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david mungoshi Jul 2017
Sometimes you stand aside
and weep over things not done
And sometimes you wait and wail in the wings
wondering where the rain beat you
Hi folks! Just looking in
david mungoshi Nov 2016
the sun was just rising
i too was just rising
yet my spirit was falling
my bags were packed
and my mind was set
on a course that lacked
the verve of earlier days
one nostalgic look back
and i really was done
the terrain had changed
and so i hit the trail
raising only a whiff of dust
Dear Friends on hellopoetry, I've had a super time here and everyone has just been so superb, but i'm beginning to feel the blues of diminishing returns. Allow me to quote from Leonard Cohen's last letter to the love of his life, Marianne, "See you down the road."
david mungoshi Nov 2016
my grandmother looked me in the eye
wisdom softly glistening in her eyes
she said to me that sometimes it pays
upon occasional hazy misty days
to gently put some things on ice
till another day beckons as it always does
and in that one intense moment
made magical by her comment
knowledge hit me in the face; and
the twisted knots in my vision cleared
  Nov 2016 david mungoshi
Edward Coles
You took me to the Mekong River,
handing my documents over the border,
to the temple of the left-handed Buddha,
in the hope it would all make sense.

You took me to the brink of a stolen calamity,
you stayed with me in poetry; my eventual insanity.
You kept me with your golden voice,
you kept me with your wit.

You lost me with your genius;
how you discarded it.

You drove me to a calling that I could not fulfill,
just make statuettes from the ash that lines my windowsill.
Call it art, or call it a longing,
call it that animal burn for some kind of belonging.

You were a father, you called off the saints,
you cooled my tongue, my off-white yogi;
taught me these songs of pain, these songs of love
were meant to be sung by everyone.

Not the clever mind, nor the metronome heart
that keeps time with this life, that keeps pace from the start,
but for the stumbling folk, the slow off the blocks,
the maladjusted, the criminal; those who only see dark.

That this chip on my shoulder is a flute in which to sing,
that each failure I live, is a story I should bring
to the table of life, to the feast of recovery,
for every impatient soul with a hunger for discovery.

Each broken chord is a chance to sound alive,
amongst the crackle of the static, there is another side.
Another wasteland companion, another strangled voice,
that amongst all this hopelessness; we always have a choice.

To bend or to break in the shatter of our soul,
sometimes the glass must be half-empty in order to feel whole.
That some convenience pleasure is not always enough,
sometimes we must bear the burden;
sometimes we must hang tough.

Because the words will come, the sun will rise,
amongst the debris of yesterday, there is another side.
You took me to the temple and on bended knee I pray,
that I could lift a suicide, with just the words I say.
Written on the day that Leonard Cohen died.



Leonard Cohen tribute:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e01PXY9QYqg&feature;=youtu.be
david mungoshi Nov 2016
my sweet never-cloying love
you of the softness of a dove
over me hover with a promise
of things that dissipate like a trance
flap your wings in a cryptic dance
be the butterfly that's elusive; ever
in silent song,  light as a breeze
whose depths of emotion
no maestros can ever capture
unless they be of the motion of creation
with motion station and station motion
  Nov 2016 david mungoshi
Mike Hauser
Lay this poet down
When the time arrives
In a field of fresh cut words
On a bed of softened rhyme

Feel free to cover me
From my head down to my feet
In a poetic form to keep me warm
Perhaps a blanket of allegory

Place a silken sonnet pillow
Underneath my weary head
In a field of fresh cut words
On top a rhyming bed
david mungoshi Nov 2016
i'm beginning to forget
the sound of water on pebbles
the cry of a hyena in the dark
life and death juxtaposed
a chilling antithesis

i'm beginning to forget
the thrill of a loving touch
the pain of a stricken heart
harmony and rupture adjacent
a terrible paradox

i'm beginning to forget
the joy you stirred in me
the deep sadness you induced
serene days and chilly blasts
a reminder of bitter-sweet things
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