"khartoum" poems
I wish you detox from drunken heights,
I’m jesus for today until my current shift ends
and the next one begins, after many nights,
in the garden centre of fallen south coast eden.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
People’s faces glitter as I go by,
memories of sinless youth,
for my hands blind with nostalgia,
that my being resurrects.
The child Lazarus scurries past my side,
to his home with his future in his hands,
in my hands, cupped wide.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
I can love the unfortunate,
for my fortune is golden.
Delivered in letters
from North, West, East.
My trinity circle who join me at my supper,
breaking the garlic bread and sipping the borello,
to top crab ravioli baptised in the stream of sauce.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
The gates of heaven are open,
unblocked by the deaths of Keats, Shelley and Williams,
their souls not blocking the exit with an Underground Queue.
I give my blessings to
Livingstone and Charles Gordon
The one native he changed and the others’ sacrifice at Khartoum
Gained me my crown to modestly flaunt.
Shine shine shine
Light of mine
For now everything’s just fine
I float down the hall, to His Mighty Voice,
as my gold becomes a donation on the alter,
to gain the choral hymns of Mercury gilded rock gods
that will brighten my days
for now,
oh glorious moments.
Amen.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
Mading relieves Manute from guard duty.
They share a meagre meal of millet porridge before
Manute returns to the refugee nation of southern Sudan.
The noon sun is a harsh sentence for a parched tongue but
they talk not of coffee or juice-laden fruit and
rice and lentils are mountain memories their stomachs can ill afford.
Instead they curse the clear skies that rain only strafing jets and
pray for their dry-breasted wives on pilgrimage to the aid station
carrying children swollen with the promise of death.
They snarl rumours about al-Bashir’s lapdogs
in Khartoum growing fat on food intended for them.
Jason waits, informed by cell phone of Laurie's imminent arrival.
He orders a wheat beer, its earth tone inviting on a silver tray and
its musky sweetness washing away a morning of phone business.
The noon sun is a warm blessing through the picture window but
they talk not of haloed hills or the light-laden river and
recession and retrenchment are market memories their ulcers can ill afford.
Instead they debate '63 cabernet versus '74 chablis and
moan about their reconstructed wives driving halfway across town
carrying children swollen with the promise of private schooling.
They snarl rumours about Key's cabinet
in Wellington while wolfing crayfish and Steak Diane.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
DAYS of the dead men, Danny.
Drum for the dead, drum on your
remembering heart.
Jaures, a great love-heart of France,
a slug of lead in the red valves.
Kitchener of Khartoum, tall, cold, proud,
a shark's mouthful.
Franz Josef, the old man of forty haunted
kingdoms, in a tomb with the Hapsburg
fathers, moths eating a green uniform
to tatters, worms taking all and leaving
only bones and gold buttons, bones and
iron crosses.
Jack London, Jim Riley, Verhaeren, riders to the republic of dreams.
Days of the dead, Danny.
Drum on your remembering heart.
1.3k
My beautiful Sudan
A proud Sudanese man and Sudan
Is truly beautiful and courageous
And strong feel the happiness
And love in Sudan all day long but sadly
The world has changed and so has our Beautiful Sudan and I'll watch you from far Away and I'm so scared for you all and I'll
Stop will pray for those who are suffering today
That this painful war will end tonight and I'm Sending love to everyone who's
Hurt and has passed away
In Sudan so try to keep safe and warm and Guide yourself through this horrible storm,
And when I think of
Sudan I'm filled with pride
And the love deep inside my
Heart and I shed a tear
For our brothers and sisters who've died and
The wind is blowing like a hurricane into the Frightening sights of war
And we all miss our home
Land and wish and pray you wouldn't fight Anymore so please think of me and
I'll be your light and I'll pray for everyone who's
Suffering in Sudan every day,
And so try and be strong I'm here for you all Day long and trust in yourself you'll know what To do I've seen bullets flying in Khartoum and
Our children are dying brave mother's crying And our men lay dead in streets and Sudan is Weeping spilling our children's blood
And I hope I'll see you all soon and we can be Free and be happy Sudanese people you and Me and when this ****** war is truly over and We all come home and we'll live forever in perfect harmony.
David P Carroll.
Apr 24, 2023
Apr 24, 2023 at 4:26 AM UTC
i have a time machine
in my head
a perk
of being human
and not yet being dead
called the default mode network
made by evolution
or by god
it tethers me to my self
in space
and engenders a temporal circumvolution
of my present place
in time
mostly the revolution's fine
but
sometimes
while in the past
i think of all my selfs that didn't last
or that never came to be
and feel a sadness
which presently cannot pass
of all the good that could
but isn't me
which the doctors call depression
and i
my own war of the austrian succession
in which the pain
of each ****** campaign
finally resolves in stalemate
of the brain
of memory and—
it's time to take the pills again:
SNRI
which stands for i no longer want to die
for now
for my dmn takes me away
to a future of everything that could still be
all the possibilities
for death for guilt for shame
is it insane
to forecast each day
a rain
of every way
to fail, and in failing stain
the sky which looms across tomorrow
or at least tomorrow as imagined
by the brain
in permanent gloom
or anxiety, the doctor's say
or weak besieged khartoum
the mahdi pounding on the walls
and we huddled starving in the dark
waiting every day for the end, violently
delayed but inevitable anyway, a massacre
of all
bodies laid one upon the other until they form a hill
their shadow paints me cold—
time for another pill:
SNRI
i no longer want to die
my time machine
my i
my perk of being human
of living and of having not yet died
time for another pill:
time travel
makes
me
ill
Apr 24, 2021
Apr 24, 2021 at 11:07 AM UTC
I called the University of Khartoum, Faculty of Administrative Sciences Last Year I am now 85 longitudinal burly Black Color
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC