Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

Ahh!
The smell of freshly baked bread
Coming from the kitchen as mommy prepares
Home baked bread for her children
Dad walks in and though never stepping into the kitchen, ever
He cannot resist the smell of the home baked bread
Mhhhh
Susan Waigwa
Written by
Susan Waigwa  55/F/Johannesburg, South Afric

She looked at me, tears filling her eyes
With sobs, she whispered to me with her heart breaking
He said I am not good for him
He said that I was cold, a housewife material
But not the kind of lady he would show to his friends
My crime was from my belief, I would not expose myself
To any man unless my own husband.

I comforted her and told her the Lord has a way of sorting out things

After 3 month's, he comes back, calls and writes her
She now asks, why does he call, why bother to write
He ended it all didn't he?
He failed to find that dream lady, who he can show to his friends
He now wants me? I've moved on with my dignity intact

Girl, I told her, the good Lord has a way of sorting out things. Hang in there friend, your Prince is looking for you and he will find you, with your dignity intact

True love, so rare to find
Those that findeth it, are they that are a match made in heaven
These, rare like a gemstone of class A
Are unselfish, compromise, care
Share what they have and give without expecting anything in return
They feel the pain of their partner, and laugh at silly things
These are forgiving and always ready to lend a hand
They make it easy to live with and are not ashamed to show their feelings
They smile when hurt, and don't count the wrongs
Nor do they hold grudges
Are not bitter or angry
They are supportive and pray for their partner
They encourage, challenge and criticise with love
They don't look down or think better of themselves but in humility acknowledge that they themselves are weak
They are like an oasis in a desert
Like a cold glass of water given in a heat wave
They are like a rare Ruby, Green garnet, Amethyst, a gemstone of highest quality
Who findeth?

Be careful what you say
Be careful of your words
Tame your tongue
Let it speak life and not death

You can think anything
Imagine anything
But the words you speak create
With your words you can tear down
With your words you can build
With your words you can curse
With your words you can bless

When words leave your mouth
They go out to create
Life or death
Think wisely
Speak wisdom
Make your choice, I have made mine

She made hell for my mother
You see she left her husband because he was too poor
He climbed on top of buildings with a bottle of water
A dry loaf of bread in his hand
Roaming the streets in the day looking for work
Opting to repair watches to get a meal

She couldn't stand this man she had married
So he went in search of another woman
Then he met my mother, married her brought her home
Pregnant with my eldest sibling, the other woman returned, bringing her jealousy and envy, making my mother's life a living hell

Then I was born into a home full of conflict
Witchcraft was the weapon used against my mother
At only one month old, my mother left home
Leaving us in the mercy and madness of an insane woman
Instead of feeding us with good milk, she would dilute it to 10% water, dump us in cold water, hoping that all these would **** us as she didn't want our blood directly on her hands

Was it not for our paternal grandmother, we would have died, but when she heard of what we were going through
She came and rescued us from this deranged woman
She raised us with love and care as though she was our mother

After our primary education, we had to move back in with our dad and his insane wife
Worse times filled with every kind of abuse awaited us
...to be continued. ..

In humility learn to learn in all situations
In tears learn servitude
In silence learn to hear the inaudible
In pain, learn gratitude
When in doubt, learn to have faith

The night was quiet except the sound of the night owl
Sniffles in the main room of the manyatta
Where the chief of the masai lay
Covered in the familiar cloth clad by warriors
Of this hermite tribe

Tomorrow morning he will be laid to rest
His body covered with cuttings from trees
With a skin of a cow freshly killed
The wild animals will smell it from miles away
Soon to shred the body and gorge themselves
You see, there are no graves to bury the dead

Ah! The memories of growing up as we moved
From place to place, seeking fresh pastures for our herd
And new experiences for everyone

All Round River and waterfall
Land of the harvest,
This is our village
Betelnut and betel's garden.
Home home the granary
Haystack and cowshed,
This is our village
Magw Bwisagu cheerfully and welcome to.
Water from the well water to drag up
In the house bring on waist wrap,
This is our village
As is family.
Early morning wake up the chicken
Harvest in the land of to go,
This is our village
***** and solution of farming to do.
And so the garden vegetables everywhere
Lai, lapha, mula and etc.
This is our village
Vegetables are not lacking.
Temple, church and bathou festival
Holy, our place of worship
This is our village of bodos
Goibari taijowbari, kantalbari, and like the names.