"kenyans" poems
Algeria a rich land poor people,
Angola seems to have kings,
Benin is blessed with voodoo,
Botswana blood bulls diamonds,
Burkina Faso can't cope coups,
Burundi twelve years a slave,
Cape Verde has half a million,
Cameroon got cocoa,
Chad's lake is shrinking,
Comoros has under a million,
DRC is third largest,
Congo is it's neighbour with capitals facing,
Côte d'Ivoire has few elephants,
Djibouti's on the horn,
Egypt has mummy's,
Equatorial guinea struck oil in 95 but didn't loose change,
Eritrea has 5000 running annually,
Ethiopia's great rift is pretty ******
Gabon is subject to black gold,
Gambia got a peace of it after 65,
Great Ghana oasis of peace,
Guinea is diverse,
Bissau too,
Kenyans have beautiful smiles,
Lesotho is SA's baby,
Liberia oldest republic,
Libya needs liberty,
Madagascar where are the penguins!
Malawi has warm hearts,
Mali is 8th,
Mauritania is 11th,
Mauritius marvel,
Morocco fine leather,
Mozambique keeps the dugongs,
Namibia Windhoek ah,
Niger after a river,
Nigeria makes zuma rock,
Rwanda listen,
Sao tome and principe 2nd smallest,
Senegoals,
She sells Seychelles,
Sierra Leone free?
Somalia loose,
S. Africa reign,
South Sudan independent?
Sudan - black,
Swaziland more than solo men,
Tanzania trade,
Togo up down,
Two knees yeah,
Uganda teacher come simeon,
Zambia's peace?
Zimbabwe got rid of Mugabe.
Always thought zed was co.za but we're actually co.zm,
so what's zim?
One way we'll loose change is when the overseers begin to acknowledge the under looked.
-nyanta
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
**Whether it happens next... or this year
The vote
In memory of the last time I shed 'this tear'
And wrote... a piece
For the blood that flooded the streets
When in vain we sought
For calm... for peace
In a situation that was out of our control
A raging fire that almost engulfed and burnt all
When we all watched our motherland fall
Almost
When darkness threatened to blind all... or most...
Kenyans
When a neighbour would suddenly become a stranger... a ghost
Alien
Incited by the devil's seed
Damien
Brothers, sisters overcome by evil... greed
The same one...
That would then start a war... civil
And feed... off it
I, one individual Kenyan plead
That this time we say no to violence
We 'off it'
Let the disgruntled nurse his frustrations in silence
No blood for 'office'
And let us not get coaxed into foolish acts
To ourselves, we owe this
Let hatchets be buried away with the bones
Old ghosts can't haunt us
I shed a tear for peace this... or next year
Deaf ear to he that tries to taunt us
'Make the right choice'
I hope I reach many
And many hear my one voice
But this message cannot just be spread by me... so its 'we'
We can do it, and God wills it
Let it be
That we journey toward serenity
To a better tomorrow... come with me
The best way I can encourage my brothers and sisters
Is through poetry
For as a country and a culture we are destined to soar sky high
Thus... 'the pride of Africa'
We should always be
Peace.**
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 5:20 AM UTC
Germans, love to be funny
German-English, love to be friends
Trinis, love to work hard
English, love to talk loud
Bajan, love to travel
Hmong-Americans, love to look classy
Korean-English, love to hangout
Koreans, look good in "gangsta"
Tobagonians, love to give gifts
Americans, love fresh vegetables
Chinese-Americans, love butter biscuits
Canadians, don't know that one guy
Kenyans, love Ethiopian food
Guineans, are the best Arabic teachers
Jordanians, love Kentucky Fried chicken
Brazilians, love Trinidad
Brazilian-Americans, have 5 kids
Puerto Ricans, love Ecuadorians
Ecuadorians, love Puerto Ricans
Peruvian-Americans, love concert piano
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldret, Kenya;[email protected])
Do you remember one era in Kenya?
During the dark days of dictatorship
When Daniel arap Moi
Was the tyrannical president of Kenya
And darkness of leadership
Loomed like the dark clouds of el Niño
When forty district commissioners
Out of the total of forty two were kalenjins?
Whose main work was to spy and terrorize
As the people forlornly groaned under the heavy
Yoke of state terror of tribal torment
When the president claims that
He was not aware of such tyranny,
When we used to sing a lame poem
Of jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo! Jokoo!
On empty stomachs with no hope of food
No hope of jobs or even education
Street children swelling on the street
In total political nonchalance of arap Moi
As he only gave free milk to his own kalenjin youths
In Kabaraka schools, the Kabaraka school which was
Overfunded by the poor tax payers money,
Please President Uhuru Kenyatta as good as you are
With your dear humane heart of Bantu conscience
As you are armed to teeth with modern education
**** sapiens Gentility and polished diplomacy
Superb in quality of thought and supremacy of choices
The government of Kenya is yours and the people of Kenya
Are your political darlings, true bandwagons for ever
Kindly listen and buy my poemetics, my dear president
Remove Daniel Moi from the state house of Kenya,
Let not Daniel Moi be your adviser
Ignore him and embrace Kenyans
For common future happiness
Even if Daniel Moi is old, the truth is different
He is not a good man, he is full of Machiavelli
His full badness is measured in absurdity
Of terribly and horrendously crashed *** crushed
Testicles of poemcrats and political leaders
Of Kenya of yore and today,
Truth meted in When koigi wa wamwere became
A permanent staff of kamiti maximum prison without pension
Wangari Mathai beaten like an animal in a hunters trap
Ngugi wa Thiong’o jobless and detained without trial
Raila Amolo odinga’s testicles went missing
He looks for them on daily circadian
But once he nears their political pigeonhole
Then elections of the times flops, O! Poor Odinga!
President Uhuru Kenyatta with your suave intellect
You won’t get a pretext to say that
I was not aware or not informed
Please dear darling of the people
The people of Kenya in their 42 tribes
Novate Moi with the people
And your legacy will smile.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
A tear for peace is a tear worth shedding
‘Blood for peace’ is not
That’s just a selfish message sent out, a message written in red ink
This is as true as the sun is hot
A tear for peace is a tear for these streets
To disregard violence and cease…
The hate speech and incitement
That ugly place
That the tongues of certain guys went
While we were thinking… “Shut up! Please!”
I campaign for the indictment of these…
Former citizens and apparent ‘leaders’
Who relinquished their right to call themselves Kenyans the moment they decided to bleed us… literally
I root for he… or she that will bring sustenance and feed us
With that which we need most
And so I task him… or task her
With the responsibility of ensuring that Kenya as a country and as a people
Work tirelessly toward a better tomorrow and prosper
And let these hate campaigners find themselves behind bars
So they can get our message loud and clear
And I will celebrate in my own way, maybe step into a nice bar…
And buy myself a beer
But for now I will keep praying for peace and still shed that tear
And ask my fellow countrymen to join me in prayer
As we wait for next year.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
On the African savannah,
The mission brief had been simple.
Go in and find a Warthog.
The Americans had gone in and nuked the place,
Then claimed there had been none to begin with.
The Israelis against strong,
Local advice,
Had sent in Mossad,
Undercover.
-why go in, looking like food,
the lions had a field day-
The Africans, however,
Had not reported by nightfall,
So at daybreak a search party was launched.
They found three Kenyans surrounding a giraffe,
Spread-eagled securely to an Acacia tree.
The Sergeant-at-arms was taking notes,
Whilst his Officers flogged,
The poor thing screaming,
“Confess you’re a Warthog, confess!”
Jul 24, 2012
Jul 24, 2012 at 2:42 AM UTC
The fish comes steaming, and
English is not the only language making sense.
Politics comes with dark green vegetables spewing flavor,
Kenyans having lunch on the Boulevard,
Lakeshore,
– commitment is the idea that momentum cannot disrupt motion, that
Committed, one moves forward,
Becoming better,
Choosing beyond the sound
Of Americans,
Providing proof of the pudding, cavorting
Wildly,
With language, the idea that language is not owned, it is spoken –
Shoot beyond the target,
Make it count.
Marriage will not be left with men and women.
