"There was a hyena"
Stanley Mungai 

I saw a very old woman out in the cold
There was rain
There was a hyena
Eager to take a piece of her
And she cried out feebly for help
And she was answered
Or rather she now had company
A red-eyed and horned monster

It trampled on the only hope she had:
The feeble voice
Muted like a zombie
And the beast
Coughed out a fire of destruction
Breathed immobility in her
To eager but not quite able
To lick away her life as well.

Helpless, rejected and dejected too
Talk of desolation and poverty
Never again back to her land
Her only inheritance; and heritage too
The woman dies of hunger and disease
The monster wags its tail in joy
Then turns back and leaves her
Unburied, unattended, unmourned
Left her for the hyena to do the rest.

*Corruption and bad governance is eating into the life of the citizens in Kenya ans many African Countries.*
"The hare and the hyena"
Stanley Mungai 

I can’t sit around the fire
To listen about the ogre
Who swallowed a whole village
The hare and the hyena
Because my forty years old Grandma
Pursues her Master’s degree.

Can you recall any mama?
Your eight-decade granny told
Of the times the animals spoke
So I can tell it to my daughter
And charge her to pass it on
Speak life to the ailing heritage,
Please mama,
Tell me a Story.

* In the old days, children used to sit around the fire and their grandmas would tell them Moral Stories. Times have changed and these days children watch Movies and Play video games that may impact negatively on their character. The Story-telling heritage is dying out.*
"The Hare and the Hyena"
Stanley Mungai 

I can't sit around the fire
To listen about the ogre
Who swallowed a whole village
The Hare and the Hyena
Because my forty years Grandma
Pursues her Masters degree.
Can you recall any Mama?
Your seven decade granny told
Of the times the Animals spoke
So I can tell it to my daughter
And charge her to pass it on
Speak life to the ailing heritage.
Please mama,
Tell me a Story.

".  That smile crept up.  A smile like a hyena."
Joel A Doetsch 

He was definitely dead.  That much could be gathered.  He was standing over
his own body, sixty feet away from the car.  fifty-nine feet away from  the
telephone pole.  The pool of blood on the blacktop was rippling from the
sheets of rain that were piercing it.  The rain bounced off of his lifeless eyes,
staring on into the cloudy sky.   His shocked expression was forever frozen on
his face.  He walked around the corpse, both fearful and excited.  He was dead.
...He was DEAD!  He was on the other side!  He looked around, searching
for the 'white light',  but all he found  was a man dressed in a ratty  trench coat
staring directly at him.  Rotting teeth smiled at him under a grungy  Fedora in
a way that reminded him of a jack-o-lantern carved into the likeness of Indiana
Jones that had been left out past Thanksgiving.  A withered hand beckoned him.

He was not hesitant.  He was not fearful.  

Those were emotions controlled by a brain that was currently about as useful as a
bag full of gelatin.  He strode forward and took the man's hand.  It was neither hot
nor cold.  They were no longer in the rain.  They were in a room with a large monitor
sitting in front of a station of various knobs, buttons, and switches.  A large leather
chair apathetically awaited use .  He was aware that none of these objects  actually
existed, because they were in the place where things don't exist.  Still, he sat down
and turned on the monitor.  He looked at the labels.  Some were obvious, such as
P L A Y,   P A U S E,  and  S T O P.  Others were strange and confusing like two
labeled F I R S T S  and  L A S T S.  He pressed the former.  A list appeared with
items as simple as "Kiss" to ones as specific as "Sprained Left Ankle in November".

He chose the former.

The screen went blank, then a video appeared.  It was a boy and a girl lying on a
hill on a blanket at the onset of dusk.  The boy he instantly recognized as himself.
The boy brushed his hand against hers.  She let him.  Fingers now entwined as
they stared at each other.  At the time it had felt like hours, but it was less than a
minute before lips pushed apart to make way for tongues.  His first kiss.  It didn't
take him long to figure out how the machine worked from that point on.  He spent
years going through every second of his life and reliving it from a new perspective.
It didn't matter, he had all the time that never was and never would be.  He saw his
mistakes and his triumphs, his loves and his heartbreaks.  Finally, he decided he was
finished.  It was time to go.  The man in the Fedora smiled.  Smiled that Cheshire smile

They were in a hallway.  It seemed to stretch for miles.  Every twenty paces or so, there
was a person, standing on a platform, obscured in darkness.  He walked to the first one.
A light flickered on.  It was his mother.  She looked like she did when he was a boy,
vibrant and full of life.  She never lost that, even as her body aged and her health declined,
she always had something to smile about.  He talked to this apparition of his mother.  
They talked for hours about his life, of random topics.  Things they had never had time
to talk about when they were both alive.  After some time, she gave him one of her wry
smiles.  He nodded and made his way to the next person.  His father.  He continued this
for quite some time.  He talked to everyone from his brother to a guy he used to get high
with in college.  Years passed as he said his final goodbyes to all the people in his life
that he had ever known.  All of them were happy for him.  All of them had something
to tell him that he had never known about them in life.  None of them were real.  When
he was done, he turned to the man in the fedora.  A smile.  A smile that had a personality
all its own, a smile that simultaneously showed compassion and seething hatred.

