drains the sandTime and time againSpilling its unholy philosophySpitting rage in a tide taleSometimes taking a touristAmidst wails from the seaside For a vast dinner in its dark belle
The calm however returnsIn unspoken benevolenceAs clean as a beach floorIn a hot african afternoonThe wild celebrations fill the airThe tambourin and hollow drumsBeats the noon far far away
Now a new dream speaksIn a day full of life rhythmThe tourists in their bright apparel Wondering how perfect nature rulesSea anemones and weedsTake the salty sun day offThe aroma drifting up to warmthSure a beauty the sea brings
October Sky
Dry and dusty The wind speaks to usIt's words in dented basinsIn a language so uncannyThe dusty ambient Sahara In so far away date palm covenantnever a bossom friendItchy and soundful as foolsTearful and creaky it comes callingBurning as burn bitesNot a knock before it strikes
The rain tree brothersThe agbarotor forest twinSuddenly aged by daysStruggle to stay not amputatedTheir backs torn with swornsTheir sap soured with soresDriven by badluck to backBegging all day for a vein refundSo the Sullen days moves onEveryday lookup at the skyFor hope made in nimbus
But october knows usLived and grew with usIt's skyline and horizonGave us wisdom and conscienceAnd the powerful freedom to fightIt's night time made us corn mealA cover we can imbibeA unison in cold bloodA true hero and my friendTo salute, hold and to shareThe days mama never talked about
The moon greets us
The well was dryAnd lives amongst the doorsFar off beyond the fieldTo seek a reflectionWith an excuse to go
The rain fever here againWith it's chilly willy wingsWe will meet the moonOn our way to UgbekuThat of which is behind the trees
The barren barks mamaThe sways to the eastTo pray for a new dayWith laughter in daylightEach laying on a staying hand
To listen before we lookIn the hush before the tarantula strikesA note from a single placeWith drops that floatsSo heavenly beautiful
April noon in Bako Village
He saw the April noon in his booksThe whistle trailing in at the window wide;He heard his father's voice from the mud hut belowCalling him down to ride.He saw the distant little church acrossWith mounds that hide the honoured dead;His father's name roughly scriptedThe Hurriedly tied cross toothe grass graciously dark,
He saw the primary School Field Annoyingly sunny and green,The cold post beside him, the stand by the latrine wall,The distant murmurs and the crowd between His own name over all.He saw the eton side wall and bamboo roof,The long gone tables, and the red faces keen;The School master and the prefect aloof,The projected teachers crawlingLeaving their bodies behind He watched their hands daintily ploughing the wet mud,He felt a trembling smell black blood as bones stirredHe heard the voices talking of home,Then he saw the sign at the village postWelcoming him for his contributions to lifeHe saw himself waving,his little sister without a faceHe's home. He’s alive. Is he?
Death hands of love
His love bears no strength
His hands holds no veins
Not a single sign of gladness
In a heart full of cold love
Delivered in a plate full of tropics
The hands of love he holds
In a basket full of native chalk
In a season full of blue natives
And a promise not to keep at all
The coarse hands that true love built
But the rain flowers are falling,
In a circle full of analytical lies
And mother birds are calling
wailing and Crying and calling
For the love that has leaked away
His love knows not the morning chillness,
Nor Noon flavored brilliance and wings
His love lives with evening illness
And a jar full of bad smoked fish
The dusk continues to fall
And He went the long shadowy way,
Soon his cries were heard by deities
they grouped and decided to help him die
And calls for heart stoppers all day
Wailing and Crying and calling
For the hands of love that would not stay.
