the enfeebled voice spoke of hopelessness
the inflamed flesh told of a spirit subdued
shrunken and felled by a creeping weakness
her sightless eyes  were a sign of approaching demise
yet she said she would see me in the morning
and next day under the winking sun i was at her mourning
keeping a promise made a long time ago under a cork tree
to sing about the beauty of a true heart that loved well
and how there was a place and a time for sundown trysts
in the world of articulate shadows beyond the endless blue
and there an enigmatic silhouette she waits in expectant vigil

jinga, jinga my sister
it's a true- vex world
jinga my sister
nothing makes sense
jinga my sister
it's a shake-your-head fix
where we're headed
i don't know jinga
oh the aches in my heart
jinga my little sister
what a drag it is
feeling so helpless
watching you get mauled
by the drooling wolves of suburbia
oh jinga i'm hurting inside
but time sometimes does wait
so show them jinga
a daughter saving a nation

hush little brother mine
huff and puff no more
mother is at the open fire
little brother of mine
she's cooking your dish
the one that makes you drool
and the dogs keep watch outside
so eat dear little brother of mine
eat your fill and fill in those hollows
eat little brother of mine, eat
till your tiny plate is shining clean
and mother thinks it is all right
getting smoke in her eyes for you

Sick people sit sickly
on oaken benches
in a clinic with clean floors
and modern gadgets
for vetting clients
Little boy of three or four
bawls an unusual request:
he screams for an injection
where he's softest
and for the briefest of moments
Sick people suspend their agony
forget their fear and pain
and marvel at the boy's craving
for a needle that is terror
to most toddlers

Wise guys in Presley-style haircuts
mill around the booming jukebox
It's late in the fifties
and there are no hippies
Sweltering October afternoon
So you buy a soda and drink it slowly
Your meagre resources make you lowly
I stand in awe, dazed and wondering
This machine has a hand and a brain
Feed it a coin and it picks your song
Suddenly King Creole is playing
and they all jump like catfish on the pole
I'm no square so I too twitch, turn and jump
Everybody is dancing
and life is a rock'n roll song

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

You always say
that I always may
declare creation
in those speech-act moments
when words become action
Thus see me breathe life
into hitherto stiff fancies
See me empowered by verbal magic
that conjures up fanciful shapes
in the image of my inclinations
So I say let there be beauty and wonder
a swallow swishing crazily past
and a lonely dove cooing for its mate
Let there be rustics exuding the rich smells of life
from newly-turned earth with neat furrows and fat worms
wood smoke and freshly-cut grass in musty he-goat odour
Variety is the spice of life the sages from long ago said
So let there be good-time girls and pompous pimps too
and petty thieves and flashy conmen in loud clothes
Let the world sizzle with a menu of a la carte activities -
sooty greasy grime and lurid crime to shock good people
In simple terms let the world be a poem teeming with life
and let its people know their roles in the scheme of things
Let them play their parts to perfection
while I try out a miscellany of diction and imagery
to capture and portray the wonder of another complex day

The water was quiet and unruffled:
Though intemperate winds blew on it
Ne’er once did it ever really stir
And we got so used to its pervasive presence

In line with global trends everywhere
We took notice only when loud waters bubbled
       Like wayward children we scoffed
       When delectable words of wisdom
Wafted like therapeutic mist out of Wisdom Well

But now that the well is empty and dry
Our deprivation begins in earnest
And soon, very soon, nostalgia will whip us
One and all till we learn the bitter lesson:

That second chances belong to storybooks only;
Now that this veritable repository of true wisdom
Is in other dimensions our dilemma cries out
Who amongst us shall quench our thirst
Now that the water in the well has dried

my heart wept silent tears
that gushed out of sad sighs
to lean upon withered wishes
and the sounds of dead words
out of the frozen lips of seers
in this silence and aching gap
at life seeping through i gape
and long to march to the beat
of the words of  dreamers -
dream of finer times to come
they urge in a raspy chorus
among these few am i counted
though it were better not to be

like sugar and spice in separate jars
opposite but complementary, neatly-packed
and labelled on Mother's clean shelves
sweet and cloying like sunsweet sugar
tangy and exotic like the spices of yore
that launched hapless ships into stormy waters
that's what this thing called life is like
often  a dream to live and revel in, but also
a nightmare of garish detail in relief
fouled by the ghoulish glee of decadence
and the things that we do to pander to our tastes!

