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Ayesha Nov 2023
Dance me when they are all weeping
Dance me to the sound of their grief
Dance me naked, pitiful, ordinary
Polished a wood to hold the mirror
Polished a mirror to hold the world
Polished a world to hold me, O
Simple acosmist, dance me thoughtless
To the edge of your thoughts
Dip me faithful, into disbelief
Dip me, trick me, pull me back
Taste the constant revolution
Brooding in me, taste the brood too
Senseless word, tasteless art
Taste that too. Startle, stumble,
Startle me thus - O dimmed Daedalus
Craft me wings, craft me the sun too.
A new study seems to think
alien signals could be emitting
from the heart of the Milky Way,
attempting to make contact
with humankind.
The study focuses on the use of data
from a groundbreaking mission
known as the Breakthrough
Listen Investigation
for Periodic Spectral Signals
Earth's system looking out
for outworldly life.
Please dear E.T's mine beloved
Return now it's time
take us the open-minded home.
At Last Stand by me
and What a wonderful world
I miss you love you.
solEmn oaSis Jul 2022
it is not emergency but so
merging epic getting-in to
" T M A L M " episode 2
reminiscing and heading
on the way too,
right inside the ride
i picked packed boom,
as i rewrite my old poem
entitled tic tac toe
a single syllabication
of chosen words' lyricism
narrated from start to end and
a no beware bars set up
until i care to dare
the bottom bares on top !
neither nobody nor elses foes
and heaven knows good son
who does one hell of a bad
unproven bundled doses of unrhymed
lines made by those unarmed farmers
gonewild with unarmored poetries .
                    T  E  A  R ! ! !
             h  r  r  e
             r  a  r  p
            o  s  i  e
            u  u  v a
            g  r  e  t
             h  e  s  s
tear may rate as reat !
once heard clearly by
an ear gifted of a wise listening ,
as clever as hearing skills of a rat.
yet stare without a tare ...
... there could be a lonely s
which stands for silent !
Such as e need not to spell rat
as well as t must pull out
to lend an ear for the voice
speech by an E T
-- Enhance Talking
in behalf of A R
-- Agrarian Reform
Karijinbba Sep 2021
Our ideas are bullet proof
they can't be shot nor destroyed
our ideas eject upwards like fireworks from special volcanic places releasing pressure creating new places in nature and being magnetic with our treasures found we manifest
our true nature with lovers imaginations;
for in love and war all is valid,
if love is the means the beginning
and the end.
There's no room for shyness
maybe a bit self consciousness
and we never feel pressured..

Sometimes after the honey moon
the groom becomes shy
with the brides implossive ideas.

And who knows what the loss
if we can't decifer it nor read
its melancholic kinesis
radiance timely.
I surrender only to true love.
By An- Karijinbba.
Davina E Solomon Jun 2021
She's risen coarse on rusted tracks,
through sandy loam, a summer sheen.
Rainbows are but colour barracks,
fair violet, through verdant green.

Through sandy loam, a summer sheen
sparked exile of Fall's fleeting mist.
Fair violet, through verdant green,
adds tint to sun in pigment grist.

Exile sparked in Fall's fleeting mist,
cleared light, silky ivory.
Adds tint to sun in pigment grist,
silhouette of this noble tree.

Cleared light, silky ivory
are petals cast in modest mould.
Silhouette of this noble tree,
tattered leaves, raging wind unfold.

Petals cast in a modest mould
are magi of summer solstice.
Tattered leaves, raging wind unfold
simply envy of breezy fleece.

Magi of the summer solstice,
Purple blush on sun dipped petals.
Raging envy of breezy fleece,
Scalding wind that scarcely settles.

Purple blush on sun dipped petals
Rainbows are but colour barracks.
Scalding wind that scarcely settles,
she rises coarse on rusted tracks.
Read the entire text at:
Single story
Raining Pouring
Window broken
Hearts are storming
Lifeless floating
Stopping nothing
Everything going
Raining pouring
Raining pouring
Davina E Solomon Apr 2021
Whispers I sent out to dawn latched
on to the solitary sun to trail
the arc of a common time
in a sky the hue of gold in grass.
The land leans on the baobab
in a dust storm of wheels and lenses.
Wheels and lenses.

When the dust settles, I will dust
my shuka and the goats will return
home, to comfort my eyes that flow
the spate of the Great Ruaha,
seeping secretly into the baobab
I have chores to do, a shuka to ****.
A shuka to ****.

