When I was a boy on the farm in
Missouri slaying dragons and
making swords out of sticks,
my Dad got me a coonhound pup.
He named him Festus.
Dad was a real Gunsmoke fan.
Festus grew, as I did, and we
traveled every inch of
that 120 acres.
There were two streams that
ran through our land,
and a pond south of the house.
We had 60 head of cattle and
several calves.  Festus would
help me chase them.
When I went to bed for
the night, I heard crickets and cicadas,
and always Festus, way off in
the distance howling and barking.
He didn't mind touring the
farm with me, but he
did his best work on his own,
late at night.
Now that I'm an adult, and
Festus is long gone,
I wonder if anybody can
hear me howl in the
darkness.

Four life-size lipsticks jive, they
groove in tune with costumed comrades:
the monstrous tapeworm, unfitting for even
a family of whales, head held high like
homemade dragons on Chinese New Year, or
the bald man decked out in navy felt, garb
saturated with plastic spoons he
needs to get laid.

But the lipsticks in their red, red heels, with
human eyeholes hidden behind fabric, which
shows the blend of castor & chemicals, what hue:
dark crimson or barracuda berry?

They wear but a fraction of the common ingredients
used for dressing up,
makeup as the encore.
It stains the lips,
the coffee rims around the country,
the chests of restricted lovers.
Let us celebrate the metaphor of makeup
on this festus day--where it’s excusable to act out
the fantasies of being not
ourselves.

Once, I stumbled upon a precious treasure,
Yet foolishly let it slip away.
"Died of a broken heart," a phrase whispered in sorrow.
For years, I withheld my tears,
Working on myself, mending my flaws,
But now, I'm plagued by a curious desire.
Why do I yearn to risk it all again?
To escape from this world, I pen my thoughts,
Childish, perhaps, yet a means to understand,
Not to refute my beliefs, but to observe,
To partake in the purity of love's existence.

What makes it so extraordinary, I wonder?
Caught between stress and the echoes of history,
Love and war entwined in a tangled dance.
Deep into the night, I gaze, seeking comprehension,
Struggling to decipher these unfamiliar emotions.

...
To you, the one who is and will always be,
My soul's companion, the love I crave,
I possess nothing else of value,
So please, handle with care,
This fragile, tattered heart of mine.

Wishing you all the best,
Festus Ikimi.

Sitting on that Bowery curb,
Jackie Coogan,
Years shy of Uncle Festus and
The Addams Family,
Clasping his hands on one knee,
Wearing blue denim overalls &
A raggedy, red
Turtleneck sweater,
Jackie: the kid in "The Kid."
And Charlie’s inimitable face,
Inhaling his ****** moustache.
Nobody squeezed more out of a
****** expression than Charlie,
Back in the day when
Actors told their stories physically.
The Silent Era:
A Marcel Marceau world back then,
Economical when it came to words.

I want to be your
lumberjack.
I'll wear red flannel shirts all
the time, and grow a scraggly
beard like Thoreau.
We could cuddle by the
fireplace on
cold winter nights.
You can grow a garden,
with potatoes and asparagus.
We can climb mountains
and hunt bears.
I could make a rug from
it's hide, and a necklace
from its claws.
I want to be your lumberjack.
In the summer,
we could skinny-dip in the
pond, by moonlight and
make love in the
dew soaked grass.
we could have a
coonhound named Festus,
and gobs of kids.
I would build a tire swing in an
old Oaktree.
**** this ****** city
with it's treachery and
its concrete.
Lets go where the fire-flies live.
I want to be your lumberjack.

In twilight's embrace, I sit alone,
Melancholy's touch, a gentle moan.
My heart yearns for you, my dearest love,
In these moments when the stars weep above.

Whispers of your laughter, once so near,
Now dance as echoes, faint and unclear.
Your touch, a brush of fingertips so fine,
Chased away fears, a warmth divine.

Your eyes, a galaxy of love's embrace,
Once held me close in their tender grace.
But now they dwell in distant memory,
Fading embers of a vibrant reverie.

The world, a canvas devoid of hue,
Since the day you bid this realm adieu.
No vibrant strokes, no colors bright,
Just monochrome days and endless night.

I reach out for you, in empty spaces near,
Longing for your touch, your presence so dear.
Silent tears trace paths upon my pillow's crest,
Yearning for your head upon my chest.

Our hearts, once united in rhythmic dance,
Now play a symphony of solitude's expanse.
In night's embrace, your essence I feel,
Yet cruel illusion shatters with dawn's appeal.

Alone, I navigate this world unknown,
An empty vessel in memories sown.
Your absence, an ache that pierces deep,
A void unfillable, where tears still seep.

No time or distance can heal this pain,
In my heart, our love forever remains.
Tethered eternally, our souls entwined,
Until the day our paths realign.

I'll count the stars, and whisper your name,
Hoping my love reaches you, all the same.
Until that day, know you're missed profound,
In depths of my soul, your longing resounds.

Yours in a world where colors fade away,
Ikimi Clifford Festus, forever I'll stay.

My Dearest,

In the depths of darkness, I find myself lost,
yet my heart yearns for your guiding light. Like a hound with a downcast gaze,
I am haunted by whispers that deem me hellbound, lost in a perpetual daze.
But oh, how I long to unravel the shroud of truth and touch the celestial angels,
standing on the very edge of the abyss.