creepy night river awake like a fever
as fireflies glow in furtive morse code
the eerie evening commands silence
in the hollow empty spaces yielded
in sonorous silences by a yawning dearth
of everything that's sacred, pure and sweet
once there was raw laughter and joy here
and weavers wove rich tales of fat worms
for their pampered nestlings afloat on air
once there was life and presence here
but now small spaces abound in this vast absence
of sunshine smiles and catwalk swinging
now it's plovers, owls and night jars galore
as their apocalyptic cries smite the night
like a plague in New Canaan where glory
is never too far away from the surface gloss
of a loveliness kidnapped by the salacious gods
of lewd desires and morbid libidos alive in tales
that are forever testifying to the loud presence
of envious divinities on a free ride upon our egos
everything is gone now but the thunderous silence
and the smiles that lit up our days are now but a memory
of wan looks and faded joys clad in the hollow feelings of pain
and that's all that ever remains when our futile antics are done

she was the dance queen of the night
fragrant and exotic in her daily flight
from the bite of tropical night chills
under a starless sky and a pale moon
full of false vows that he would croon
with a granadilla fruit of raw passion
teasing his hungry eyes and keen nostrils
hot desire locked itself around their hearts
like a surreptitious granadilla creeper
entwining itself around a wooden lover
and soon the fruit of their passion had burst out
in a crescendo of dilated senses and smooth skin
she knew then that he was gone never to return:
the fabled passion fruit could be so very cloying

you're pouting
  i'm sulking
you're peeved
  i'm mellow
   and i know
it's the corazon
not the amazon
that's got me
whispering
      and
   whistling
  as el nino
  rains dearth
and we weep to see
good things go bad

poet that i am
i shall be gone
only a little while
then shall my words
jump off the page
in a felicitous chant
that speaks a new truth
that i was never too far away
from the minds of the  human race
and the fluttering hearts of the world
i was never really gone though interred
poets live forever in their breathing words
that ride the winds across the years into new epochs
in new millenniums where a poet's words shall be gold indeed

and the snort  goes on
as the pompous speaker drawls on
and the snort goes on
as the mad man sees what they don't see
that the obese speaker with the mole is at sea
talking about wonderful intentions
but having no idea how to get there
and the snort goes on ...

it is sometimes a blessing
when life kicks you out
it is sometimes a blessing
when doors are closed
when new webs are spun
and bounce you back
to mainstream struggles
it is sometimes a blessing
to walk familiar old paths
feel the tongue of the sun
lick the back of your head
as you moan in soft delight

a life-size study against the backdrop
of a silent ebony door in freeze motion
still as a queen in contemplative mood
and settled like a sonorous afternoon
it was a picture of loveliness in the morning
decked in black and spotting thick dreadlocks
picture of woman: a study in poise and splendour
accentuated by infectious warmth and inherited wisdom
until she moved as we all must in time and on occasion do
that was when i knew she was flesh and blood and a live woman
transient and gorgeous as most things human tend to be
and the frown of her corrugated brow was like a shadow in my life

my dear little sweet pea
truly, you're my cup of tea
what the doctor ordered
a vintage prescription wonder
that guarantees i never wander
                  now
there's no more trepidation in my heart
and i'm on autopilot as i approach the gates of love
i will send you no flowers because they pale before you
you're a flower whose warm glow illuminates eternity
and your sweet tenderness has legendary attributes all for me
my sweet little pea tell them things to wring their hearts sore
and set my heart galloping with the absolute joy of certainty

softly humming and deftly proceeding
unobtrusive like a shy one at a gathering
i make myself obscure and inconsequential
though my heart tells me it's only a matter of time
before i make my mark and cause a stir among my peers
and before we hear the distinct sound of the bell's chime
as it calls upon all and sundry, far and wide across the land
to declare their love in soft tones and hearts serene and sincere
to look upon love with wondering eyes that burn with longing
and drink to the love of a lifetime in a sunset glass blown by a master
thereafter to sing a song that is a tale of love unlimited and hope eternal
the thing to remember is the image of a backpacker at some lodge
sinking with the yellow sun in an obscure room where he lays his head
though he knows it not, his ritual daily enacts our final days

Rita
Sullen, sultry but delectable nevertheless
She looked at me like an adjudicator
And my confidence sank way down low
I became a blubbering idiot
Whimpering like an orphaned puppy

                      Theodora
Bereft of height but redeemed somewhat by her face
She looked at me like I was the answer to all her prayers
And my disdain for seekers of things personal shot through the roof
I became this despicably insensitive yuppie living only for music
And her pining heart sent her home early upon a light breeze