Will they buy the beads I strung
as I rocked Naeku on my back,
to make circles of day and circles
of night, as wide as the baobab,
in the colour of clouds, the colour of sky.
There's colour to stars in a darkened night.
A darkened night.

Killeleshua is fragrant in thousand leaves
Am I not worth more than thirteen Zebu?
The watering hole was flecked in hippos
and the firewood is the colour of dusk
abundantly generous as the baobab
Time, a viscous passing of the sweetest honey.
The sweetest honey.
It was in the Ruaha region of Tanzania that a Maasai woman kindly agreed to pose for a photograph. I do not recollect her name now but in every photo, she appeared to be in shy contemplation. Here is one in which she leans against the baobob, while adorned in the collar jewellery that the Maasai are also known for. I wrote a poem for her, to her graceful beauty; serenely contemplative she appears.


Zebu cattle ~ Maasai cattle that are well adapted to semi arid conditions. Bride price or dowry is set in cattle and paid to the family of the bride.

Killeleshua [1] [Tarchonanthus camphoratus L.]~ A plant the leaves of which are used in bedding or as a deodorant or for fragrance. It smells really lovely.

Shuka ~ garment worn by Maasai, an adaptation of the Scottish tartan

Baobab [2]~ Adansonia digitata, most long lived of the vascular plants and dots the savannas of Africa. Baobab wood has a high water content (up to 79%) and low wood density (0.09-0.17 g · cm(-3)).

Naeku [3] ~ Born in the early morning, the name of a Maasai girl born at dawn

Check the rest at
Davina E Solomon Apr 2021
And the knowledge of the hedgerow plant, I found embedded in leaf veins ... like in mine, etched along blue lines of a notebook. In the ripples on the remnants of water that pooled, before the mudflats claimed them are the striations of  ol'butot near  Naivasha. His stories tell of caves, a gleaming obsidian of a pre historic introspection. Do forty day fasts suffice to exorcise the springs of sulphur or the forced baptism of a flash flood washing six souls to Hades ? The sun glinted at me through a narrowness of fate, a gorge of interminable seconds and I marvelled at the strata of time in a warp, for it blurted out a moan.

Love spoke in nuanced layers of molten flow that crawled to stillness. Can I not say that stone speaks? A couple of hundred years back in time, self titled discoverers  had seen land that had not been unseen by the thousands who lived for thousands until then. So yes, the strata spoke to me, like the striations in the leaves and the lines that were everywhere telling stories of interminable seconds. Time grooves like a death valley in an engraving, etched like a memory of that which has never been, ripples on sand, circles on water,
Anything can trigger a poem, this one dominoed into Hell’s Gate Park in Kenya. Down below, a random photo I took inside, a few years earlier. It was strange, there was hardly anyone there that day, except the hot sun and a tiny array of grassland herbivores.

“A sparse region of natural beauty, Hell’s Gate runs west of the ancient lava flows of Mount Longonot, a 9,111-foot-high extinct volcano dominating Lake Naivasha and the Rift Valley. Combined with Longonot and Naivasha, the region forms a unique sanctuary for bird and animal life. It has been a longtime favorite of hikers, rock climbers, and nature lovers” [Ref~]
The girl caught in the wire
Knows the right way and shows fiery pride
Instead, of taking the sunshine and more
Clasping the delicate rays with her parched palms

Leaving desolate prisoners inside
A dark day made only of steel cages
They will let in the light, those lying in the shadow
It's blazing outside, it is bright

Cold waters will calm, then turn the tide
Soon the cursed world will die
Women can see the sun when it swallows the earth
It is a ball of hope saving them from guns and guards

Their dreams will turn to ashes
Mothers with empty wombs love them just the same
To them their daughters haven't seen the rain
The sun grins from behind grey clouds and sighs

Soon, freedom will come within their reach, fast
And these daughters will get stuck deeper
The dream slips faster than sand in an hourglass
They deserve love from the depths of hell itself

Until one of them dies by the bullet or ****** disease
They don't belong to them, do they?
These pigs moan if their houses are made of gold
The white men want oil fields with them working
Such injustice has gotten beyond the point that people can turn a blind eye. You need to vote to bring focus on how the black people are getting treated. Its been like this, since the 1600s, and it saddens me that many will let it go on. I live in a different country, but I know this is the right thing to write for people who need to hear this. For those who are unaware, ignorant, and need  to get disabused about slavery, please wake up. It's all on the news.
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