david mungoshi

Sep 2016

Ma Cherie

Speaking of broken hearts
and mended fenced in mem'ries
I am painting skies
of tangerine, saffron
& an illuminated lilac hue
against the starkly contrasted crisp cornflower blue, stretching canvas that is
along with all the
other blindingly beautiful colors of a twilight sky

And those dripping cotton candy stratospheric clouds
Ice crystals freezing into supercooled
water droplets
Streaking the sky in cirrus whispers
..I hear them whisper, "hello"...

Blinding beauty
through unadulterated sunlight
I am fleeced like a lamb
watching in awe,
..in wonder
then stomping sounds
of coming thunder,

Finding depth and height
out  in the stratosphere
Blinded by the
After Light
or afterglow
affected by the amount of haze
I'm in a daze
...as I am reaching

High above the fading light
of a brilliant early fall sunset
I take a big breath
of that sumptuous air
and twirl my skirted legs
my painted toes
where I know
I am back
to solid ground

Appreciating the last time
I say sleep well
to you  my dear
summertimes sweet mem'ries
and the fun we had this year.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Wow....idk. Felt inspired.

#poetry #fall #beauty #sky #sunset #summertime #twilight

david mungoshi Sep 2016

Riches for Patrick Ubiquitous

Pain for you never again this side of life
All is now calm and easy and so sail on
True to this life's eternal golden rules
Rich in truth and kind you'll for ever be
If sturdy as can be, these rules you breathe
Cherishing morsel and largess in measure alike
Knowing that times move towards a zenith

I thought to try this idea that Kikidinho is so good at. How does this grab you Kiki mate? I hope that some Patrick out there finds this relevant.

Aug 2016

r

The light of mourning

There was a girl
I used to swap paperbacks
and spit with, once
I fixed her wiper blades,
I remember the soft dead wings
on the windshield, pretty
as you please

She was alone in her shoes
listening to something
that kept getting darker
and glowing like morning
on the oil spilled under her truck,
she was drifting through
the rosewater of her soft red hair

She only wanted to be rolling
off a swollen river, sliding
out of a clean slip, turning
over in a deep sleep, trailing
a shimmering thread, hiding
under a pile of wet leaves

Then there she was sailing
in her river of blood, going
white and smelling like smoke
from a struck match behind
closed blinds on a ceramic floor,
a white blouse red as a sharp knife
collecting the light of mourning.

david mungoshi Aug 2016

upon the dancing sky

lead me to your lofty bower
like a pilgrim in penance
quieten my creaking doubts
and to sleep lull my thoughts

touch me softly in that moment
of inner sorrow and torment
whisper to me of freshly-ground memories
and amaze me with wondrous lucid visions

walk me to the end of experience
and hear me as i wail no more
about broken dreams and sad joys
in lyrical moments of wild abandon

make my heart grind like one toiling
and dim my eyes with painful realization
the world belongs to the chosen few
who grasp eternal paradoxes on cue

and when the distant bugle is sounded
i shall be among the confused many
failing to read the signs of the times
emblazoned upon the dancing sky for all to see

Nearly two years from the day of writing in 2016, I pay my homage to this poem again, and ask its indulgence as I make smoother the rough edges. The date today is May 28 in the year 2018. I hope you guys still like it.

Aug 2016

Valsa George

Retracing my Footsteps

I want to go back to my past
When tame pigeons of joy nested on my eaves
And I could hear their crooning
With the sweetness of love outpouring

I want to go back to my past
When innocent instincts ruled my heart
And I ran after every call from the woods or bush
Mesmerized by the whistles of the oriole and the thrush

I want to go back to my past
When every rainbow and every peacock feather
Ignited curiosity in me as a child
And colored my imagination wild

I want to go back to my past
When, with friends, I sat in the mango grove
And savored the ripe juicy mangoes
Careful not to let the pulp drip down our mouths

I want to go back to my past
When we strolled along the sandy strands
Watching the wild waves fray
And cooled by the kiss of spray

I want to go back to my past
When we had watched at night
A hundred fireflies dancing around the neem
Wondering if they were stars fallen from heaven’s seam

I want to go back to my past
When, like breeze, we ran over the meadows
Looking for the bleating lamb
Singing in chorus, ‘Mary had a little lamb’

I want to go back to my past,
When life appears a trying test
With ‘the slings and arrows of an outrageous fortune’
And as and when I feel so desperately alone!

Aug 2016

Valsa George

A Woman

As I beheld a flower of rare beauty
In the silence choked heart of wilderness
The facsimile of a pretty woman came alive
From the coagulated heap of images

A woman…….! Isn’t she
God’s supreme handiwork
An animated form of chiseled art
A joy to behold
A figure of curvaceous ups and downs
God’s beautiful calligraphy
Her skin glowing as satin
Hands and fingers of creamy softness
Eyes reflecting love and gentleness
Voice musical and sweet
Moving with measured cadence
And walking with fluid ease
One who smoothens the rough edges of life
But Alas! A treasure rarely valued.

A loving daughter to her parents
An adorable mate to her man
A forgiving mother to all
The fountain spring of new life
The lovely mother to her children!

Though she is branded by many
As frail or fickle, infirm or impish
How empty is a man’s life
Who hasn’t known a woman,
Either as a mother, sister or daughter
Or a lover, companion or wife
This marvel of creation,
This miracle worthy of adulation!

In a world where women are discriminated, I feel proud to be a woman and believe that a woman is the light of her home ! I dedicate this poem to every woman big and small..... and affirm that her sacrifices are never wasted!