Amidst this chaotic realm where faiths collide and vivid stories take their stand,
it is your existence that I yearn to prove.
As a mere mortal soul, I find myself searching for the persistence to find my path.
Your phantom-like presence in the mist only adds to the mystery, but I am determined to discover the truth that lies within.

Yet, within this realm, even my private desires are clouded with guilt, sentenced by society's judgment. It is not wicked intentions, but diverse dreams that await their due repentance. I long for helping hands to be extended from above, to unravel the twisted system that casts shadows upon love, and grant us the freedom to chase our deepest desires.

Backlash ensues as I begin to depart from the confines of Christian traditions and creed, regarded by many as a life deemed sinful, a ruinous feed for my soul. But I resist, my love, for I cannot bear to align myself with their claims. I am compelled to seek answers beyond the grasp of humanity, delving into realms divine.

The earth and sun, such divine creations or ingenious design, remain an enigma, a captivating mystery intertwined. Is heaven but a mirage, disguising the realm of fantasy? And the silence of the Holy Ghost, is it an absence to be despised? These questions plague my mind, playing a relentless and chaotic score, with answers forever out of reach.

A Bible bestowed upon me, its pages waiting to be unraveled, yet I am left in confusion within this enigmatic space. The hands of humans penned its words, leaving me uncertain of its essence. Equipped with a mind capable of grace, I find myself searching for guidance, lost in this labyrinth of uncertainty. The mission I sought to embark upon feels aborted, as trust in sources have gone awry and human tongues have become tainted with deceit.

My love, I struggle to regain the guiding light of my path. Each knock from a Jehovah's Witness feels like a futile fight, for their beliefs hold them dear, while my doubts continue to be proven. Indeed, many believe, but my surprise is as thin as a wisp of smoke, for humanity's folly continues to hope for a return of a savior, in a world steeped in sin.

My intent is not to torch legacies or cast doubt upon the convictions of others, my love, but I yearn for the truth to come forth from the mouth of the horse itself. The tales of sheep, passed down through generations, tell of old men who claimed to hear divine speech, but I bow my head and close my eyes, desperately reaching for the Holy Ghost's touch. Yet all I hear are echoes of a poltergeist, promises unfulfilled. Show yourself, end this torment, and let doubt be stilled.

Prove your existence, my love, and the doubting within me shall cease. Let rumors be erased, doubts be replaced with an inner peace that only your presence can provide. I ponder the realm of heaven, questioning if it is but a mirage, a fragile trace born from my deepest desires. Is it merely a construct of longing, or is it a reality to be embraced? My belief defies logic, intertwined with doubts that refuse to be silenced.

Tell me, my love, are you the heaven I seek? Are you the illusion I hold onto, fearing the reality that lies beyond it? In this void where I confide, I beseech you to show yourself and offer solace on this night of uncertainty.

In this world of uncertainty, I lament my loss, seeking condolences within this void where I confide. The conversations I have with mortals only serve to provide glimpses of divine messages, leaving me longing for more. The tales of talking snakes and forbidden apples, they confound my senses, but my hunger for truth persists like an unwavering hound.

My love, do you exist? Or is this chaos my only guide? I seek solace in your embrace, for doubts have entangled my mind and left my heart adrift. I fear that faith's grip has unwound itself, leaving me lost and disconnected. Without your presence, my prayers cease to exist, and I am left to craft purpose from thin air, a cruel jest of my mind.

The echoing hollowness of the church's walls reminds me of doubt's cruel test. What if, my love, what if we are all stuck in a box, ensnared by life's unanswered questions? Earth's "what ifs" are declarations of the universe's secrets, and my sacrifice, my afterlife, lingers within this snare. All that I hold dear becomes suspect under doubt's cold glare.

And so, my love, this chapter in my journey comes to a close. My canvas is a point where destinies intertwine, where pleasure's path awaits me in a future that remains unknown. I shall remain, in my human form, perched upon uncertainty's throne. It is in this space, filled with empathy and empathy alone, that I express my love for you. In this world of tangled webs, I find solace in the love we share, for you are the beacon of light that guides me through the darkness.

Yours always and forever,
Ikimi Clifford Festus.

'''Muriuki, murerwa , Evans, Benjamin,dennis,bundi,ken,kinyua,festus,mwendas',simon all present
Year is 2004😅
All of us were shirtless showing nonexistent abs
Ronaldinho was our mentor
Our ball tailor was bundi; 😂😂 of course was made of polythene and sisal
I was the goalkeeper
Once caught grains of millet one by one -myth they created to make our opponents fear me😂😂'''

the wholistic labelling
of little bits
of said
is what we're
med ov

The squirrels
ate my
train
of something

Nuts

Right

Veer quickly

Stil Heer

are ye

Festus and I are
having a contest

Who can be most
colorless

Let the cold stone
brew

an' oscillate
or ocelot is it
again

we talk about when
we are anticipated
to be
extinct

there  I said it
no more of
surly make up
who we are hunh

the face the final
drift against the
hardness and smile

oh just for a while

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                     Did Saloons Really Have Those Swinging Doors?

I’d like to mosey down to the Long Branch Saloon
In glorious CBS monochrome
Along Dodge City’s sound-stage cow-town street
And saunter through those familiar swinging doors

I’d like to order a beer from good ol’ Sam
And listen to Doc and Festus fussing at each other
While Matt and Kitty smile contentedly
And for a while we are all at peace

I’d like to mosey down to the Long Branch Saloon
That’s what I’d like, and leave the world tethered outside