Category: Poetry

Nostalgia

I used to enjoy playing with words, twisting around nouns, stepping past verbs sprinkled with basil, thyme, sage – I wrote lyrical herbs.     I used to dance around alliteration, like a free Freddy, I’d forget the fucking frustration, like a tall tree, I’d taste the temptation, light up their eyes with knowledge, and savor the sensation.   It…

Remember

Remember the romantic. Remember that you had him once, deep inside you. Remember the hours you spent, honest in your search for truth. Remember that you once knew happiness. That before your feet grew weary, you knew how to dance. Remember the romantic. Remember walking down the street singing with whichever brothers you found by your side. Remember love. Remember…

Keep Dancing

I would like to propose a metaphor. Let’s assume that you exist. Not only that you exist but that your existence is consequential. That your actions will actually have an impact on the world. Now, let’s build on this assumption and say that you exist within a given context. And that the world around you took as much part in…

Travel On

You owe your freedom to yourself. This is not a rallying call. A call to fight against or to challenge. Rather it is a call to question. Identify your freedoms and pursue them. Work towards something rather that away from it. Work at a deliberate pace, always being cautious of your fellow labourer – they too have their struggle. Find…

Menediction

This one, then is for the men who destroyed themselves that others might live. I write for my father, the saxman and my uncle, the painter. For the men who let their bodies be the bridge between the past and the future. Who remained firm, refused to break – broke anyway. For the misplaced aggression, for the protection, for the…

Tacenda

Child, she said Never look a dreamer in the eye, she said Child, she said Mind you never catch a dreamer’s eye, she said.   I, said I Will never look a dreamer in the eye, said I I, said I Will never catch a dreamer’s eye, said I.   The sky replied, Don’t let the sun burn out your…

The things we try to catch

The things we try to grasp are fleeting. We see them as they fly by and chase them down the rabbit hole, never stopping for tea. We stay eyes opened waiting for one to pass by in the periphery, barely visible. The things we try to catch are like the eye of the stepper to the roaming flanker, to notice…

Amabe

(for Nyawira Nderitu 1943 – 2017)   Taflase* Taflase Taflase taflase seven times in this moment of mourning on this day of memory, I stand a trembling tongue without the language to echo across the void.   I must begin with those who died opposed, towards a notion yet to be clear who threw themselves back after watching their friends…

Desert Storm

(A Response) Mood: It’s that one dream. The one they keep showing in the movies. You are walking down a road, everything seems okay and then suddenly the road disappears, and you’re falling. (Perhaps it is important to begin with a dedication, to you – the one who threw themselves into the depths of the impossible. For you who has…

Picture Perfect

Mood: In an old story a father of great means spends 17 years trying to find his daughter a ping pong ball with pink spots (in the world of the story they don’t exist – and it doesn’t make sense for the father to just get one made because logic). She dies at 18, unsatisfied. Desire is cruel. Welcome to…