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  Dec 2015 david mungoshi
Vernon Waring
i will ban
          syntax
          grammar

i will banish
          sentences
          phrases
          clauses

i will evict
          capitalization

i will exile
          all punctuation

i will relegate all of these to the
          circular file of written expression

it is time
at long last
for words to
squirm and falter
but ultimately prevail
in their singular
              splendid
              glory
If I must forget you
convince me
that love is the hollow
of words unwritten

Remind me
that thoughts are a trespass
all things unwanted

Whisper a word in the wrong place
a misstep towards a Thursday
torn from the walls in May

Teach me
to think love
an inconvenience
an imprudent heartbeat
at the wrong time of day

Show me
what I must forget
She weeps not for the shore
As distance creates a shadow
She embraces the current
Becoming the wave
And gently pushes her sea home

She chases not the sun
As the day is put to rest
She is the moonlight
That cradles the stars
Tightly to her *******

She yearns not
Her pain-streaked tears
That fall below her feet
She is the soil beneath her toes
Her pain now colors the tree

She worries not
The flowers' bloom
Or the leaves that fall like rain
She is the wind
That will kiss the ground
And sweep it all away
david mungoshi Nov 2015
every time she went gently by
i felt like saying a mellow bye
to friend and foe alike, and to family too
for in all honesty that whistle had me dangling
like fruit about to fall from the mother twig
i heard the enigmatic whistle of the kite
a thin eerie sound that spelt doom to stray chicks
i heard the drone of the horrid ground horn-bill in my heart
and shook in my boots; the birds in my life were portentous
You see, there was never a bird in sight at all
yet the songs were shrill and so distinct they made me fall
the day she came by and i heard the call of a laughing dove
was the day that fire rained in torrents from above
and she was gone for good with all her numinous secrets
david mungoshi Nov 2015
i looked in just as you were looking out
and the thick smoke stung our eyes;
the tears went down our hands into the palms
and when we touched there was a fluid bond
that said we had drowned our sorrows in the tears
and would forever be washed clean in the rains we make
  Nov 2015 david mungoshi
Aztec Warrior
A JOURNEY**

The night-stone, carefully placed
in the small bear skin pouch,
discusses drum beats with
amulets, charms, powders and
even a small wren’s yellow puff feather.
All creating within the power
of his ancestral soul.
This small obsidian,
chipped and flaked smooth stone
held along its edges the
blood of the animals
sacrificed to keep him alive;
giving him their spirits,
their views on how the Mother evolved
as well as their precious
shapes as he passed
from one world to the next.
His bag was rich medicine
and served him well.
~~~
He stood looking over
a vast valley plain
and could hear the stream
wrinkle smooth the rocks
as its mountain waters
continuously flowed.
He could see the honey bee
making love to the poppies
and clovers as well as
the sweet daffodils.
He could taste the pine needles
dance on the musky,
early morning soil after they
were awakened by squirrels
looking for a game of tag.
And he could feel lightly
the sway of Oak trees
moving slightly by the notes two hawks sung
circling, whispering, hypnotizing
their wary prey.
~~~
Looking out over this
green smelling plain
he could feel the vision swell,
as guided by this trance
he searched his pouch for
the blood star he had captured
one spring day while
riding the back of old Turtle.
Looking out over this
amber hazed horizon
he felt himself walking
talking with Grandfather
asking the meaning of rain,
wind and snow that carried him
gently to Big Mountain.
“Grand Father,
where is the beauty?
Where is the peace
above and below us?
Grand Father,
why are we still blind
to the wolf’s howl
and the cawing of the crow”
~~~
Standing atop Big Mountain,
holding in his left hand
the red star cloth
he begins his journey.
“Grand Father, let the wind beat
this drum of resistance
that is our human essence;
let the rain soak our hearts
cleansing us worthy to find
the path of snow and its soothing
warmth to make the Earth whole.
Grand Father, I only know
Babylon must fall.And this crimson star,
dripping with the people’s tears
can lead us back to the heights
of Big Mountain;
to the beauty and peace
above and below;
to our long lost whale songs
sung by the night sky
and seen in our children’s eyes.”
Carefully placing the medicine bag
around his neck,
holding it and smiling,
he takes the first steps..

Aztec Warrior
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