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david mungoshi Sep 2016
the leaves on the tree
dance and are free
i walk and shake
the dust off my feet
and look up the sky'
like one able to greet
a world that's agog
the pantomime unfolds
the lurid drama lies bare
'neath our staring minds
the big apple is not so big
this was always an illusion
even in those days of plenty
when surfeit  was a stranger
and none took more than they needed
  Sep 2016 david mungoshi
L B
Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight

Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape

Summer again

I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening

For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….

She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…

     The queen will be safe here
     from the rabble
     The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
     Among these lofty cliffs
     Between the raging circuit of the tide
     Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
     Here lovers learn
     the debt of love’s bad timing
     “Drink ye all of it!”
     --the potion that assigns our sorrow….
     She will not sleep—
     while I chew this gum--  GUM?

Roll down the window!

Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings

As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity

…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly  
Their hands steady the wheel
As a fourteen-year old, I picked up a book to read at the beach about the legend of the lovers, Tristan and Iseult.  I was so captivated by their story that it ruled my imagination that summer.  

Anyway, I still think of it when I think of the ocean-- as I did on this cold dark occasion when I should have pulled off somewhere for a coffee, but I was trying to beat the snow storm home.
Route 84, also known as Dead Bambi Highway, has a desolate, treacherous section going over the mountains between NY and Pennsylvania.  Didn't have much option for music at the time, so I leaned heavily on the radio pushing the search button to find anything bearable-- not too much static.
Song reference in this: "Time of the Season" by the Zombies-- all time favorite beach song that happened to be on the radio that night.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBxK3CcOQD8
david mungoshi Sep 2016
from the depths of my being
i shout that i shall indeed be king
and forever banish banality
in a move that has finality

the things in my unending quest
are a constant reminder of the test
they tell me my fires to quench
until there's none of that stench

from perched vantage points
that even holy saints would envy
i see this walking and talking bevy
of lovelies selling sweet taunts

and i know it's time to quench a thirst
its time not to demure and come first
that itch that has troubled me long
now makes me feel that i belong

to the bemused new brigade of seekers
the ones who are thinkers but not speakers
they that from afar smell the deep oasis
whenever there's a deepening crisis

so dear life incarnate, dear essence of breath
stand me now and forever in good stead
give me the strained juice that cools my tongue
and thus help me in perpetuity to quench a thirst
david mungoshi Sep 2016
i strained my way up the hill *****
pondering dead dreams and lost hope
the walking song urged me on to the peak
where i stood breathless and couldn't speak
stunned by our penchant for self-annihilation
and descent  into abysses of gloom and oblivion
images of a brave new world- how tormenting!
Notes from my morning walks
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