                       Maria
clear complexion with the tone of ripe yellow peaches
She walked out of a shower into the sunshine like a subject of art
When her gaze touched my doting eyes I was lost forever
And my obsession with beauty and allure was well and truly fanned
I became a frequent visitor at the altar of romantic slaughter where dreams die

                        Elsie
Dark, with dancing eyes and a bobbing ***** replete with femininity
Elsie tortured me with her hungry look then huffed like she was breathing her last
My infatuation with girls that treated me like a killer of their hearts began here
I desperately wanted to reciprocate her take-me-now urges under the June sky
But alas, these things were never meant to be; she was just a maid and I was on the way up

                        Peggy
Tall and sweet with articulate eyes and a younger sister that spoke for her
She was not one to play hard to get and declared her love like it was a blessing
She made my ego grow in leaps and bounds and had a figure like an artist's model
I was stunned by her loving openness and could have tied the knot if I could
But circumstances, as always, altered cases and we went our separte ways for good

                        Clementine
Succulent like the clementine, her namesake, she aired her feelings out for me to see
She had a bigger sister who treated me like I was what her sister needed in perpetuity
Clementine and I shared a secret that we kept from my besotted cousin
My love for intrigue and convolution henceforth was my driver in matters of the heart
And I grew into this heartless beau who needed to be rescued from his own folly

And today in my armchair under the leafy avocado pear tree I sit and wonder where I lost it

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

No matter what new trick he tried
A new deodorant or mouth freshener
Sideburns, swagger or rascally scowl
She yawned, wore her pretty little frown
And swore that he was playing the gem
When he was just another line in her poem

No matter what new-fangled idea he brought
She told him plain and square in caustic words
He wasn’t an iota of what she wanted or sought
So he went back to nights of pining and misery
And morning vigils for the postman’s delivery
Hoping to be more than just another line in her poem

Thinking and believing he could leave and learn
He went abroad to build his sunken profile
In places where none could ever him deride or stifle
Since there’s always some safety in anonymity
But when finally he landed on their shores again
He was still not more than just another line in her poem

So let's live and learn to read the writing on the wall
No matter what; and no matter how this order might be tall
For it matters not what fantasies or novelties you conjure
From what exotic lands or eccentric peoples far and wide
She remains spoken for by the high ideals of her imagination
And you forever will be just another line in her waspish poem

eerie plover cries
and night jar acrobatics
in broad daylight
were a sign of something amiss
especially coming so soon
after a barn owl
had pecked his fruit bowl at lunch
and a crow had sat on his head
and cawed lustily for an eternity
it's *** for tat from nature
when we think only of ourselves
without doubt we demean our stature
when we upset nature's designs
one of these days an ape will come visiting
and help himself to the fowls

The ambience gone
The panache is next
And ye of elegance
Would not linger here
Is it the stale water in the vase
or the sweaty shoe gone smelly?
Verily, I say unto you all;
it's none of the above -
Just love gone bad!

the museums
the art galleries
all had he visited
     van gough
     rembrandt
     dali
    picasso
knew he all
and their works
   paintings
   drawings
  sculptures
 and etchings
surrealist and  cubist
and he dazzled his audiences
with his vast store of fact and opinion
        till the sorry drunk
        troubled his thoughts
       with accounts of john next door
the man who visited
      when our man was on  his rounds
      giving erudite talks
and bargaining with dealers in antiques

spasms of unbearable pleasure
course through me like a treasure
spawned upon a bohemian island
when i behold you, beauty incarnate
you're the epitome of accomplishment
an apotheosis of the woman of the age
your eyes are a velvety soft hue
your chin is a stroke of aesthetic genius
you have a fine finish like prettiest silk
and you're an open book of life, to read
at leisure 'neath a flamboyant tree in bloom
woman let me serenade you with this poem
let me sing of the passion in your eyes
let me wax lyrical about your coy mouth
lead me to a tropical hideaway
then banish all things negative , and
let me be your obsession through life
as we stroll together towards the rising sun

Ever seen a dog free, tongue out panting
Style not cramped by hallucinating humans?
He's desperately intense and oh so resolute!

Look,  learn and emulate his singleness of purpose
Getting to his destination somewhere ahead is supreme
So, never you think you he knows not where he goes

In truth only the dog knows where he's going and why
Lesson from the dog: keep your own sweet counsel
In matters of import and talk after you return and are snug

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!

the tree tops are mourning
        no more monkeys
the breeze whispers a dirge
       no more monkeys
simpson street has gone concrete
and the trees are silently dying
        no more air-borne swings and leaps
they've dug up the hill and modernized it
pretentious mansions spell monkey doom
we weep to see the primates gone!