Waiting
I drive waiting
For the storm to come
To wash me away
Into the inclinations of the village
But it didn't
The place, the haze, the space
It still look exactly the same
I dont know what will happen next
But I know one thing for sure
l will always be alone
I kill every time
The only soul I have ever got
Though I try to mend it
A few times
But it never works
The time, the spine, the spline
It wouldn't move me
I know my time has come
But what I do not know
Is the reason for my ascent ion
It was you II
It was youYou who stole our heartsRubbed our face with palm glowSo we won't comprehend anymoreSo the mystics will stay still
It was youYou who stole our mindsAnd our beautiful soulMade us suffer to dieWho made us cry a river
It was you who turned Us men into omenPasted pastel on our local pastaSo wont feel traces of pacesYou built terror as a home for usInside of us and won't leaveThe cries echo goes on in nine villages
With the scars to scares the birdsIt was youWith your calculated nestsand tale traps in the villageWith Hundreds dead from a hundred nightSo we will chew the cries over and overLike bad mustard in our jaws
Dancing in still
Their white robesWaving in the windFlapping like bitter heartbeatsThe breeze battling to keep It's camera steadyIn the distanceThe huts keep a close eyeNot knowing how to behaveBut the rattle can't keep stillThe mood too ill to ignoreThe wild dance ushers in The seven drone sistersTheir hips hopping with the hype And yet they move notAn aura so perfectly playedIt's watched by mankindThey stay still but the motion Dances all around themThe seven all moving as oneThe spirits within and without. The near naked frame In a framework of frantic. The sands reverb echoing in the distance. The waves speak in out native tongue Calling and cursing the roles Played by the doctors of doom
A land with no returns
I do not know Where you seekNor where your consonance come But I will come with youI will thread your sand pathOn the river brinkWhere the uli treeMagically heals the gazette And cements the landscape the great dibia dwellsIn open moonlightsAt times of the lazy sunlightSo the spirits can transcend Adhering to grace gathersI will Let the mudskippers biteThe flesh of my toes And drink of the bloodI wear through my journeyAnd my travails in your landTill you lead me nowhereYour fringed destination youCall the point of no return
I do not know What you areNor what you representBut I will stay in your dreamsOn the apex as time wallsWhere all your thoughts hungAnd the salvation you seekSo I can defend what's mineAnd free our people fromThe evil analytics that divides themI will climb the hills and the caveOur forefathers built toProtect us from yourUnholy point of no returns
The man in my vision
We were born onto this landFar far back whenThe great wizard, my grandfather livedThis great land so it seemsAs we grew up time came upAnd took away our hopeOur dreams, our existenceFor every crumb many men
But a man came to us In my visionfar from the mortals we knowAnd he fought and died for usIn the great wars in ugali tribeAnd rode the giant aligatorsAs a wild beast in the great battlesWhen the war was overHe helped till the land of the midlandsHe Gave us soil and oil, Great wealth and tobaccoAnd open the borders of our dreams
He chased the great evil awayWe missed him, both in heart and spiritbut the oracle says one of usMust take his place, must leadOur lives our future hereHe truly knows Nndukani well.I know one day I will be able to thank himAnd you will be able to build more dreamsBecause you make my Nndukani and my earth shine
New moon
The near midnight storyWith all it's splendor and retrogresive character Pours down its native illuminationPiecing through the slitsIn our thatch in our hatch
It's brilliance like a sliceOf a market square butterBringing in a thousandShimmers in gold dust formOn reaching the groundScatters its effervescentIn a sporadic dance move
Outside the drumSounds has gone far asleepOnly music from grumpy frogsAs they lie motionlessIn the muddy kamanku slidesWaiting patiently for a preyOur prayers answered In the beautiful and open mindedRendition of the of the new moon
An African story 1 see
My story begins withA velvety drape of richAfrican idea bathed in silkAnd caramel lotion in blackan elderly meeting creatively set Well dressed in evening coal in a mid urban civilization, somewhere stuck between A blend of grey twilightAnd pale and colorful belief
I see several elders withRapid loin cloth around their groinsLooking at one another smilingSuddenly they morph intoElders from all part of A consonantNow dressed in flaming attiresGrowing gracefully in greyWhispering and agreeingGrinding tobacco with a grinThe grey matters in sublime synchronicity
I see a man walks in nowWith an enormous shadow He brings with him grace andThe atmosphere that sings hope Of readiness and welcome ness. Of a new future touched byThe power of age and experienceHe greets us with one cultureOne warmth, one peace and one lovePlaying our dialect as a tuneAnd demonstrates a testimony so trueOne village, one hope and one destiny
The rippled poetry drains the sand
Time and time again
Spilling its unholy philosophy
Spitting rage in a tide tale
Sometimes taking a tourist
Amidst wails from the seaside
For a vast dinner in its dark belle
Christian Mowarin
an oxygen paperback
July 2010
the author