The last room.  No one said it was the last room, but it had that feeling of finality to it.
It was spartan, nothing in it except a marble floor that seemed to stretch for eternity in
every direction.  It probably did.  In front of him were two pedestals.  On each of those
pedestals was himself.  The one on the left was wearing a fine tailored suit, had radiating
skin and a smile that cameras feasted on.  The one on the right was a stark contrast.  The
teeth he had left were hanging lazily from the roots.  His hair that he had left was thin,
oily, and ridden with lice.  His mouth turned upwards in an insane grin that was only
matched by his thirsty, bloodshot eyes that seemed to bulge from his pockmarked skin

                                          They both spoke at once.

You were born on                                                              Y­ou were born on
July 3, 1985.  Your                                                      ­         July 3, 1985.  Your
parents fed your                                                             ­  mother died when you
curiosity at a young                                                           were 4.  Your father
age.  Your passion                                                          ­   turned to alcohol.  He
was art.  You painted                                                        to­ok his pain out on you.
your first work when                                                         You dropped out of    
you were nine.  By the                                                       high school and moved
time you were 16, you                                                        as far away from this
were renowned as a                                                            life­ as you could.  You
artistic prodigy.  You                                                    ­    quickly discovered a bad crowd.
attended the Art                                                              ­ You met a girl, Cindy.
Institute of Chicago                                                          ­ You got her pregnant.
on a full scholarship.                                                     ­      You started selling drugs
It was there that you                                                             to make ends meet
would meet Claire,                                                          ­     for your accidental family
your future wife. By                                                               It wasn't long before
the time you completed                                                        ­   You made a mistake
your school, every                                                            ­      and ended up in jail.
museum wanted a                                                                ­ years later, when you
piece of your work                                                             ­  were released
hanging in their gallery                                                        yo­u found that Cindy      
Your work would be                                                               had killed herself
remembered for                                                              ­      and your son.
hundreds of years after                                                     You had no job          
your death.  You had                                                          no skills
a wonderful family,                                                          ­     You spent your days
fame, fortune, and                                                              ­  doing odd jobs for
everything that came                                                             money.  Money that
with it.  You lived                                                            ­   You spent on drugs
until 89, where you                                                              ­Until the age of 45
died peacefully in                                                               Where you froze on a
your bed, surrounded                                                       ­   street corner, surrounded
by loved ones.  This                                                      ­         by human excrement.  This
is your life's best                                                             ­    is your life's worst
possible outcome                                                          ­     possible outcome

He nodded, then looked at the man in the fedora.  That smile crept up.  A smile like a hyena.
He snapped his fingers.  Two doors appeared.  One was Oaken and battered.  The grains
of wood barely visible over years of neglect.  The other door was new and had just been
painted with a fresh coat of sky blue paint.  

The man spoke for the first time.

This is the last decision you shall ever make.  The door on your left will lead you to the
afterlife, and the judgement that awaits you.  Whatever is decided, that is where you will
spend eternity.  The door on the right will allow you to be reborn as a new soul.  This one
will no longer exist.

He gave it a good long ponder.  Had he been good enough in life to pass the judgement?
What if he ended up in a hellish nightmare for the rest of eternity?  Could he do better
if he started fresh?  The thoughts swirled about him like a whirlwind until finally.

Years later

He chose.

The man in the fedora smiled.

I'm aware this isn't a poem.  It started off as one, but then I kept writing.
"hyena fur, elephant skin"
Kyle White 

I am made of Ruins
onion-cutting eyes, phantom limbs

I am made of odds and ends
hyena fur, elephant skin

I am made of bravery
swallowing knives, a kamikaze cause

If only I could mend all that I have torn apart
sew together every loose stitch or broken heart

but I am not made of miracles

"you can be my laughing hyena"
david badgerow 

I'll be your raindrop
if you'll be my window pane
I'll be your wet blouse
if you're caught in the rain

Be my asylum and
I'll be your criminally insane
I'll be your stock options
if you'll be my net gain

If you were my trap
I'd cordially be your reeking dead mouse
I could be your wrap-a-round porch
if you'd be my creeking old house

I'll be your idiot
if you'll be my quick thinker
You can be my Bud Lite,
I'll be your binge drinker

I'll be your loser
you can be my laughing hyena
You can be my cougar
and I'll gladly be your half-dead zebra

Be my sexual predator
I will be your self-defense class
I'll be your censorship and
you can just be your own sexy ass

"Your laughing hyena"
david badgerow 

Meet me here
at a quarter passed four
in the morning.
I'll be the boy
in the duck sauce t-shirt
you can wear your favorite
Lollipop skirt.
I'll have my my secret
Neutron bomb.
Your hips will be destroyed.
I'll pull my bright red wagon
and a handful of other toys.
I'll dance the flute
and play a jig
You can drink as many
Long island ice teas as you want
I'll be your rodeo clown
Your laughing hyena
Your pinstriped suit
Your Knight that you dream of.

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