It has always cavorted with love.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
Words Heavy (Kiss Bukowski)
Drinking White Russians with Black Kenyans,
not joking you I was just in Ethiopia,
this it not a Haiku or a Love Poem,
this is gifted insanity like Jim Morrison,
no jealousy I’m already Seamus Heaney,
isn’t it ironic how we can be both depressed and happy,
like a ghost that won’t leave earth,
or a Self that’s over the hill but still tries to write ****
oh that’s touching,
like John Updike meeting E.E. Cummings,
not gay no way,
but I’d still kiss Charles Bukowski,
no bukkaki though,
because I’m a Simple Man and rather than,
bukkaki I’d probably like to make Love One on One,
I guess I’m New School and Old Fashion,
flirting with Death like I’ve already got my chips cashed in,
Life a Trip and can be a B!tch it depends on how you’re acting,
as an overwhelming sense of anxiety creeps into me,
like being Maya Angelou performing a show for the ****
a Civil Rights Superhero,
that makes Her point without any lustful thoughts of revenge,
presence light as a snowflake,
words heavy as the weight of the world on her back as it bends,
words heavy as the weight of the world on my will as it bends,
all the white watching my own show from the front row,
drinking White Russians with Black Kenyans,
joking I’m not joking,
I was just in Ethiopia,
this it not a Haiku or a Love Poem,
this is gifted insanity like Jim Morrison…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
I want to know more than one
Haitian
I want to know more than three
Jamaicans
I want to meet Nigerians that speak
Igbo
Kenyans that laugh at the Swahili I learned in Berkeley
Ugandans that correct my Mandarin
Tanzanians that teach me how to say it in Cantonese
I want to tour the holy city Ile-Ife
trace the pilgrimage path of Mansa Musa
then circle back to Timbuktu
See the reminders of Aksum
See the remainders of Kmt
Touch the Earth and envision the buildings that my ancestors constructed
thousands of years before they were invaded thousands of times
leaving the still standing walls that others never believed were thousands of years old
till their, “science” said so
I want to board a barge in the south and flow north with the Nile
I wonder what eight others will join me
I want to walk the same trail
that was the first trail
compare my foot print
to the first foot print
The vision I see
The things I want to do
The escape I want to take
Isnt one that is new
Its one that is old
so old that its in the blood
in the very fabric and design
of all that claim
Human
What I want is a realization
no
a reawakening
of my genetic inheritance
of my ancestral birthright
What calls me is the land so old
its true name
its original tongue
is the only
can only
be labeled
The First
There
that is what calls to me
There
that is what pushes me
that is the very intangible force that pulsates my heart
pumping the blood through my veins
That place that is forever older than old
yet
In a constant state of
Reconstruction
Recreation
Revelation
Renovation
Revitalization
Revolution
I want to breath the air in that place that is always in a state of newness
I want to feel the frequency in that place
where there are as many words for new
as there are people to speak them
That is the place
That is the space
That is
© Christopher F. Brown 2015
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
*yeah, let's compose the alphabet in music for each letter we try to sound like a wine bottle cork unplugged from vintage; it won't work, i known, but it might get a few skidding on gizmo go go, trying to democratise iran: try turning iran sunni first, you, you defrosted snowman worth a carrot and two chalk coal ******** writing: hardboiled into sight of believable. oh here comes a white man talking privy aloud with the rapper loosing breath, but keeping it up and replacing the pelvic hinges with easy, drool, rhymes; a kind of rubric tablature of scores for rodeo with alternative sounds to: moo, ow, ah, broomstick shoo, take the cow for a milking home from the dead bull dazzled into genesis on t.v.; or that other literati spectator sport of not reading but talking oneself into academic bibliography for an intro.*
the great thing about being an alcoholic...
you never quiet know
when you're drunk or hungover;
but it makes up for great twilight sunsets
pooh lonely; ah ooh smooch -
kisses a honey stick stuck to ****
in a hollywood crescendo of
paparazzi and applause;
and anorexia; and dyslexic oiling for a facelift:
that's called smiling i have you know -
enter michael jackson - hippie hip he;
if i die aged thirty, i'll be happy to have
been frisky twenty-nine into a thong.
*or, alt., tell ****** about the swimming pool and the tadpole kenyans sprinting into impregnated landownerships of priests: sounds like this: pst - herr führer - die schwimmin poolst erst niener jessy ovens geeignet. no one said that african buttocks couldn't bayou the ships ashore, but they did; what?! i'm not the 12" dangle! you keep up racism, i'll keep up mozart's austria; alt. please see how censoring adjectives in relation to objects gives you a false moral subjectivity that's only a matter of pleasantries.*
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
Sometimes I want to throw chimes at your head so that maybe you'll respond on a high note. Your words are silence on speed, morphed to seep through the air on a mission from the icy depths of rejection. I'm not sure how things turn so quickly, but they do and I'm not one to question the universe. It's been around for a lot longer than I have. Your superiority complex has a complex of it's own, I've never seen an ego as big as yours high on anger. Cut back on the steroids meat-head.