Mother of the children
            I'm here
Yes I'm here, but I'm so tired
I have a knife that's sharp and indiscriminate

W hen he of the itchy fingers is around
keep an eye on your fowls and your goats!

When he warns you about your fowls and goats
He's being evasive; I'm the village stud, ask your wives!

Mother of the children
            I'm here
Yes I'm here but I'm so tired
I have a knife that's sharp and indiscriminate

Sleep, baby sleep, and be silent
I don't need any water; your father is here
He's sweeping my nether  lands with a broom that tickles me
So sleep, baby, sleep, and let your mother be a queen tonight

Mother of the children
            I'm here
Yes I'm here but I'm so tired
I have a knife that's sharp and indiscriminate

some people have it all
and they have it on call
to summon as they will
i only when there's a lull
in the bouts of slow-paced fortune
that haunt my every little move
i see you've changed your car again
since you came back from Dubai
you travel everywhere business class
and your collection of sunglasses is amazing
you want a suntan when you have a natural one
you pout your lips and roll your red tongue
you ogle men with those big deep eyes
where they read the fate of their fancies
i see that you've become a fashion guru
with low-cut outfits and cups running over
young people everywhere swear by your name
and i look on and wonder where i know you from

The clock on my tablet has struck twelve
And I wonder what it is I can easily delve
Into on a night as wondrous as this one is

Back home the witching hour has come
And I am sixty-seven and feeling calm
Here in the queen’s realm I still am sixty-six

I watch the cloudy skies for a sign, any sign
Dawn is a reticent traveller and by design
In the home country we’d be up and about

What a lark when finally it’s daybreak here
And there’s none of the fabled English bird songs
To serenade my day, just the sulky silence and drizzle

Who needs contrivance when family is here and warm?
My day is made when finally at table we sit and are merry
Counting my blessings and dreaming of something spectacular.

With this pen
I fulfilled my dream
and a whole new people
in my own image
materialized in a once silent abode
and let there be laughter and dance
With this pen
I evoked images from the depths of life
and created unending literary melodies
From one pen oozed the seed of life
and from the other came the stamp of eternity
that made everything perpetual and precious

his eyes were dead dull
but his intellect was sharp

his demeanor was mild and dignified
made her more triumphant and less terrified

he did not see her screaming imperfections
but seemed to know all her silent actions

love for him  was a blind leap into the future
confident of a soft landing on green turf

So she learned to see things with her heart
and surprised herself with the riches there

here's to the many an avid poetic toast
to sweetly urge us on till we reach the coast
let this effervescence  be a portrait of living joy
propelled by the glowing fires of our awakenings

hold your head high poet
for your verses are sublime
do not sigh poet unless you must
but linger when you will in the stillness of a pause

tend your curiosity like a newly-discovered plant
and value it like a rare species from life's archives
let your couplets and your epigrams call the heart to attention
in the cloistered silences of your many pleasant surprises

A sweet rainbow in dreamy colours
Materializes from the whispering pool like magic
And in that storybook moment
Our fingers are entwined by hearts in torment
As they seek that elusive fusion of wish-mania
We seek each other in the  blue haze
Of a morning that'd have us melt into this phase
With the shy sun in our eyes
I see yellow gardenias in a field of fragrant glory
And in the setting sun
I see a tropical angel poised for her transition

the stony silence
is an offshoot of the violence
brewed in the madman’s dream
none shall speak ever again
he will be king
drunk on brandy and power
and only he will speak
they must listen in perpetuity
he is a latter-day monarch in a monocle
and severe coat tails and top hat
everyone is a servant servile and compliant
his will is to be done at all times and in all places
always he wakes up to a continental breakfast
and an academic on radio talking in RP
like an Oxford-educated pundit of anthropology
who has theories for everything
including the shape of his own nose
lo and behold!
The days of change are here
men shall whimper and die
women shall rise up and rule
from the bedroom to the boardroom
it’s a woman’s world, ultimately
and the tin *** king shall tuck his tail away
and kiss the hand of she who rules

when the rain calls
this smitten heart falls
and there are heavy showers
in its pensive chambers
torrid feelings are brewed
as the day's fare is stewed
raucous are the thunderclaps
across a grieving heart
that feasts upon the sad cuisine
spewed forth by vindictive life
and abetted by an ailing soul
this song will never end
and the tears will never stop
for it keeps raining in my heart