I just get so **** angry that I always have to be the bigger person. These shoes are too big. I want baby feet and baby shoes to go along with. I'm not ready to give up my grade school ways, yet I already have. **** you for having stubbornness stronger than mine. I lose in every contest we have. Yet another first place ribbon I can pin onto your gorgeous chest. ***** you for being so **** good looking. I just want to throw ugly on your face and hope it sticks, maybe lick it off later when I don't hate you so much. You make me sick.
I can go zero to ten in seconds flat, Kenyans don't have **** on me, my soles run down to a millimeter thin. I've got a headache just piecing together the puzzle that is your behavior. You're dancing circles around me and it's making my head spin. What used to be my angel is the very thing making me beg I had one. God must be laughing because I tell you what, I'm burning at both ends. I feel like you've taken me and shook me out, spun me around and shook me again, holding me by my pleading and sensitivity, you ring me out like a soaking cloth. I'm withering away, blowing in the wind, scattered--
I can't take this **** anymore. You burn through me. I want to puke my guts from my stomach and rid myself of every word you say that I soak up like a ******* sponge.
I can't take it anymore.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:40 PM UTC
Have you ever heard of a woman so strong she could be David's daughter
So wise, King Solomon was surely her instructor?
Have you ever felt more joy than Noah at the sight of his doves' fig tree
Or happy as Mary was when she looked down at her blessing from above?
This is to me, my mother
Have you ever been shown love and compassion mirroring Mother Theresa's grace
Or joined with someone in pure merry and bliss as Kenyans were when the United States elected Obama?
Have you ever received endless love and support from a woman who grew up with so little?
Have you ever thought to yourself, as God blessed the people of Jerusalem with a Star, you have been blessed with one shinning bright one?
This is my mother.
Have you ever felt that there was only one person in the world who would truly be there for you at the end of the day?
Have you ever felt that God truly loves you because the possibilities of not having not only a mother, but this mother in your life are unfathomable?
Have you ever felt speechless and wordless towards the love and grace just one person has shown you?
Have you ever felt engulfed in a sea of God's gift...God's light?
You have never felt this way unless you have met my mother
God's blessings sometimes stuns us.
I believe my biggest surprise is the love He showed me by giving me someone like you.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
Into the swirling Summer's gale,
Arms flailing to and fro;
Legs churning on the blacktop trail,
And miles of road to go.
Four months the mighty muscles screamed
Like torture on the Bay;
The price of every Patriot's dream,
And records blown away.
Four Kenyans storm into the lead
That stretched with every stride;
Four million raised for souls in need,
And hearts infused with pride.
The dreaded wall atop the hill
Where only eagles dare;
Two hooded heathens dressed to ****
And hope erupts in fear.
The virtual space of every room
From Boston to Belfast,
Explodes like meteors on the Moon,
And Twitter's horns on blast.
A line that many never cross
From civil creed to hate
Define the lives we live and lost,
And freedom swings the gate.
Into the swirling Summer's gale,
Arms flailing to and fro;
Legs churning on the blacktop trail,
And miles of road to go.
~ P
(4/16/2013)
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
You came back in 1968
from teaching Kenyans
to speak English
to teach Americans
how to see the world.
A nine-year-old boy
was in your fifth-grade class,
precocious, gifted
and quite full of himself
and ignorance.
It was magical, that connection;
the world-wise teacher
and the barely contained
bolt of potential.
It was his only year of school
where he never missed a day
or dropped a class.
Amazing how subtle,
blunt and gentle you were with him,
tapping walls of arrogance
with a wrecking ball,
allowing him to maintain
his structure
while rocking and rebuilding
his foundation.
You saw the boy
who danced on the the tightrope
between genius and insanity...
and quietly fed the jukebox.
He wanted to write;
you gave him Frost and cummings.
He yearned to draw;
you showed him Van Gogh.
He thirsted to learn;
you taught him how
to slake his parched mind.
He left your classroom,
but you continued to teach him.
You still do,
nearly fifty years later.
The last time he saw you,
he hurt you,
in that casual,
caustic way
of the high-school senior.
Still, when his nieces and nephews
with his last name
passed through,
you'd ask them
how he was doing,
and asked them to tell him
to stop in, or call.
He never did,
so he's now reduced
to offering words
you would have loved to read
in their full futility
telling you
that you
are
immortal.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
I think Kenyan politics like love is blind
And we are just visually impaired beggars
Waiting to be given crumbs and the leftovers
As the true 'nation owners'
Share the bigger pie, with greed and 'honor'
I get sick every time i get to watch this sequel
With too much unending repetition
Impersonation
Individualization
With despots ruling the nation.
We've totally failed as a people
Always ready to criticize
But never determined to see through
Always ready to fight
When it's us with huge dues
Protecting our own
When it's them that get huge!
Someone told me to vote to eradicate
The rot
That through my vote
Maybe there will be change in the lot
And the true will get afloat
But I'll have to disappoint,
In a system this rogue
To vote i will not!
No need to confront
Let me express the systems faults.
Politicians fighting for supremacy
The bigwigs protecting there lame legacy
Whilst people in the north are hunger stricken
And the system blames the weather for its wickedness
Corruption levels are beyond explanations
With money for development disappearing in the boardrooms
Leaving unemployed Youths struggling to bet on their livelihoods
In a system this rogue
To vote i will note
When the main agenda in Kenyan shows
Is politics
And who will get to be the kingpin of all
When the Chinese are taking over our plots
Leaving Kenyans at their mercies with no hope
When it's huge loans that are borrowed
But no track record or development to show
And that's just a piece
Of the iceberg that we've crushed in
Breaking the system to bits
The system is sick
But again we are blind
And not even struggling to see
I wonder what miracles we'll need
Just to put the system to speed
But still
In a system so rogue
To vote i will not!
Akwana Wa Odera
@the_real_akwana
© 2019
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 3:08 AM UTC
You came back in 1968
from teaching Kenyans
to speak English
to teach Americans
how to see the world.
A nine-year-old boy
was in your fifth-grade class,
precocious, gifted
and quite full of himself
and ignorance.
It was magical, that connection;
the world-wise teacher
and the barely contained
bolt of potential.
It was his only year of school
where he never missed a day
or dropped a class.
Amazing how subtle,
blunt and gentle you were with him,
tapping walls of arrogance
with a wrecking ball,
allowing him to maintain
his structure
while rocking and rebuilding
his foundation.
You saw the boy
who danced on the the tightrope
between genius and insanity...
and quietly fed the jukebox.
He wanted to write;
you gave him Frost and cummings.
He yearned to draw;
you showed him Van Gogh.
He thirsted to learn;
you taught him how
to slake his parched mind.
He left your classroom,
but you continued to teach him.
You still do,
nearly fifty years later.
The last time he saw you,
he hurt you,
in that casual,
caustic way
of the high-school senior.
Still, when his nieces and nephews
with his last name
passed through,
you'd ask them
how he was doing,
and asked them to tell him
to stop in, or call.
He never did,
so he's now reduced
to offering words
you would have loved to read
in their full futility
telling you
that you
are
immortal.
Jul 23, 2020
Jul 23, 2020 at 5:08 PM UTC
a 1992 film? **** me, what could it be?
oh wait, i know...
white men can't jump...
they should have a sequal to that ****
titled, black men can't swim...
or at least give them a slot
in the para-olympics. **** you!
how about you jump into a jacuzzi
with a bunch of japanese macaques,
and take baby steps... like... treading water...
white boy over here,
can float in a swimming pool,
fully extended, lying down...
like a full-fat piece of ****
i fuck-as-hell someone has the ***** to make
a film, entitled black men can't swim;
**** just sinks... or belongs with
the para-olympians from kazahstan
with... hopefully two legs, and one arm;
yes! yes! it would be ****** to compete
with an anchor's worth of torso, and no limbs.
well... they can run... for sure...
all the excess ******* endowment the white
girl like to exploint for one night stands...
well... a massive buttocks as shown by
black girls... **** me... that'll get you
sprinting, up to the speed, of a cheetah!
you really need buttock fat to move
those legs like that...
wait wait... why are all the kenyans
and ethiopans, the anorexics of the black
species?
every time i watch them at the olympics
i'm starting to imagine the holocaust,
cocentration camps, jews, picking up pebbles
and rocks, and saying:
this ought to be a coin (pebble) and this
out to be a banknote (rock)...
i'd love to write something on l.s.d.,
but this is already equivalent to l.s.d.
big *** big ****
run forest! run!
fair enough for the trans-ethnic one-night
stands... if i could do it with a black girl with a tiny
*** a white girl can do it with
a massive elephant trunk...
i'm not bothered... i got my ***
&... my sense of humour.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC