Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ISSAI MASHINGO Jun 2014
NAKUSHUKURU
Baba nakushukuru kwa kunipa uhai hata sasa,
Nashukuru kwa kunisamehe na kunitakasa,
Nashukuru kwa kuwa ulikufa kwa ajili yangu,
Nashukuru kwani ulinibariki toka tumboni mwa mama yangu,
Nashukuru unanipenda hata na mapungufu yangu,
Nashukuru kwa kuwa unanilinda kutoka na kuingia kwangu,
Lihimidiwe jina lako YEHOVA hakuna kama wewe,
Mungu kwa kuwa hakuna kinachoweza kulinganishwa na upendo wako,
Hakuna kinachoweza kulinganishwa na wema wako,
Je ni mwanadamu gani awezaye kufa kwa ajili ya asimjua?
Ni nani awezaye kukubali kuteseka kwa niaba ya yule amchukiaye?
Ni nani awezaye kuuweka chini uhai wake kwa ajili ya adui yake?
ISSAI MASHINGO Jun 2014
Taifa haliwezi kuwa na maendeleo ikosekanapo hekima,
Nchi haiwezi kuwa na chakula pasipo wakulima,
Jamii haiwezi pata maendeleo pasipo kujituma,
Siasa yetu leo ni ya kuwasha na kuzima,
Maneno yasemwayo hayaingii akilini mwa mtu mzima,
Madaraka wanajipatia na vyeo kwa lazima,
Hawajali ya jana wala leo wanajali shibe yao,
Wanalimbikiza mali kwa miradi ya wanao,
Wanaikandamiza haki kwa kutumia elimu yao,
Demokrasia imekuwa kinga yao dhidi ya ufisadi wao,
Siasa imekuwa nyimbo tena zile za mwambao,
Wakisemana kwa mafumbo wanajuana wao,
Wanakaa majukwaani na makubwa yao matumbo,
Mzee alisema fumbo mfumbie mjinga,
Busara na hekima ni kumsikiliza anaye kupinga,
Maana hoja zake zawezekana zikawa za kujenga,
Utajuaje siri ya adui yako bila kumpenda,
Kamwe huwezi kushinda mechi kwa kujua kupiga chenga,
Kamwe huwezi kuwa na nguvu kwa kujitenga,
Naomba tukazane nchi yetu kuijenga,
Tukipamba na maadui maradhi umasikini na ujinga,
Sio kuyasifia mema ili madhaifu kuyapamba,
Ila ukweli kuusema bali tukitumia hekima,
Ikosekanapo kamba huwezi teka maji yakisima,
Ikosekanapo nanga huzamisha meli nzima,
Kuwa na vingi si kuishi kwa kujinyima,
Unapojenga msingi katu huwezi kurudi nyuma,
Mkulima mzuri hutegemea mbivu kuzichuma,
Yule aliye mvivu kamwe hawezi kujituma,
Daima yeye aliye msikivu hujifunza na kuelewa,
Ila Yule aliye mvivu hutegemea ngekewa,
Wanasiasa hulalamika kana kwaamba wanaonewa,
Ukweli ni kwamba wanatumia vibaya uhuru waliopewa,
Daima taifa haliwezi endelea ikosekanapo hekima.
© issai
written in my native language or i should say  my mother tongue the language used is Swahili which is my national language am a Tanzanian for those who don't know where that is found its found its in East Africa if there is an option of translating this please do its a good poem and its my first since i have started writing poetry i have never used Swahili this is my first poem in Swahili.........!!!!!
PETTY POET Jul 2020
Before uende tizi,usikule ndizi,that could make you feel uneasy,nowadays injili naspread bila bibles,the only player kwa hii game anacheza na bi-*****,hii si  kujichocha ni  vile skills nimeobtain kwa makocha,luku safi na maganji kwa toja,na hi I dunia ni ya sir God so kaa unategea downfall yangu my friend utangoja.

Art inatoka kwa heart,PETTY POET is about to change ile narrative imekuwepo,my lines are full of flavour kaa ni diss unapokea kichapo,ni  heri uko mnaeza kula vako,huku kumekauka kuliko kichwa ya babu owino,na Jana na Leo mayutt daily ni  kilio,promises hamfulfill kisha kwa mbulu unabrag venye  uko na spirit ya kuokolea,zote mauongo,I wish ningekuwa na kalamu ni-underline na rangi iliyokolea.

Kama ni  uhondo unatafuta songea,si kubrag ni course ya success nilisomea,daily  nikiota nagrow ka mmea,kila mtu  ana-views tofauti huwezi sikia nikikusemea,ukibehave abnormally tunakutreat normally,si  wasapere pekee wanapenda mali ata  mayoh utaskia wakisema no-mali,

Hii time short nimespend apa  nilikuwa na blessings za mama no wonder sijastammer,kama nimekubamba scratch kwa tenje uniseti stage name sijaplan kuhama.
Follow PETTY POET on;
YouTube;PETTY POET
Instagram;POET_PETTY
Twitter;@PETTY POET
Facebook;https://www.facebook.com/105361811084811/posts/157686379185687/?app=fbl
Writco.com;PETTY POET
Mdundo.com;PETTY POET
Whatsapp/tell;0781967348
Tell2;0713434887
John F McCullagh Jun 2018
Mtu mweusi mweusi, katika mwezi mkali wa moto,
ameketi katika kivuli cha mti wa Baobab.
Majani yaliyomo mara moja
walikuwa kavu na ukame,
waathirika wa upepo wa mabadiliko.

"Wazee, wananiita zamani." Alidhani,
"Majira ya joto ya sabini yanigeuka kijivu,
lakini mti huu wa Baobab ulikua mrefu na wenye nguvu
Wakati majeshi ya Kirumi yalipitia njia hii. "

Mzee huyo alitafuta matunda ya baobab
na akaingia kwenye hali kama hali.
Alikuwa katika hali ya akili;
Sio usingizi, sio macho kabisa.

Aliposikia sauti: "Nina kiu." Ilisema,
Ingawa alikuwa na uhakika alikuwa peke yake.
Ilionekana si sauti ya binadamu:
monotone kavu ya ubongo.

"Kwa vizazi, wanaume kama wewe
Walitaka makazi yangu kutoka kwenye jua,
Lakini sasa imekamilika; nchi imeharibika
Na mimi nina kufa, mdogo. "

Mtu mzee alilia kusikia maneno haya
Kwa maana miti hizi zinapokufa, kama lazima,
Wao huanguka juu ya ardhi yenye ubongo
Hivyo haraka kurudi kwenye Vumbi.

"Dunia imebadilika kwa wewe na mimi,
Upepo ni kavu chini ya jua.
Ninasamehe ulimwengu wa wanadamu
Kwa maana hawajui waliyofanya. "

Mtu mzee aliamka na mwanzo
na akainua na miwa yake.
Alilia kwa kufikiri mti huu utafa

lakini machozi hawezi kuchukua nafasi ya mvua.
Mti Baobab huitwa "Mti wa Uzima" kwa ajili ya matunda mengi ya virutubisho ambayo hutoa wakati wa kavu Afrika. Kama hali ya hewa ya bara inabadilika na uharibifu wa jangwa unafanyika, miti ya zamani zaidi ya miti inakufa kwa kiu
Song one
This is a song about tarzanic love
That subsisted some years ago,
As a love duel between an English girl and an African ogre,
There was an English girl hailing along the banks of river Thames
She had stubbornly refused all offers for marriage,
From all the local English boys, both rich and poor
tall and short, weak or strong, ugly and comely in the eye,
the girl had refused and sternly refused the treats for love,
She was disciplined to her callous pursuit of her dream
to marry a mysterious,fantastic,lively,original and extra-ordinary man,
That no other woman in history of human marriage ever married,
She came from London, near the banks of river Thames,
Her name was Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill, daughter of a peasant,
She came from a humble English family, which hustled often
For food, clothing, and other calls that make one an ordinary British,
She grew up without a local boy friend, anywhere in the English world,
She is the first English girl to knock the age of forty five while a ******,
She never got deflowered in her teens as other English girls usually do
She preserved her purse with maximal carefulness in her wait for a black man,
Her father, of course a peasant, his trade was human barber and horse shearer,
Often asked her what she wants in life before her marriage, which man she really wanted,
Her specification was an open eyesore to her father; no blinkers could stave the father’s pale
For she wanted a black tall man, strong and ruggedly dark in the skin, must own a kingdom,
Fables taken to her from Africa were that such an African man was only one but none else,
His glorious name was Akhatembete kho bwibo khakhalikha no bwoya,
When the English girl heard the chimerical name of her potential husband,
She felt a super bliss in her spine; she yearned for the day of her rendezvous,
She crashed into desperate burning for true English love
With a man with a wonderful name like Akhatembete kho bwibo khakhalikha no bwoya.


Song two

Rumours of this English despair and dilemma for love reached Africa, in the wrong ears,
Not the human ears, but unfortunately the ears of the ogres, seasoned in the evil art,
It was received and treated as classified information among the African ogress,
They prevented this news to leak to African humans at all at all
Lest humans enjoy their human status and enjoy most
The love in the offing from the English girl,
They thus swiftly plotted and ployed
To lure and win the ******
From royal land;
England.




Song three

Firstly, the African ogres recruited one of their own
The most handsome middle aged male ogre, more handsome than all in humanity,
And of course African ogres are beautiful and handsome than African humans, no match,
The ogres are more gifted in stature, physique, eugenics and general overtures
They always outplay African humans on matters of intelligence, they are shrewder,
Ogres are aggressive and swashbuckling in manners; fear is none of their domain
Craft and slyness is their breakfast, super is the result; success, whether pyrrhic or Byronic,
Is their sweetest dish, they then schemed to get the English girl at whatever cost,
They made a move to name one of their fellow ogres the name of dream man;
Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha no bwoya,
Which an English girl wanted,
By viciously naming one of their handsome middle-aged man this name.

Song four

Then they set off 0n foot, from Congo moving to the north towards Europe abode England,
Where the beautiful girl of the times, Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill hail,
They were three of them, walking funnily in cyclopic steps of African ogres,
Keeping themselves humorously high by feigning how they will dupe the girl,
How they will slyly decoy the English village pumpkin of the girl in to their trap,
And effortlessly make her walk on foot from England to Africa, in pursuit of love
On this muse and sweet wistfulness they broke out into loud gewgaws of laughter,
In such emotional bliss they now jump up wildly forgetting about their tails
Which they initially stuffed inside white long trousers, tails now wag and flag crazily,
Feats of such wild emotions gave the ogres superhuman synergy to walk cyclopically,
A couple of their strides made them to cross Uganda, Kenya, Somali, Ethiopia and Egypt
Just but in few days, as sometimes they ran in violent stampedes
Singing in a cryptic language the funny ogres songs;

Dada wu ndolelee!
Dada wu ndolelee!
Kuyuni kwa mnja
Sa kwingile khundilila !

Ehe kuyuni Mulie!
Ehe kuyuni mulie!
Omukhana oyo
Kaloba khuja lilia !
They then laughed loudly, farted cacophonously and jumped wildly, as if possessed,
They used happiness and raucous joy as a strategy to walk miles and miles
Which you cover when moving on foot from Congo to England,
They finally crossed Morocco and walked into Europe,
They by-passed Italy and Spain walking piecemeal
into England, native land of the beautiful girl.

Song  five

When the three ogres reached England, they were all surprised
Every woman and man was white; people of England walked slowly and gently
They made minimum noise, no shouting publicly on the street,
a stark contrast to human behaviour and ogre culture in Africa, very rambunctious,
Before they acclimatized to disorderly life in England, an over-sighted upset befell them
Piling and piling menace of pressure to ****,
Gripped all the three ogre brothers the same time,
None of them had knowledge of municipal utilities,
They all wanted to micturated openly
Had it not been beautiful English girls
Ceaselessly thronging the streets.



Song six

They persevered and moved on in expectation of coming to the end,
Out-skirt of the strange English town so that they can get a woodlot,
From where they could hide behind to do open defecation
All was in vain; they never came to any end of the English town,
Neither did they come by a tumbled-down house
No cul de sac was in sight, only endless highway,
Sandwiched between tall skyscraping buildings,
One of the ogres came up with an idea, to drip the ****
Drop by drop in their *******, as they walk to their destiny,
They all laughed but not loudly, in controlled giggles
And executed the idea minus haste.

Song seven

They finally came down to the banks of river Thames,
Identified the home of Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill
The home had neither main gate nor metallic doors,
They entered the home walking in humble majesty,
Typical of racketeering ogre, in a swindling act,
The home was silent, no one in sight to talk to
The ogres nudged one another, repressing the mirth,
Hunchbacked English lass surfaced, suddenly materialized
Looking with a sparkle in the eye, talking pristine English,
Like that one written by Geoffrey Chaucer, her words were as piffling
As speech of a mad woman at the fish market, ogres looked at her in askance.

Song eight

An ogre with name Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya opened to talk,
Asked the girl where could be the latrine pits, for micturation only,
The hunchbacked lass gave them a direction to the toilets inside the house,
She did it in a full dint of English elegance and gentility,
But all the ogres were discombobulated to their peak
about the English latrine pit inside the house,
they all went into the toilet at the same time,
to the chagrin of the hunchbacked lass
she had never seen such in England
she struggled a lot
to repress her mirth
as the English
never get amused
at folly.




Song nine

It is a tradition among the ogres to ****,
Whenever they are ******* in the African bush,
But now the ogres are in a fix, a beautiful fix of their life
If at all they ****, the flatulent cacophony will be heard outside
By the curious eavesdroppers under the eaves of the house,
They murmured among themselves to tighten their **** muscles
So that they can micturated without usual African accomplice; the tweeee!
All succeeded to manage , other than Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
Who urinated but with a low tziiiiiiii sound from his ***, they didn’t laugh
Ogres walked out of privities relaxed like a catholic faithful swallowing a sacrament,
The hunchback girl ushered them to where they were to sit, in the common room
They all sat with air of calm on their face, Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
led the conversation, by announcing to the girl that he is Victoria’s visitor from Africa,
To which the girl responded with caution that Victoria is at the barbershop,
Giving hand to her father in shearing the horses, and thus she is busy,
No one is allowed to meet her, at that particular hour of the day
But he pleaded to the hunchback girl only to pass tidings to Victoria,
That Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya from Africa
Has arrived and he is yearning to meet her today and now,
The girl went bananas on hearing the name
The hunch on her back visibly shook,
Is like she had heard the name often,
She then became prudent in her senses,
And asked the visitor not to make anything—
Near a cat’s paw out of her person,
She implored the visitor to confirm
if at all he was what he was saying
to which he confirmed in affirmation,
then she went out swiftly
like a tail of the snake,
to pass tidings
to her sister
Victoria.


Song ten
She went out shouting her sister’s name,
A rare case to happen in England,
One to make noise in the broad day light,
With no permission from the local leadership,
She called and ululated Victoria’ name for Victoria to hear
From wherever she was, of which she heard and responded;
What is the matter my dear little sister? What ails you?
Akhatembete Khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya is around!
She responded back in voice disturbed by emotional uproar,
What! My sister why do you cheat me in such a day time?
Am not cheating you my sister, he is around sited in our father’s house,
Is he? Have you given him a drink, a sweet European brandy?
My sister I have not, I feared that I may mess up your visitors
With my hunched shoulders, I feared sister forbid,
Ok, I am coming, running there, tell him to be patient,
Let me tell him sister just right now,
And make sure you come before his patience is stretched.





Song eleven

Victoria Goodhamlet Lovehill almost went berserk
On getting this good tidings about the watershed presence,
Of the long awaited suitor, her face exploded into vivacity,
Her heart palpitating on imagination of finally getting the husband,
She went out of the barber shop running and ululating,
Leaving her father behind, confounded and agape,
She came running towards her father’s main house
Where the suitor is sited, with the chaperons,
She came kicking her father’s animals to death,
Harvesting each and every fruit, for the suitor,
She did marvel before she reached where the suitor was;
Harvested ten bananas, mangoes and avocadoes,
Plums, pepper, watermelons, lemons and oranges,
She kicked dead five chicken, five goats, rams,
Swine, rabbits, rats, pigeons and hornbills,
When she reached the house, she inquired to know,
Who among them could be the one; Akhatembete Khobwibo
Khakhalikha no bwoya, But her English vocals were not guttural enough,
She instead asked, who among you is a key tempter go weevil car no lawyer?
The decoy ogre promptly responded; here I am the queen of my heart. He stood up,
Victoria took the ogre into her arms, whining; babie! Babie, babie, come!
Victoria carried the ogre swiftly in her arms, to her tidy bed room,
She placed the ogre on her bed, kissed one another at a rate of hundred,
Or more kisses per a minute, the kissing sent both of them crazy, but spiritual craft,
That gave the ogre a boon to maintain some sobriety, but libido of virginity held Victoria
In boonless state of ****** feat, defenseless and impaired in judgment
It extremely beclouded her judgment; she removed and pulled of their clothes,
Libidinous feat blurring her sight from seeing the scarlet tail projecting
From between the buttocks of the ogre, vestige of *******,
She forcefully took the ogre into her arms, putting the ogre between her legs,
The ogre’s uncircumcised ***** effectively penetrated Victoria’s ****** purse,
The ogre broke virginity of Victoria, making her to feel maximum warmth of pleasure
As it released its germinal seed into her body, ecstasy gripped her until she fainted,
The ogre erected more on its first *******; its ***** became more stiff and sharp,
It never pulled out its ***** from the purse of Victoria, instead it introduced further
Deeper and deeper into Victoria’s ******, reaching the ****** depth inside her with gusto,
Victoria screamed, wailed, farted, scratched, threw her neck, kissed crazily and ******,
On the rhythms of the ogre’s waist gyrations, it was maximum pleasure to Victoria,
She reached her second ****** before the ogre; it took further one hour before releasing,
Victoria was beaten; she thought she was not in England in her father’s house
She thought she was in Timbuktu riding on a mosquito to Eldorado,
Where she could not be found by her father whatsoever,
The ogre pulled Victoria up, helped her to dress up,
She begged that they go back to the common room,
Lest her father finds them here, he would quarrel,
They went back to the common room,
Found her father talking to other two ogres,
She shouted to her father before anyone else,
That ‘father I have been showing him around our house,’
‘He has fallen in love with our house; he is passionate about it,’
Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya was shy,
He greeted the father and resumed his chair, with wryly dignity.


Song twelve
An impromptu festival took place,
Fully funded by the father of Victoria,
There was meat of all type from pork to chicken,
Greens were also there in plenty, pepper and watermelons,
Victoria’s mother remembered to prepare tripe of a goat
For the key visitant who was the suitor; Akhatembete,
Food was laid before the ogres to enjoy themselves,
As all others went to the other house for a brainstorming session,
But the hunched backed girl hid herself behind the door,
To admire the food which visitors were devouring,
As she also spied on the table manners of the visitors, for stories to be shared,
Perhaps between herself and her mother, when visitors are gone,
Some sub-human manners unfolded to her as she spied,
One of the ogres swallowed a spoon and a table fork,
And Akhatembete khobwibo khakhalikha nobwoya,
Uncontrollably unstuffed his scarlet tail from the trouser,
The chill crawled up the spine of hunchbacked girl,
She almost shouted from her hideout, but she restrained herself,
She swore to herself to tell her father that the visitors are not humans
They are superhuman, Tarzans or mermaids or the werewolves,
The ogre who swallowed the spoon remorsefully tried to puke it back,
Lest the hosts discover the missing spoon and cause brouhaha,
It was difficult to puke out the spoon; it had already flowed into the stomach,
Victoria, her father, her mother and her friend Anastasia,
Anastasia; another English girl from the neighborhood,
Whom Victoria had fished, to work for her as a best maid, as a chaperon,
Went back to the house where the ogres had already finished eating,
They found ogres sitting idle squirming and flitting in their chairs
As if no food had ever been presented to them in a short while ago,
One ogre even shamelessly yawned, blinking his eyes like a snake,
They all forgot to say thanks for the food, no thanks for lunch,
But instead Akhatembete announced on behalf of other ogres,
That they should be allowed to go as they are late for something,
A behaviour so sub-human, given they were suitors to an English family,
Victoria’s father was uneasy, was irritated but he had no otherwise,
For he was desperate to have her daughter Victoria get married,
He had nothing to say but only to ask his daughter, Victoria,
If she was going right-away with her suitor or not,
To which she violently answered yes I am going with him,
Victoria’s mother kept mum, she only shot miserable glances
From one corner of the house to another, to the ogres also,
She totally said nothing, as Victoria was predictably violent
To any gainsayer in relation to her occasion of the moment,
Victoria’s father wished them all well in their life,
And permitted Victoria to go and have good life,
With Akhatembete, her suitor she had yearned for with equanimity,
Victoria was so confused with joy; her day of marriage is beholden,
She hurriedly packed up as if being chased by a monster,
PETTY POET Sep 2020
NI SAHII*
Nimekuwa silent for a while waka-confuse kuhang boots na a short break,huwezi nipata bar no wonder bars zangu ziko so-bar,black supremacy... Niko na connection na maraga ndio maana akanipea hii ko-r-ti,ni  poet petty siku hizi na-weigh content si  value ya suti,apart from kutema visiriaz,nacheza guitar na at times isukutti,kaa ni kisima,si  unajua obvious hii_ siikuti,

Daily na hood niite mya-hoodie,ni  due to public demand so sikuwa na budi,nilipretend kunguru ndio nipate hizo white collar jobs,na nikasema sitadiss king rabbit ndio unispot kaka,aty petty ameomoka?,si aitane basi sherehe ya kukata na shoka,kaa ni breko naamkia konyangi,na hii  dry spell uko sure hunyongangi?.

Hii class kila mtu  huchoma tuko high class,heri  uko mnakula vako,huku kumekauka kuliko kichwa ya babu owino,dawa ya wivu nakuandikia eno,situmii smartphone natumia phone smart,only call sina  time ya kuchat,ambia smart joker jokes zake huwa joked smart,

Walisema sikio la kufa halisikii dawa,acha nijaribu tena  MARA MOJA, thanks to corona for the first time mluhya anaoga mkono na si  ugali anakula,na petty unatema hata  mtu  haezi sema,ni  venye alikuwa na vinyasa mbili so nikamwomba sho-r-t
moja,na petty pieces zako huniacha in pieces,hizo ndio comments nareply,juz for teases,

Na kama corona shida zangu huwezi zicough out kwa public,natumia mouth piece ya scimo na Leo hatubongi za mitaro na toothpicks,na kuna chizi flani  ananukia colon na hii corona huwezi sema kwa mama mboga iko loan,na kama ni  lyrics nauza hii itabidi umechomoa mita,na before niachilie mic,kumbuka sonko alisema social distance ni  ya one metre,sihang suspenders kwa shoulders, nikiwa hustle nahang guitar,hio  time short nimespend apa  nilikuwa na blessings za mama no wonder sijastammer,kama nimekubamba scratch kwa tenje uniseti stage ndio home na sijaplan...kuhama.
-P€TT¥PO€T✍️
©️2020.
Nigel Obiya May 2013
I have an issue
One that weighs heavily upon my heart
One that, if left unchecked, threatens to tear our social moral fiber apart
An issue I will express in English, with some help from my old friend Swahili
Hii imenisumbua akili, kwa hivyo kuiongelea ni kitu tunastahili
Hii story ya immorality tunaichukulia so so light
Dem akiji'expose kidogo mbele ya kamera haina mseo, tunampandisha cheo kwa society, all of a sudden ye ni socialite
The new cool, eti ‘good girl gone bad’
Hiyo njaro siyo polite

We have a lot more to live for than that which we seem to be aware of
It’s not always about a good time, or lack thereof
Our reputation as a culture I believe is something we badly need to take care of
Siyo game
Siyo Jokes
Si eti mambo na fame

It shouldn’t just be about who drinks, who smokes, who vomits and who chokes
Hiyo lifestyle siyo dope
Na siyo right

Six hundred and seventy something ways to die… choose one
I refuse to go… speeding down a highway, drunk out of my mind, on another booz run
However, I may not exactly be the right person to point out how messed up you are
On a scale of one to ten?
I’m probably as guilty as you are
*******!
English... I speak it, I write it
Swahili... I'm proud of my heritage and culture, this language represents that and allows me to express my thoughts
Sheng'... It's slang, every culture has one, I can't help but speak and write it

Finally... I just did what I usually do, in more languages than one.
andrew juma Jan 2016
Hapa ndipo umenifikisha
Umalenga na ujopo
Wa kiingereza tulimudu
lakini kiswahili kitamu
**** la mama litamu
Hata liwe la mbwa

Kimombo kilaini majineno
Kama mayai ya johari
Kuangaza mitima halaiki
Namshukuru Rabuka
Kwa talanta ya kuandika

Tukaumba kwa maneno
Waumbaji nikawaunga
Kama yeye Mungu,
Nguvu za maneno kat'tunukia

Uwezo wa karana hii
Kuwateka akilizo
Nyika na mito kuwavusha
Hadi sayari za ndoto zao
Uswahilini narudi mie
Kitamu kwelikweli

Nashukuru Maulana
Kipaji nilipata
Naye ataniauni
Dau langu lifike kilindini
Nitue kileleni

Niangaze kama Zuhura
Hapa ndipo nimefika
Umalenga na ujopo
N'taukumbatia milele
Kwa Kiswahili na kimombo

Mitima zao kusisimua.
Standby for translation...
PETTY POET Jun 2020
/NI LIFE/
Sometimes mi hu-wrong nikijaribu ku-correct,na mi si perfect so daily niko  kwa  risklt ya ku-loose vitu ata  nili-collect,so we skiza hii  tune,yeah ofcourse hii tune si  unajua mali safi zi huzinduliwa June.Pingu za maisha nishanunua shoneni vitenge juu nazifunga soon.

Samahani,back then kudish kwa sahani kwangu ilisound kifahari,world yangu ilikuwa so untrue na mauongo ki-kanyari,kupata kwangu then ilisound ka monkey kuonekana kalahari,nyi mkinyonga tai zangu nabaki ni  nyoka nanyonga,ni  saa  nane  usiku nikiexhaust my poetic pen igeuze words ziwe dishi,DJ akiscratch ilikuwa opportunity ya kuflow nayo  na mistari haziishi,mtaa 1960 ndio iliniwai courage ya kusimama mbele ya mahater nikiwashow hii mwaka haiishi meza moja na nyinyi tudishi.

Mi hu-acknoledge power ya sir God jo juu ya kuniblessia creativity tangu pre-unit,usitafte amani  bila unity certificate ya kugraduate from petty poet to plenty of poems nikailaminate na case ya glass,after kuchoma kuna wasee nilianza nao na siko nao  si  zao ziliwashow wako "high" class,hii  dunia ni ya God so ka unaplan downfall yangu jua success naiwai a thousand times plus.

Hii sanaa  mi hufanya si  rahisi,ata ka Nadia na kalikuwa kashaa tamba ilibidi ameitisha maombi,ka si Sunday siogi,mi nimezoea kula jasho yangu that's why unaskia nikiongea sh*t that is stinky.

So ukihustle na biz ya kuuza charcoal jua ***** hands zi hukuwa sign ya clean money,na since muka aende silent mi ndio nimekuwa nikiwasha nare kwa stage bila lyta,mi ndio nimekuwa nikijua mbona mapema ye hurauka.Hii time short nimekuwa hapa nilikuwa na blessings za mama no wonder sijastammer,ka nimekubamba scratch kwa tenje uniseti...stage ndio home na sijaplan kuhama.
-P€TT¥PO€T ✍️
©2020.
My technology nightmare
Leaves me euphoric this morning.
Addicted, like drug trials,
I knew the risks going in,
Got hooked in The Cloud &
Now it always seems easier,
With diminished psychic chafing
Whenever I go with the flow, as the
Hipsters are saying again.
Yes, the hipsters:
Finally, some kids I can relate to.
At least on some level, their music e.g.
The first thing I did this morning,
Waiting for my laptop to boot,
Was put a CD on the stereo:
Matrix Reloaded: The Album.
I set the shuffle function,
Looping back between
Linkin Park’s Session &
Team Sleep’s Passportal.
You can tell a lot about
What kind of day it will be
By the soundtrack you choose,
Your infinite play list,
Don’t ever say these kids have no culture,
Or nothing to share with us old farts.
Old Farts: an apt, Baby Boomer term in 2015.
Kids’ music, some of it quite good,
Quite 60s-worthy if you catch my drift,
As we used to say while grazing in the grass with
Hugh Masekela & his Naai Mongoe-Swazi red,
Surfrikan homeboys & band mates, & that
ANC Kwa-Guqa Township posse,
Shadowing him since Sharpeville.
That’s right, Babaloo,
Go with the flow.
Don’t fight it. You’ve been spared the unintended
Consequences of government shenanigans &
Free market meltdowns.
Consider this a CEASE & DESIST NOTICE:
Cease swimming upstream Mr. Phelps.
Desist fighting tide & current, Michael.
A mariner’s distinction, yet serviceable &
Purposed for this narrative.
“And away we go,” croons a Gleason levitation;
Aloft we go into the wild blue yonder.
The Cloud: an exalted playground.
You are atop the slide,
Kindergarten lord of all you survey,
Sultan, Chinese Emperor & Venetian Doge,
A 90-caliber Duke of Earl,
You are euphoric, Mike.

The descent into the humanoid condition
(See Paddy Chayefsky’s Howard Beale),
Is slick and precipitous.
It begins when you first finger ****
A pocket calculator or touchtone phone,
Or use a Xerox machine.
From there it’s a quick slide down
The technology ****-shoot: video games,
Spreadsheets & word processors,
Emails, texts & tweets,
Laser projection keyboards,
Wi-Fi amplifiers,
GPS navigators, &
Apps for No-Strings *** . . .
By “****-shoot” I editorialize, of course,
In a state of future shock,
Resenting planned obsolescence,
Contemptuous of shrewd **** kids,
Wharton School sharpies,
Scoping out price curves & flowcharts,
Colluding at industry trade shows,
Powwows & confabs,
Releasing newer, more versatile
Models & spinoffs, according to a
Scheme planned three years in advance.

I salt the inevitable wounds of technology,
Taking my fight to the streets, realizing too late
My sole means of alerting the flash mob
Is by so-called smart phone,
*******!
Even the revolution has gone digital.
Poor Gil Scott Heron, dead last year at 62,
Poor Scott Heron, channeled into the
Harlem Renaissance by that loyal Chicago Defender,
Subscriber & reader, to wit: his Grandma,
A “Rainbow Conspiracy” co-conspirator,
Cooking ham hocks & collard greens for that
Mythical coalition of Young Lords,
Black Panthers & SDS.
Heron’s prognostication was wrong:
“The Revolution Will (In Fact) Be Televised!”
We’ve witnessed quite a bit of it,
Lately, prime time lately,
Live by satellite from once exotic places,
Places like Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Syria & Ferguson, MO.
I say “once exotic” because it’s hard to be
Visually intoxicated by images of screaming brown men
Sporting New York Yankee ball caps,
“Vote for Pedro” T-shirts and
$200.00 Air Jordan footwear.
Admittedly, the production values of
Revolutionary journalism have improved,
Action reported Hollywood-style,
Narrative arcs, scripted episodes,
Drive-by Potemkin villages & battle scenes,
30 or 60 or 90 day shooting schedules.
Spontaneous proletarian uprisings as Reality TV,
Riveting dramas,
High Nielsen ratings & $500K
Per minute corporate sponsors.
Let’s view the new fall line-up:
(1) “Mustafa Behaving Badly!”
(2) “Tunisian Tear Gas Talent!”
(3) “Gaddafi Gets Sodomized!”
Realeboga M Feb 2015
1.You're simply amazing that it becomes impossible to use complex words to truly portray your beauty since no amount of words in the world could ever define you.

2.Wewe ni ajabu tu kwamba inakuwa vigumu kutumia maneno tata kwa kweli kuonyesha uzuri wako tangu hakuna kiasi cha maneno katika dunia inaweza milele kufafanua wewe
  
3.Jy is net amazing dat dit onmoontlik komplekse woorde te gebruik om jou skoonheid werklik uitbeeld aangesien daar geen bedrag van woorde in die wêreld ooit kon jy definieer.

4.   Vous êtes tout simplement incroyable qu'il devient impossible d'utiliser mots complexes à véritablement représenter votre beauté puisque aucune quantité de mots dans le monde ne pourrait jamais définir vous.

5. È semplicemente incredibile che rende impossibile utilizzare complesse parole per davvero rappresentare la tua bellezza poiché non quantità di parole nel mondo potrà mai definire .

6.   es simplemente increíble que resulta imposible utilizar palabras complejas para verdaderamente retratar su belleza ya que ninguna cantidad de palabras en el mundo nunca te podría definir.

7.    Είστε απλά καταπληκτική ώστε να καθίσταται αδύνατη η χρήση σύνθετων λέξεων με πραγματικά απεικονιστεί ομορφιάς σας δεδομένου ότι κανένα ποσό των λέξεων στον κόσμο θα μπορούσε να καθορίσει ποτέ σας.


So if words couldn't possibly be enough then perhaps if I write it in another language it would be enough, but unfortunately it isn't. Words no matter how I put them out its simply not enough.
You're Adored greatly,  
You're simply Amazing.
And I thought you deserve to know.
You must know
Irene Wangai May 2019
Hii life ni ya kuhustle,  
                                                                               alikuja kugundua that,
                                                             ile night alijimess kwa disco hall,
                                         ma-hustlers kwake walikuwa ni masufferes,
                                          na yeye kivyake alikuwa mtu wamastarehe,
                                                                         Easy money without pain,
                                                                                    na juu ya ignorance,
                                                                                     hakutambua kuwa,
                                                                                           no pain no gain,
                                                                                                    ama labda,
                                                                     aliogopa the pain ya kugain,
                                                legally according to the law of her body,
                                                                  juu alikuwa after easy money,
                           na hakutambua kuwa hii pain ingetake long kuheal,
                                                                                    Asiyesikia la mkuu,
                                                                                            huvunjika guu,
                                                                                 Walijaribu kumfunza,
                                                                                 wavyele kwa walimu,
  Lakini maneno yao yalienea kwa sikio la kufa ambalo mara nyingi
                                                                                              halisikii dawa,
                        Life yake ilikuwa surrounded na pressure from peers,
                                                                 Drugs alizimeza na kujipierce,
                           Malimwengu walimfunza machungu na ma regrets,
                                                                          juu ya  mama aliyapuuza,
                                                      Alijiona msupuu sana kuattract pesa,
                                                            coz, si pesa huvutiwa na urembo,
                                                                                                      All in all,,
                         urembo wake na kuremba kwake kulimlead to waste,
                                                                                          na akawa waste,
                                   Alikuwa anafuatwa na wengi juu ya manukato,
                                                                                                        but sasa,
                                   anahave kufuatwa na nzi wengi juu ya ******,
                                                                       Alicome back to her senses,
                                                                                           ongezea ya sita,
                                                            after kujimess hiyo night saa sita,
                                                 Na juu alikuwa amejawa na ma regrets,
                                           pain ilikuwa more na too deep in her flesh,
                                                                Akaanza kujifeel less fortunate,
                                                                        hakujua pakupata msaada,
                                                                                                                coz,
                                                 alidis maarif wake ile time alijifeel high,
                                                so high ungedhani amepita limit ya sky,
                                                                            But one thing is for sure,
                          angehave kuget back on her feet, a get from her seat,
                                                                                          ya comfort zone,
                                                              Akaamua kurudi to her first life,
                                                       Aweke maringo na kuremba kwake,
                                                                                             to her last line,
                                                                                 Na her life her hustle,
                                 Aliamua kuchukua her hustle to the second line,
                                                              Christ akiwa on the leading line.
Hello guys, hope you don't mind the language mixture too much,, coz actually,,
the language is known as sheng, and its a mix of English and Swahili languages,,, so if you have no gasp of Swahili language,, its a good start to try it out. please, to Swahili sanifu speakers, please pardon me for today
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
.you should really see the two comments left, and the 700+ views to begin with.

mind you, i did write an ode to the gods
(yes, that infantile pleasure,
not associated with cosmopolitan new york
atheists)...
how the roman plagiarißm of the the greek
pantheon happened too soon,
how the semite god ate up ba'al
and beelzebub "too quickly"
   turning them into fallen angels...
      like how he infiltrated the roman empire
due to their close-up plagiarißm so early...
father Zeus, father Odin remained...
as did their phonetic encoding...
as did the glagolitic script turned cyrillic...
sorry... where was the african phonetic
encoding? beside the hieroglyphs?
  what's swahili for:
red earth, gave birth to me?
   nyekundu dunia, alitoa kuzaliwa kwa mimi!
see... that's african speech:
but what are the letters behind it?
last time i checked... there aren't any!
and i came from africa?
maybe the anglo-deutsche did...
i didn't... i source my origins
in india... after all... indo-european
is my higher category, the mongols...
i don't care if the germanic people "think"
they originated in africa, i've come from india...
people who minded phonetic encoding,
had an alphabet,
              i'm still stuck with germanic
people with african stereotypes not being
able to swim...
   heavy bones they say...
    **** that and the whole i.q. "conundrum"...
i still watch t.v.,
       after all, after prometheus
brought down the flame from olympus...
some demigod had to bring down /
steal the rod of zeus / electricity...
and turn the t.v. into the modern fireplace...
the b.b.c. had this 2nd season running,
killing eve...
             sandra oh and jodie comer...
there's this instance in season two,
when jodie comer, villanelle...
  is interrogated by aaron peel...
                and "kind" aaron is asking villanelle
all this philosophical quips...
anselm's ontological argument...
    occam's razor (i wish)...
            he has so many books on his
bookshelf...
   yeah... books you look at like comic
book strips, books you don't actually read...
books you look at...
            and what does villanelle do in the end?
she brushes aaron's nose with one of
these books "he's read"... what is it?
ha ha!   a dictionary of philosophy...
a... dictionary...
basically short-script...
                     cheat...
         you really want a dictionary
definition of philosophy? a philosophy dictionary
definition, a sound-bite?
you know... last time i checked...
i read bertnard russell,
kierkegaard, kant, heidegger...
not for a dictionary definition...
or regurgitating rubrics akin to
a university lecturer...
        i hate regurgitation...
                i read for myself,
  in the end, hoping, my narrative could
find expansive ground for work-arounds...
i don't like playing the happy
harpsicord dancing monkey...
    to give "proofs"...
              i don't like people,
akin to villanelle, when questioned
on a university entrance critique...
               like i might "know my ****",
or not "know my ****"...
                                       pretty boring...
i am starting to resound in the conviction...
there's no point in knowing other people,
there's only one person worth knowing,
yourself...
       mind you, i'm still waiting for the alternative
phonetic encoding system to come
from africa, as an alternative counter
to the egyptian hieroglyphs...
i'm not seeing it...

   tender skin: the moon does see...
     zabuni ngozi: ya mwezi haina tazama...

eh, chinese script is all syllables and no
letters...
        glagolitic - Ⰿ
        rune - ᛗ
        roman - M
        greek - μ
        hebrai - מ
        devanagari - म
        arabic - م
        hieroglyph - owl
        mandarin - 冊
        hiragana - ま(a) み(i) む(u) め(e) も(o)

didn't i mention this already,
interchangeable, between a letter and
a syllable... given the hiragana example...
depending on what vowel
you attach to the base sound (consonant),
the vowel modifies the base (consonant)...
five ******* variations of the consonant / syllable...

           ergo? no atomic reality in these languages...
syllable understanding...
the mendeleev table...
                He: helium...
             Xn: xenon...
                          Na: sodium... etc.,

            depends...
   after all... a base letter (consonant) in hiragana
looks like the following schematic:
i.e. no one really knows what M looks like,
like mmm-humming...
without an added vowel...

                                     ま(a)
                                      |
                   め(e) ----- "x" ----- む(u)      
                                   /    \
                                 /        \
                          み(i)          も(o)
                                                            
.Nietzsche was wrong about dialectics, he suggested that the non practice of dialectics, even the anti presupposes a polite society, he invoked that comparative tenet of a society in saying: a polite society does not engage in dialectics (finding the truth of opinions).

which is akin to the slander against Voltaire,
that not engaging in dialectics
one has a chance to have an opinion about almost
everything, there's no chance these days
to have a polite society as there is no chance
to establish a Utopia... the way dialectics is
avoided like some surreal horror movie
is to have many opinions, to not engage in
dialectics is to be opinionated, hence Nietzsche's
style of utilising aphorisms and as many
maxims as possible, without useful applicability;
it's like that metaphor for a venomous bite,
the carousel of the many many thoughts,
likewise, no truth are established, since many
truths are proposed - hence the paradoxical
venture into nothing, simply walking in circles
on plateau nihil, it's polite, well of course it's
politeness! politeness by having many opinions
readied for a quick change of subject or
the simple act of shame and shutting up.
all this? with regards to a woman writing about
her abortion: we, the great reverse-amphibians,
so she's writing about it... 4 weeks in she's ready
to erase the dot... they tell her to come back 12
weeks later (sadists... why not remove the dot
rather than wait for the geometry to construct itself?),
again... why not remove the dot and the abstract?
she mentions a dot... remove the ******* dot!
the tadpole outside the gooey yoke is fastened
to maturing in the fresh water stream or lake,
i can hardly be a human being inside the ******
if my **** and bladder muscles are not matured,
i'm an abstract in that sense, tadpoles ahoy!
now see how living in a "polite" society i can't
engage in dialectics but have to reverse the process
of discussion and engage in picturesque comparatives
using toads? it's called applying anaesthetics - well,
an anaesthetic, or a placebo - in polite society people
get over-excited, unconditionally so, over-stimulated,
unconditionally so, with having to muster having
many opinions, politics can become a circus de facto,
de facto as in: detached from rural England.
so if we'll never attack the status quo with dialectics,
will be constantly multi-opinionated, changing the
subject all the time, and when challenging, we'll
only feed an anaesthetic, an anaesthetic that will become
a confession booth in a catholic church:
a quasi-solipsism, the listener and the other person
talking, mono-dialectics, so well entrenched these days
that there's even a good reason for practising
psychiatry rather than a catholic confession in church,
psychiatry is, after all, a secular version of the catholic
practice - more intimidating though, since you're
facing each other, rather than sitting at parallel positions,
shrouded in secrecy of the wooden mosaic wall of
the booth... i'm just wondering if this attempt to feel
the naked soul does not intimidate the clothed body
more to later undress itself in ***.
SassyJ May 2016
I.
Ngozi yangu ni nyekundu
Choka wanaochukua kama mfuo
Bila ushunda na heshima
Waichezea kama kikapu cha samaki

I.
My exotic melenated skin is dark
Pasted with chalks that crease in mist
The world that sails with no justice and politeness
A sifted clan put in a basket like the unwanted fish

II.
Wainukia hii fedha, kwani sina mkopo
Hizi ndamu nyekundu zalia pilipili
Kwa uchungu umeomwangwa duniani
Haya si maneno ya sifa wala ya hatari

II.
Don’t smell at this treasure, for I have no debt
The bloods that pour in crimson and burn in hot pepper
The pain streamed from faces, a tainted worldly existence
Let these words not be seen as a praise and neither a threat

III.
Binadamu ulimwenguni wakifu
Kama mfalme mwenye hana taji
Umoja madada, pamoja makaka
Mkono tushikane kwa usawa, mdogo mdogo

III.
Humanity is a concept weft from the universal strains in cobalt abstracts
Lost in illusion like a king who is prided by invisible crowns
Together sisters, brothers, daughters and sons
Hold hands, spread the love in a united mesh, little by little
Translations can lose meaning.... my first ever Swahili poem
Link:
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/mdogomdogo
wendy maqwazima Oct 2016
abadala sube bengaphazami xabe sithi isxhosa asitolikwa...
njenga ndoda nganye inentonga yayo esimelela ngayo  
lento iluthando iyakakaswa okwe sana elibomvu iyanaswa iyatefiswa kuba kalok yona ayifani na ntoni na onothi uyihluthe naku bani na...ibalulekile!
bendinothi ndanelisekile
bendinothi ndonwabile
bendinothi ndikhululekile
ntonje igqondo ixakekile nomphemfulo udandathekile
intliziyo yophukile ngamathemba  angekhoyo...
mhla kwa phuma ilanga kwa vela ukukhanya...uzundibize!






.
ukukhanya zanyamalala zonke ipazamo ne ingxaki uze unsibiE
Imbongi ngumakhi May 2019
Ndikhumbula ezontsuku sihleli kunye sithandana,Kwaku mnandi ngezontsuku Sthandwa Sam,kwa Ku ngekh'onenzondo nanqala komnye,yayi luthando lwentliziyo ne mincili phakathi kwam nawe.

Ubundithanda,ndikuthanda, suke wangen'umtyholi phakathi kwam nawe,labhubhuzel'ibhabhathane kweyakhw'ingqondo,wandishiya ndisakuthanda Sthandwa Sam,wandishiya ndili lolo Themba lam.

Bendikukhonzile,ndiku thembile.Bendisithi soze thina sohlulwe na kukufa! Kanti ndiyazikhohlisa.Nanga awokugqibela,uzuhlale uyazi ndiyakudinga.Ngaphandle kwakho ndililolo.

Buya Sthandwa Sam ndiya kukhumbula! Buya Themba lam ndiyakudinga! Obam ubu doda bemka mhla kumka Wena! Buya Sthandwa Sam uzolungis'ikhaya liyadilika!Buya Sthandwa Sam uzobuyis'obam ubudoda!!
Like my page good people plzz!
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2018
-
and baba moonschtrung also said the same, kenwah?

only once you visit
the eastern coast of kenya
do you realise...
   oh right...
they sent all the loud-mouth
west africans to america...
no wonder...
and you might rightly ask:
wonder?
   oh hell, loved the kenyans...
had a cognac and a coffee,
talked
about timber imports
from ghana...
     fell asleep in the open air
and had no somali pirate
bother me...
  punctured my hand on
a coral crown while diving into
the indian ocean,
had a kenyan doctor stitch me
up...
     you know what
east africans call west africans,
esp. those born
in america?
            *******...
     even the africans can tell
an african from a ******,
that's how bad the epidemic has
become:
ye, woah, ye, hide-e hide-e **-**...
ye-yo... limo *******...
boom boom, shizzle nuts
salami... ******* go waaaaaaaaaaay...
high... white boy got shroom
for a ****-yo...
      i know that east africans
abhor west african,
they call them -
     kakhuluizinkamba
oh look, he he...
      a german sounding
colony in africa, simply
based on the spelling "conundrum"
(it's called an act of ridicule
as to excuse a misnomer,
because third party says, so):
i think that means: loud mouth...
plus... never met a nigerian
girl i'd like to ****,
but one kenyan coal...
mmm hmm...
  smoked her grass
  like a serpent princess
         and god,
            that skin was a mirror
i allowed myself to fixate on
the moon... clearly i saw
something in the rhesus' OOH!
that much needing a photograph
startled expression...
    ***** ***** ***** WHA?
NIGER NIGERIA SAY WHA?
hmm... herrkichert: giggles...
             i love the fact that
africa is, a continent,
up is not down,
west is not east,
       lighter skinned peoples
are not respect,
get shipped off,
             speak some rap,
some settle for the palm
tree tropicana of the carribean...
                it's, ha! like this arab
fwend said to me:
     the love of: genital: contrasts...
it's far beyond colours...
its a certain fascination with
shapes...
      although opposite in terms
of universals of *** antonym...
well no, it's not like every
single white girl...
        not every single black girl...
but you're on your own,
sitting at a table playing
a steppenwolf game with
the audience, and three kenyan
beauties approach you for
a chat...
             locked in to having genitals,
and there's a chair,
thank you, very much...
     if only the somali pirates...
i'd be like: you really forgot
the cognac...
                i had it in a little glass
next to my head,
when i woke up, the cognac was...
dead? well, gone, richard gere style...
kinywa kwa sauti kubwa
             kwa sauti kubwa kinywa

it's not perfect,
because i'm not learning,
i just want to known
of the arabs, keeping
crocodile zoos to ensure
  a steady stream of leather shoes
in Mombasa tell you
to read it: left to right to left,
or to read it: right to left to right,
beyond what the druids wrote,
grammatically speaking...
the other bit?
        zoo                    lú!
  so do the african-americans even
know that an east african would
call a west african a ******?
extra G, prowess!
   i think he ment to say: loud mouth...
ha ha...
  i love how african-americans
are deluded about the delusion
of an africa: UNITED!
  black, what-what?!
              no, i haven't been to a lot
of places...
        but the places i've been to
i attempted the human face...
kenya imports timber from ghana...
learned that from the bartender
giving me extra short of cognac
trying to play poker with me...
    but ven e'gein, outside of
    Arkansas... there is no Arkansas!
i'd gloat, bloat,
if i only did have to hide
in one of those Nero flotilla shades...
when in africa? hide from
the sun... have a ******* hyper-active
form of siesta...
        otherwise you're reduced
to getting a suntan,
which makes you look as stupid
as eating tablespoons of
             powdered cinnamon;
simba m'ah schlimba...
                     sham'ah sham'ah
  sham'ah yay...
              harpoon,  
                    first mate:
       it 'em at day tatties...
                one ****** down,
two ******* down...
                third?
                   did a seal's worst
impression of a baboon
scratching its over-taxed
worth of **** (already) worth's
of hemorrhoids...
  ever see a baboon with
a third ****-cheek?
i.e. a hemorrhoid?
                      hence the clapping...
B. Moonglit of the jungle,
never, ever, really managed
to wipe his ***...
                 still...
                 i love how african-americans
think there's an "africa"...
             well... there's kenya...
but you know,
  you sample one good aspect
of the continent,
   there's no real point sampling
a lottery ticket
              of replica to "prove"
a "similar" point of experience.
SomethingRascal Jun 2016
Discovered in my valley
Deep in the sauna heat

"Where to?"
The North, of course

Ta-Kwa-Men-om

Those eyes though,
They can be many things,
Flashing passion,
from one to the next

The pleasure,
Love,
all mine.
Muiruri gathairu Mar 2023
Lazima uchoose, dooh ama doze
Lazima uchoose, respect alarm ama uisnooze
Lazima uchoose, ujitume ama ulose
Lazima uchoose, ujibuild au *****

Izi ndo vitu hamtaki kuambiwa, izi ndo the truth
Mnataka niseme life ni smooth but Leo siwasooth
Sherehe Sheria ndio inamaliza mayouth
Ukilewa vuguru, Hadi hunaga matooth


Daily unadial pedi ukidai Mali
Jipende buda na for sure utafika mbali
Imagine ukiwa diani ukiorder wali
Si lazima buy iyo jumu expe ati ju ni Kali

Picha ya Kenyatta Kwa walanje ndo unafaa kusaka
Jipe goals Ka Sancho, salah au saka
Mulla mob, nine lives Ka paka
Usijitreat Ka trash we si takataka

But anyway maisha ni yako
Chaguo ni lako
Ntaachia apo ju naskia mtu Kwa mlango
Am sure ni peng Fulani utoka pango
SassyJ Aug 2018
Sikiliza kinda zikitoa wimbo
maneno yanao tendeleza
kwa kiloho and pia dhamila

Mpenzi tazama hapo tulisimama
kumbuka upendo ulioshangaza
hapakuwa na mipaka yoyote

Nakuamkia tena mpenzi
kati ya mawe ya sali
tena asubuhi na mapema

Sikiliza mawimbi yakituliza
yakisema maneno matamu
yanao tembeza na amusha

                  Translation
Ohh hear the chick sing a melody
tuned with tender words
those that soothe the heart and mind

At the ledge where we stand
remember the magical remnants
without a face or a boundary

I wake up to you my love
in the midst of an unknown matrix
as the early sun rises

Ohh hear the waves calm the day
saying sweet and lovely words
of tales that stares and awakens
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CaQKtZQCLBY
PETTY POET Jun 2020
Like a scent of a rose in the morning dew,and as soon as I am awake my day starts only when I see you,usijali dear,mi husema we wangu milele so usiwai tense nitakuwa na wewe mpaka I.C.U,vile we hucoat my life na happiness...mi hufeel sawa adi kuliko maziwa mala,mi hufeel comfortable ka mguu ya masaai ndani ya akala,mi hufeel ata  kama si  kufanana basi tufaana,na juu si  huwa tumependana nipromise hatutakuja kuagana,figure ndani ya dera assurance nitafute nini  kwa akina vera,mpenzi,kama kupendana kwetu si  kibahati...basi usiwai taka tusort out issues na ugomvi,kama ulimi na mate endelea kuwet my days na smiles za dunia ingine,usiwai danganywa na rangi  ya thao ngiri  haijawai kuwa cute,from today mi ntakuwa nakuita Mary ndio nikipropose iwe,"Mary will you marry me",
#umeamka aje?
love_poet
-P€TT¥PO€T
©2020
Athalia Feb 2019
Je,ni jahannamu kwa nani
Nakupenda hata wakati unaniumiza
Tuli kuwa na kila mmoja
Lakini tulipoteana
Na sasa ninakutafuta
Lakini hutaki kupatikana
Mateuš Conrad May 2021
for those yet, imagining themselves alive...
i "kwa'ight"....
quiet... quite...
         acquitted...
if there's a rock to be lived
under:
i'll just be the rock... i once had a faint
notion that i was alive...
i had what might be congested in a summary:
a thirst... a willingness...
summary and all those
broken things... "things"...
within the enraged solo
projects of solipsists...
self-"betterment" up a cul
de sac... has... infiltrated my
breathing: crease... count in german:
eins zu zehn
jeden do dziesięć...
   kurwa jebana mać...
poor traffic... thd ******* blinkers are
on... a turning right done awry...
ein(s)... one... jeden...

eine ein eins jeden raz one
zwei dwa two
drei trzy three
vier cztery four
fünf pięć five
(pięść is a denotes a fist... a faust)
sechs sześć six
sieben siedem seven
acht osiem eight
neun dziewiendź nine (nein nein)
zehn dziesięć ten....

mind you...
be drop the pointless diacritical marker
on the iota... we'd see more "punctuation"
markers: where, otherwise: we wouldn't...

i congested myself with counting
in three languages to somehow...
ease-up...
ten? informant: he / him!
ta? informant: she... shimmy(?!) her's...
hisses of his'...

i will not bring the Iberians into
this discussion...
what's left, though? scraps
of language and language policing...
******* and bells...
twang... death to the ditto... blah blah:
bleach and mythological blondes...
scraps i do one job good for you...
most... better... will not trace lineage...
no smear...

          t"they" never think less of
the Yugoslavs... i'm tired of being a punching bag of a people...
of all "people": the Irish not 'ard enough to
challenge the English have to find...
come the Soviets come the Nazis simultaneously...
looks like integrating into English society
didn't allow me to forget...
this zunge doesn't erase the ******* blows...

rich, though... no surprise that the Reesh
would squander and throw their *******
potatoes like monkey **** at...
oh i guess: shelved "life"... peoples...
if i were living back among my brethren...
i don't think i'd be living at all...
what would i do with not being
agitated concerning... minor... qualms?

the ******* leprechauns... priests...
are less than the english...
but are somehow tier above the pollacks?
it's no offence when it sounds proper...
in a foreign babble...
dzida...

          i'd just ask the Eire son...
so... ahem... where's your ******* Celtic?
gone... non-existent?

aon, dhà, trì, ceithir...
   còig (what's wrong with co'ig?)
sia,
seachd, ochd... naoi... deich...
so the grapheme CH = X of greek origin...
a ******* hark?

the Irish like the ******* Arabs...
the British did this to: oos...
it's impossible to live with these
go-to-party "solipsists" to begin with...
integrate? into... or for what?
rot? that's a-plenty...
but when some spaghetti monsters
and those potato jargon-fiddlers start
their usual **** about a fellow
european people...

it's not like the Croats or the Serbs are
ever mentioned...
they vent to h'america and youz zee...
zese irish and italliano guinnea pig-me-ups...
kwoss-eyed... you know...
best bitterest better...
inbreeding... takes a chunk of coal...
chalk and cheddar...
mustard...

  inbreeding mentality... superiority complexes...
no reimagines parmesan cheese like
it's not... shredding... old skin
off of heels...
talk stinkiny witchy with a missing R...
this massive ******* gloat of "riddle"...
that suppose: it's also a man...

       while the world... "also" happens...
these little: belittling interferences...
as if we were all supposed to be crowned kings
or queens... it's not that i'm even elevated
above these concerns...
but that i must have them...
must: if i were a king... i most probably wouldn't
even entertain the sense of hearing
on their existence!

in a society of sociopaths and solipsists...
a massive get together
of protest happens once in a while...
i get drunk and dump ****** words
onto paper...
i'm not alone in this "adventure":
yet i'm beginning to be...
more and more sorry for having
such... indigestions to sorrow over...
moral relativism is out
in the words of the choicest
of the choiciest...
   i'm looking for something beside
the superlative adjective: choicest...
the diminutive "concern"...

which doesn't exist in english...
and i can't exactly introduce it using my:
mutterzunge either...
correct spelling?
look at it... choiciest vs. choicest...
the most most choosey...
to pick of calculus exponentially incremental
details of observable shifts...
the exponential aspect of detail...

how many of the Irish still speak
their Gaelic...
apparently there's a Scotch version
of the tongue...
but... the Scots will not speak it...
completely submerged in their union...
they'll just exfoliate in how distinct
they are from a Loon'don'er
speaking the same language...
you could probably rewrite trainspotting
using that linguistic language
embedded in the dictionary
of:

   how i met your mother, the mute...
/ (haʊ) /
       / (aɪ) /
                 / (mɛt) /
               / (jʊəp) /
                               / (ˈmʌðə) /,
                        / (ðə) /          / (mjuːt) /

i wonder... and what if we started writing
like this? proper... phonetically...
like linguists?
the side note of /(x)/ though...

the written word is doubly ambiguous...
to the point of no return concerning
the sufficiency of its practicality of use...

ʃeɪk  ænd
                ˈʃætə...

if i had the time and *******' worth of
writing a poo'em like a linguist...
if i had more love for the Irish...
sowwy... all love spent on the Scots...
from these Isles at least...

sheikh who? shake your: *****?
that's ******* fwank zapp'ah...
      
but it's not that... i have qualms with
the Irish over the stature and seriousness
when occupying the "underground"...
i won't rap: god forbid i...
"**** someone": my catchphrase
wouldn't be:

allahu akhbar... it would be that teutonic chant
of: gott! mit! uns!
if that Norwegian hyper-smart terroroist
chanted those words...
what words? these words:
gott! mit uns!

   but around these isels...
you'd think there might be a sense of solidarity...
among the catholic irish and the
catholic poles...
but no... tępy ajrysz...
  blunt-irishman...
                  one side arguing for the other sides
dislodging of "i.q."...
same with those spaghetti swindlers...
the...

mind you... ****** is not a racial slur...
it's actually better to denote a pole a ******
since... not kinh john: lackland...
the whole hiss-tow-stowwy...
i'm not pole: positioned...
i'm not...

    divorced from "my" people:
and the "mother" land...
                  Warsaw the last great end-venture...
keeping it up...
mawa: little old gone...
         in the hunch fabric of
lessening the diaspora approach...
you don't think i mind the missing links...
when there's a collected agenda for the purpose
of a purge of the intelligensia...
now... because only the Jewry suffered
a historical lineage of tonguies
towing complaints....

         **** it: the russian sayingly... newly invented:
**** me?! ******* too!
but in the english realm who's the lesser
******* among the polacks and the irish?
who's less gingerbreadman?
my side... most probably...
how will we ever let the 20th century become
past?
oh **** me... we will need another
war... but chances of that are...
sort-of-slim...

             no? it might begin with:
bypassing loan-words...
and how self-help gurus and famous psychologists
refrain from infiltrating lost hybrids of
focus, that there might be a clearaance to
discover society outside the realm of pop!
saavvy?
i don't like this...
psychological testimony of:
what's an alpha male?
not me... what's a beta male?
not me... what's a malaise?
what's an omega man?
everything that an alpha male is...
in that... there's an antonymous discharge
of needs... requests...
demands...

how many Irish still speak their...
diego / alfonso magic "whisker" ****?
that ******* Gaelic?
so much for aardvark "typo" in Scotch...
because it just so happens...
you speak an over exfoliation of lettering...
the aesthetically bogus: claim of...
no... no "originality":
i'm not even going to bother the higher
tier of diacritical markers to
instigate "something"...

but this whole: i'm a lesser "european" when
it doesn't suffice in north american parlance...
i'm sort of... em.... ******* bothered?
history seems to be a lesson
in teasing small-**** and the infinite
summary of infancy... last time i heard...
because the Mongols never made it to... "x"...
because the Turks never had ownership of Vienna...
because it took both the Nazis and the Soviets
to make me bow...
in England? the invention of snooker...
tennis... football... rugby...
bored people... obviously...

how: else: woudln't you have capacity...
need... to invent so many coliseum...
distractions to mind: and take seriously...
if you knew: you were an island dwelling folk...
and you staged your pride in not being
invade-prone...
a bit like the whole of east London's
pakistani-land...

wake up 40 years from now... from...
little bengali land...
the Pakistani grooming gangs of the supposed...
while i'm getting more and more irrritated
by paying for ***...
having Bulgarian ****** pretending to be
Romanian....
you see the grit in my use of teeth that aare never used to
nibble and conjure...
a "drying of bones"?

i will complain about the Irish as i will about the
tail-tan'ohs...
******* spaghetti slurppers...
we of the same European origins and the same
brain-drain... because the anglo-saxons
fiddled out a mechanism for...
a "coming together"... of...
a people... just like germany was confederated...
into a federality...
wow!

  the pope receding... on paper...
the Irish make complaints against the Polacks...
the Irish demean the Polacks...
nice nice... here's to me equipping myself with
Haitian "nouns"...
you, *******... ginger: knuckle-fiddle-numb...*****!
what Celt wishes himself to have
a Cyrillic ancestry?! almost all...

have your little i.r.a. memento...
       i'm only concerned about
a pomeranian, conrad... quest...
aren't the czechs / hungarians locked into
that... posit of being: without an access to
a "window"... hardly... that the baltic...
already is... Samaritan....

porsch monkey: among the slurrs... "poet"...
pshek in... denotative lingo...
it's a: thank you...
i call you worse:
    karot... burak... syberik....

thankful though: it's hardly a slur...
king John was known as lackland...
given the shrinking of the Angevin empire...
thus "we"... shrunk to the duchy of warsaw:
a satellite of Napoleon's ambitions...
then the Warsaw Pact...
pandering to the Bolsheviks...
blah blah: now more pandering to
woke ha-ha-h'americanacancan...
the mythological blonde: always on my mind...

the first words in my language
they managed to speak and they somehow managed to
call it a slurr... and polish: paul-leash isn't?
pole position, heading north?

say strawberry in ******?
TRU-S-KAWKA...
     paul's on a leash of nibbling on the quarters
and halves of would be barons of pandemonium...
we were teenagers once...
and once upon in an Ilford mall...
we bought compact disks...
rival schools... fugazi...
coal chamber's dark days...

  those where somewhat architecture days,
though...
you can't make this **** up...
you probably have had to live it, sort of.

- otherwise who can't forget the flight of the Jewry
from the area...
once there was a makeshift synagogue on
Coventry Rd.,
now there's a 7th day evangelical war band
gathering pulpit... source...
i was expecting a mosque: in all honesty...
it's a common suggestion:

now first comes the flight of the Jewry...
the whites are somehow 2nd...
but as i explained to my mother today...
i feel sick in a monochromatic...
homogeneous society...
i went to Cheltenham once...
to hussle my own self-published book...
i felt ill seeing so little minority
representation...
it's not like i'm brainwashed...
but among these minorities in Loon-dune
i'm a ******...
back in Warsaw i'm a feral animal...
among "my people" i'm zero-punkt-zero-nic...

the vagabonds of the world decide to congregate
in Loon'don... for some reason: ulterior or
altogether "other"...
the world has congregated:
is this still about the English having their
nationhood infringed?
perhaps from a perspective
of the Midlands... Birmingham...
but over 'ere...

funny that... i live in England...
but i probably interacted with more Irish
and more Scots than the supposedly
demographically first...
i probably encountered more Pakistanis too...

so what's the difference between
a Samaritan and a Sarmatian?
you're running? i thought i ran...
i might run... who's running?
is it raining?
is that... ****'ite iconoclasm?
sign me up...
            
but living among the Irish who are
not living in Ireland...
a tired old bunch... sometimes...
it's hard to fathom their identity crisis
since a whole swab of them
spoke a zilch of Gaelic...
it's like with these over-impressed
succcess stories of "integration"
from olive-pound land /
****** copper...

the parents want to integrate...
that **** backfires...
the grandson retains the tongue
to his grandma to speak
back to her her native...
yet his... "in-between"... "integrational english"
becomes a sick joke: stereotype...
almost a cul de sac accent...
the sort that has to breathe into a phrase:

oi oi! bown and bwead!
  em... bone and bread?
how does that work?
i guess it must work "miracles" from places
where the ingestion of gelatin is
foreign... transcending "foreign":
too alien to compose...

yes... detailing the promises of pork, pig...
the most economically sound
animal: beside the hoofs...
you can utilise almost... "almost": all of it...
one way of the other...
an animal that can never be a waste:
unless you're into dabbling into a cannibalistic diet...
plus... lamb... lamb: *******: stinks...
the aged lamb...
plus... how would you herd pigs...
pigs aren't herded...
it's a theological anger at...
camel-jockeys being unable to... harvest
the only potential of farm-food... via the pig...
pigs aren't herded:
i've only heard of a herd of pigs
and that's when there came a time
to treat a trough like an array of teats when
the porkies were 'ung...
is it a despised animal?
a despised animal because:
and the devil reimagined himself as a pig?

so god looks like a mythological blonde...
the devil looks like a piggish minotaur...
why this demise of pig?
why this gratification in the islamic mirror
of words looking accessible: i.e. dog | god...
my all mighty: allah: blah-lah...
fork in the road: are we 'appy... "now"?

but when you live among the diaspora of the Irish...
you'd sort of suppose... what's the gaelic for green?
now that the internet is here...
i can find out for myself...

why demean the pig? was the pig created by
the ******* devil?
or is this one of those Abrahamic ploy-toys...
rigidity structures...
to leave you surrendered...
go against anything else: beside the pig...
it's such an economic model, creature...
you can utilise almost all of it...

not all of us were born Afghan sheep
herders... savvy?
that eating pork is somehow signature
of inbreeding and s schizoid tinture...
wh'ah?! i lost the TAU along the way...
o.k.?!

it's a waste of time having arguments
with... oh forget: rag-muffin'...
inbreds... i wass thinking about ***...
i picked a spot... Rotherham...
Pakistani grooming gangs...
oh... right... here's a lollipop... here's some dosh...
i'll get a hard-on with a girl who didn't mature
into prostitution wtih a crack-******* 'abbit...

chances of me ******* low i.q. is like
zilch then? i imagine the tirades...
the knife-insinuations...
**** a barrister: **** for life...
settle down: solve **** concerninng:
immmovaable objects:
the sun still has "egotism" to rise
and call it tomorrow...
and her ******* own too: to boot...
imagine that!

why go after the pork 'n' pie?
why pet a dog?
why pet a cat?
     i've already mentioned...
sometimes lamb: just stinks...
lamb kidneys?
STINK... SCHTINK!
but you also can't keep pigs
in an environemnt where you also use
camels instead of horses... no?
no one is talking about this...
because... it's probably too obvious to have
to stress this ******* argument....

came the Ottomans... the Mongols...
the Soviets for a while...
came the Nazis...
why weren't we the people who championed
each other at snooker...
why didn't we invent football...
tennis... cricket...
rugby... i don't want to blame the English
for their race...
but they have been privileged in:
intra-"whiteness" terminology...

what English soldier ever stood ground
on ****** soil?
i've heard of ****** pilots having dog fights
for the battle of Britain...
how the enigma machine was not merely
the work of Turning...
etc. etc.
gravesend: i'm here reduced to "biasing"...
yet i'm giggling at the remote prospect
of "gravity"...

i have clues to concern myself over...
ownership...
          a hierarchy of a cascade...
time follows time...
this solo project of "individuality"
was never going to... "work"...

pending...

   connlach dearg...

    but the welsh still speak welsh... no?
i guess that Carlsbeg moment of:
probably the best'ly integrated people in
the world... the Welsh are...
they still exfoliate in having a punching bag
of their tow-tongue...
unlike that most, supposed... oppressed people
of the... anglophonic world affair...
the Reesh that speak no ditto of Gaelic...

who are, you, you people?!
SassyJ Feb 2018
Dicky dicky dicky
Licky licky licky
Tick tick tick

I stumbled on you behind the zipper
It’s not a tripper but a ripper
Looking through your eyes can you see me peep
Looking through the veil can you hear me lick
Looking from above can you hear me sip
On the golden lips can you hear that teach
On the frozen tip can you taste the heat

Dicky dicky dicky
Licky licky licky
Tick tick tick

(Swahili)
Ni mwangaza unawika
Ni mawimbi yanatunza
Munda huyu umefika
Ni mapenzi yanawika
Na mvua umepita
Na kutunza haya matunda
Kuyaweka kwa tumaini

(English translation)
The bright light is burning
The storms are mesmerising
Now the time has come
And love is calling out loud
The rain is passed and gone
And the seeds are to be sowed
feverently placed in peace

Dicky dicky dicky
Licky licky licky
Tick tick tick

I stumbled on you behind the zipper
It’s not a tripper but a ripper
Looking through your eyes can you see me peep
Looking through the veil can you hear me lick
Looking from above can you hear me sip
On the golden lips can you hear that teach
On the frozen tip can you taste the heat

Dicky dicky dicky
Licky licky licky
Tick tick tick

Audio can be accessed on
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/dicky-licky-tick
Make it what you make it
Babatunde Raimi Apr 2020
If Ondo is used for settlers
And Ogun is a river
Tell me about Oyo, an empire

You mispell Gwosh as Jos
Recognised Sokoto, a market
Far away from Osun, a river

Lakes is to Lagos
As Kogin is to Kogi
And Kebbi is synonymous to Ka'abba

Janzama, women power inspired Katsina
But Kano was a Blacksmith
While Kaduna means Crocodile

The people of the golden soils of Jigawa
To the river Imo Mmiri
They don't speak Gombe at all

Take me to the hills of "Enu Ugwu"
Following the hills in "Okiti"
Without navigating through Iduu

All Ebonyi are "Aboine"
Close the Delta that marries the atlantic
And Oyono, makes you Cross River

Don't say Benue, say "Binuwe"
Balga, Yelga, Salga formed Bayelsa
And I love Kasashen Bauchi

"Anyim Oma Mbala kwenu!"
But I love ladies from "Kwa Iboe"
Only legends understands this

Tell them I told you
Adamawa is a warrior
While Abia is a coinage

If I missed your state
Go back to the history books
This is just a drill...
Jaymnati Oct 2020
She treated me like an option,like never had love
Said  i should read in between the "lines"
Sikuwa smart enough to read in between the "lies"
Nilijipa moyo tried to see in the bigger expectations awaken the passion of the deceit picture grew bigger ,
She promised to be my keeper but found in it sense mapenzi yamekuwa past tense,
She promised me heaven on earth but left me heart broken,
Kanitumia na kanitupa kwa pipa "hurt" and "broken"
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2021
warrior's march (anonymous ottoman) -
jordi savall - montserrat figueras...

or perhaps... chevalier, mult estes guaritz
(1146)...

because there isn't enough hours
in a day
to listen to BBC radio 3...
perhaps there might be enough wine...
but...
there aren't enough hours
in a day to listen to BBC radio 3:
go figure... no adverts too...
but as ever...
i never warmed up to the idea of a d.j.:
i don't like being surprised by
a choice of music without
me choosing it...

i will not brag about liking
classical music...
i will not brag about jazz...
there's this surreal middle ground
a music that doesn't belong in
any real discussion
or ref. making...

it's a music that can exist without
the weight of a name
akin to: associated with herr mozart...
etc.
when no one owns it
after all it must be a drag
to have to own something
for an "almost" measure of:
if eternity is to be measured -
immortality is a word that
weighs one down... less...

i'd imagine my name to be of note:
100 years after i'm dead...
point being: i'm joking...
but at some point it could, possibly...
expire?
unless of course...
a Plato doesn't what doesn't
change is something incremental...
that **** is covered
by A'Tuin
          (ahtuin)
               Tubul... Jerakeen... Berilia...
T'Φon...
           strange how the surd / vowel
catcher of the rugby goal posts of H
are missing... no?

   if rugby or football was not discovered
by someone meditating on
the letter H...
  tennis? what's that?
a game of... 7 rectangles... no?
and in the "ol'" days...
two tennis players...
a football team's worth of umpires
and at least 4 ball boys...

no wonder tennis is not popular
recreationally...

i'm hopeful that this year will
be a good year for wine...
homemade of course...
it's that much more... revealing to make
something of your own like that...
although... hardly baking a cake...
if we were not bound to this:
insomnia... of information...
insomnia of... libido...
and having access to enough
wine whiskey:
mind you... even Plato is noted as making
the whimsical conclusion:
the man who invented (discovered)
beer - bless him... although
retaining his anonymity...

fame out of focus...
i could understand posthumous fame...
all the more in that something
was achieved in life
something was striven for in life
and it could obliterate all
distractions...
this once ludricous pursuit of:
argument...
  ludicrous - sauerkraut...
              gherkins in brine...
i guess i am of a people who cling
to Germans more than they ever might
cling to those... Rushkies... Sorbs...
Wends...

after checking the champions' league
scores
i had to have a little history lesson
in what was the Seljuk Empire...
well it's not Islam was knocking
at the gates of Europe... the Turks were...
looking at the Turks now...
i see something richly problematic...
too cosmopolitan and all-world influenced
trade: global traffic...
i can't imagine not having some
orthodox spices for a curry
in my kitchen...

   Polacks are afraid of spices...
at least prior generations...
salts that does pepper's work too...
to the wok with you to fry up
those bland... raw cashews!

- like... the Darwinian argument
or the Copernican argument...

i clearly can't listen to classical music either...
it's... too complicated... too many notes...
it's too strict Pavlov-esque almost...
it's great it's nice it might require
a Royal Albert Hall but most of the time
i'm just pretending to like it...
unless of course of really like it:
Prokofiev's Lt. Kije...
  or the Alexander Nevsky - Battle on the Ice...

- that there is so much talk
of this supposed "freedom" in the vest:
of way, when, why...
these lineages of congregating
oppressors...
calls out for: fascism but not
the tea of... english immigrants
are never, immigrants...
to no self: no known other...

         that the english have no denotation
concern for concept of diaspora..
no wonder everyone is everyone's
better kept: cold kettle
and expatriate...

such nuance in convo that it really
doesn't matter...
after all...
i'm spewing half-mind verbiage
and i'm not supposed to be content with it...
but i still live among
the foreign-natives
of these isles than
be among "my" brethren who
have reclaimed circa 6 years under
the Nazis... half a century (circa)
under Bolshevik incredulity...
and then this, somehow new, "now"...

but at least the stupid forks in the road
listened to my advice: although
i didn't give any: and kept their currency...
like i might own women
or own a history of "me" and "my" people...
i don't really regard that
a niche market for any thought
or strict reminding of: 'ought...
either...

it's one of those nights where i'm
the d.j. i'm gagging for some hard liquor
all that's available is some
homemade wine
and i have an appointment for
9am over the telephone... etc.

back to the quest for alphabet-icals...
beside the vowels...
Y - i petition is... a vowel and is not...
a consonant...
so: a, e, i, o u, y... there are... 6 vowels...
19 aeons and 19 consonants...
but i ask...

why would i, ply: perhaps this is
me bilingual "schizoid" making
a mock of the natives who never left
for: the great east aust-rare-land...
zoo a new land...
hay'tch no... ha ha... or... sigh: aah...
ygrek...
            not igrek...
             last time i checked russians
tried to sharpen that phonetic "detail":
with their bl bl bl diacritical "marks"...

beside the point of vowels...
ah: or "a"
eh: or "e"
  oh: or oh...
   "i" (aye, yes) or: i(s)ch...
uh: ugh: or "u" & yew / you...

yes... this must be me...
bilingual "schizoid"...
         my new found freedom...
but why did the greeks have nouns
for their letters...
alpha (a-lpha)
beta (b-eta)
but it also denotes an... übersinn?
         letters had noun status to later denote
them as scientific consonants...
yes... the ancient greeks were unique
in that they were decisively
the children of the ancient world...

****** / down-syndrome fiasco of our
modern we...
clearly...
so back to basics...
a suggestion of concern for only
the puritanical minded bollocking a riddle...
because there's no bull to ride...
if syllables are to go by...
katakana is problematic because
the syllables all begin with a consonant...
their ******* Fukushima figurines...
it's not like you can write...

   it like a periodic table for: sodium: Na...
  ナ
well.. ha ha... you can...
but the breaking point of my concern
comes...
NA: ナ
            seems a waste to conjure AN...
                               アン

and so forth:

               イン  INI     ニ                
               ウン  UNU ヌ
               エン  ENE  ネ
               オン  ONO ノ

no? try reciting the english alphabet...
while following the "proper" guidelines
of the angry prefix lady and letter as noun...
transcending whether
it be... i doubt Greeks have a concept
of vowel or consonant...

outside the realm of vowels...
prolonged or caught by H for either: short... sigh...
or elongated laughter via ha ha...

why is it: Be
  and not eBB?
why Cee (cedilla!)
and not eCk...
Dee
   and not eD...
tell me!
    but now it's eF
but not... Fee!
    or F'eh...
           Gee but not
eGG...
    music, people! music!
        eM but not Meeeeeee!
Kay but not aK...
          eL but not Lu...
        Jay Jay - lodge - touch  o'
      Raj -
          eN...
                          N'eh...
    end: no?
             *** & peeee
                          eee
                           ee
                             e
up...                op-
                                 apparently...
"p"...
          Q...
kew... gardens... quo? kwo?
        qua? kwa?
         awry K...
            that's "q"...
    aR...
                 but not... Re-garding...
        Re-vealing...
oh i believe you... the Fwench had
a tarantula at the battle of Hastings
and you lost your trill of it...
let alone the thrill of it... like:
a barrel run ol' sod...
never, never mind...

           but it's still: aR... and not Ro... no?
it's eS and not: Su(e) or Si or So...
or S'eh...
   or s(igma)... is, it?
it's Tea but not eTymology...

if you were to write ALPHA
or OMEGA like a "hebrew"...
  perhaps... Lamb-of-Delta...
        i.e. AΛΦ
  &           ΩMΓ      

   oomph: oh i mind...
                    pool to pull... to: tow...

                 at the altar of the alpha brood
i'm not 2nd... i'm last...
i'm the completed plethora of sensations...
i am not nibbling at the to
i am lasting incongruent...
imbecile in the feminine eyes
that discover all things via
simplicities of feline conjecturing...

by the gods of Ivanhoe, rubber
and Prometheus!

Tao... besides my "tea"...
via - ups a pumpernickle!
           v = w = ł = w = v
(fał) -
  well your people shouldn't
have started a war
in our defence... should they?

CH = X - IKS...
             ξζ pairig...
    κσε
                or... κση... ha ha : "q"...
    do you even know how spanish
a greek sounds when a greek
compliments you speaking english?
no... it's not my thirst: or first for: dough
a black sorrow: forward so...

the old phrasing...
   θought & φilosoφy
                 ΦΘΨ (key, hole... door...
open... sezzame)...

ZEDZEDZEDZEDZEDISTTOTZED
ZEDISTZEDISZEDTOTZEDISTTOT
­ZEDZEDZEDZEDZEDISTTOTZED
ZEDISTZEDISZEDTOTZEDISTTOT
ZEDZEDZEDZEDZ­EDISTTOTZED
ZEDISTZEDISZEDTOTZEDISTTOT
ZEDZEDZEDZEDZEDISTTOTZED
Z­EDISTZEDISZEDTOTZEDISTTOT
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
videos that begin: and later conclude with the flow
of: unscripted freedoms...
get on my nerves: get on my ******* and cranium
like an itch i just can't scratch...
freedom with too much impulse:
but not enough premeditation...
               so i turned off... they were a massive downer...
i returned to just... listening to music...
scribbling or rather: chicken scratching...
for all that thought allows when coupled
with writing...
   speaking will never grant...
  even if you couple it with war drums and
mantras of the millionth count of man...
sit under a make-shift canopy when it's
raining... the sound is electric for a while...
mesmerizing even...
like a little trickle of "orchestra"...
but then again: the sound of falling rain
is hardly Bach's polyphony...
but it also isn't the sound of a waterfall...
or the sound of the sea and its barrage of the shore
with its waves of stampeding horses...
nor is it... a tap trickling a rat-tat-tat on the sink
basin coupled with the humming
of the refrigerator murmur for the sake of ghostly
ambiance come the zenith of night:
when even burglars are asleep...
it's not a sound of slosh / slush of throwing a bucket's
worth of water from a height...
i too would like to imagine the sound
of a falling chandelier... not no...
perhaps throwing out... a bucket's load of crushed
ice on... glass... or a mirror... or a sheet of metal...
copper or iron? any difference?
i bet there's a difference on lead...
or aluminium...
but from under a makeshift canopy
to out in the open...
   a bewildering absence of "orchestra"...
just a teasing at silence...
                   no focus point for a collection of water...
evenly spread: like too little butter spread
over too much bread... you can still see the
Himalayan mountains inverted as holes
on a slice of ciabatta... couple that with a slice
of Swiss cheese and you're bound to see...
the lost lakes of the moon...
i suppose Mars was inhabitable once...
since... the earth wasn't...
and as the sun gradually cooled...
         the moon was a habitat once...
and once the sun cools even further...
Venus might be a welcome habitat...
           an argument to counter man's desire to explore
space... burning cow farts into a vacuum...
or dead dinosaur-burn to boot...
stand outside all space and time:
supposedly that's philosophy...
i suppose i'm not going to make scrambled eggs
with my brain while i'm at it...
i return to my heart of stone...
   i return to a fullness of being alone...
now that i managed to get both a haircut and
a beard trim in one afternoon
i see hungry girls eyeing me up while
i cycle... back lacerated by sweat...
     somehow it feels that during the summer:
people are supposed to fall in love...
**** at night in the forest or something...
a 35 year old man will spot a girl who just finished
her GCSEs or A-levels while all the other minors
are still dressed in school uniforms...
if this is what 35 year old men did when
we were the same age as these girls...
i suppose when we were their age: we weren't cruel
enough...
i'd love to see a colt get a stab at it to later
see the plunge into disappointment...
as ever: only the prostitutes seem the most beautiful
of women...
why is that? mandible... or... skin like leather:
well worn?
not some holy grail: mothering types where
you invest in "prodigy" or... "dynasty"...
assured that... your woman will not be touched...
fiddled by some better fiddler than you...
i suppose owning a pedigree dog is less hassle...
why not skip all that...
go straight for the obvious...
hassle with this... that... and the other...
- i was buying a gift for my father for father's day...
an obligation that shortened my savings
to visiting that godsend of a ******* of a *****
by £34.99... i got bored of buying him
whiskey for his birthday...
he has driving glasses... but nothing to walk in...
stop squinting!
in a magic moment of mania i tried about
a dozen pairs in the space of... 3 minutes...
not enough mirrors... if i had three mirrors two work
with would have put on those dozen pair of sunglasses
in circa a minute...
- at the unisex salon i was coerced into chatting
with my "hairdresser" Nicki...
we talked about her father... 75 now...
who owns over a dozen motorcycles...
he had this Harley phase...
he's going camping this weekend...
there are supposed to be lightning storms...
we never had a car...
on a bike with a buggy...
my mother died when she was 43...
he found a second lady... she too died...
i think that motorcycle saved him...
investments... one is over 100 years old...
probably comes to over £30,000 in worth...
       - is it me... or do... women... barely recognise
the worth of something?
or perhaps time is... beyond measure for them?
i had my eyes closed while i was sitting
before this grand mirror...
i don't want to see myself...
   it felt like "it" wasn't supposed to think...
pay attention to... what she was saying...
forget the Jezebel's ******* and fixate your
concentration on this... blonde bombshell
cutting your hair: and remember the one
car her father owned...
memory of the name of a thing...
oh sure... i have a memory of things...
my father owned a Makita drill...
my grandfather owned a KOPERNIKUS IX
set of protractors and ****
by E. O. Richter & Co.
he was also a philatelist...
           i inherited a grand collection...
   but he didn't indeed invest in macho:
obedience objects of bypassing self-generation
of momentum...
he didn't own a car... he preferred a bicycle...
a bus... i do too...
i guess i'm more of my grandfather than
i am my father... after all... my father wasn't
present when i was 4 through to 8...
the great brain-drain / labour-drain from the east
to the west after the collapse of soviet empire...
"coincidentally": the collapse of production
of goods in the west overall...
and metallurgy...
smart jobs now... or ***** jobs tending to...
children that will be... literate bound
to menial johns worth of jobs...
would have been better to keep them:
illiterate... quite frankly...
it's not quiete enough to just quit... right about: now...
quintessential... the goods coming in...
or the export of: Samsara Usury...
it's terrible that i forgot the name of
the car they drove...
kwa-yet... phonetically: still English...
oh the natives...
i could just cuddle them with pillow!

- so while Nicky finished off my hair
i began to take form...
to the Turk for the trimming of the beard...
i still think he ****** it up a little bit...
my chin and neckline isn't exactly
right angle: L inverted...
i need longer hairs at the tip of my chin
than longer hairs that protrude from my neck...
but he used a trimmer that had a whiff
of brothel i.e. jack daniels...
and he used a brush with some...
baby bottom powder...
   eh... if i don't like how the regrowth will
look... i'll... bask... in... a week's worth
of... returning to a joy of shaving...
god... i think i've had *** more times
than i've shaved my face in the past half-decade...

i have to write this in old deutsche:

writing is less intrusive than speech...
there's no premeditation in speaking...
writing is an extension of thought:
it's not an invitation to speak...

(in german, utilizing english grammar)

schreiben ist geringer aufdringlich als rede...
da ist nein vorsatz im reden...
shreiben ist ein gedanke(-)erweiterung (auf)
es ist nicht ein einladung zu spreche...

ol' Nicki is still in her 40s and single...
looking forward... no motorcycle leather clad owe i...
or pretend Zen buddhist either...
masculinity as... something eclectic...
those specimens of men that...
drag their offspring to football matches
and turn them into zealot supporters...
if i were bothered enough to be implored
to breed: i'd plough out a *******
Frankenstein: i already know i'm halfway...

what's that saying in casually dating when
you have multiple partners...
oh... right: it's...
es ist... kompliziert...
   i bicycle through central London
looking for two eye-sores... the tourists
are easy to spot... a pair of *** girls one flashing her
knickers while i pass...
the other taking a photography of an array of bricks...
but i'm also looking out for spotting thoese
gems those sugar-babies walking like
their usual selves... peacocking their sugar-daddy
assets...
married men with ****-**** on the side...
always in the centre of capital...
while also... on the side...
spotting... the very... past angry: melancholy women...
probably failed feminists...

well look at me: i stopped believing in love...
i started to be charged for intimacy...
at £2 per minute... at £120 per hour...
i dearly pretend to think that a session at
the barbers is "about the same" as...
a ******* from a nymphomaniac...

again: to reiterate english with German...
at the Ypres vicinity... the mass graves....

give me too much whiskey: i'll drink too much, whiskey
i'll blame my muse!
give me just enough: i'll go to bed early!

geben mich zu viel whisky: ich werden zu viel, whisky
ich werden tadel mein muse!
geben mich nur genug: ich werden zu gehen bett früh!

a newly arrived proverb from the Slavs:
if you come among the crows:
you better croak like them...

             wenn du kommen sie unter die krähen:
du beste krächzen wie (wei) sie (sei)...

yes... almost everyone is literate...
the priests and their monopoly of literacy have
disappeared..
but new monopolies have and new a literacy have
arrived...
come... sniff at me... if i ought to be a "beta"
sniffing glue off the heels of an alpha...
ich... bin... komplett!

         herr omega...          herr niemand-nix...
der letzte ratte...
                 pounding my heart to tease
a sponge...
   oh the air i breathe i will assure you...
my experience with prostitutes will never
be a Walt Whitman: ga-ga-gay...

'to a common *******' -
be composed - be at ease with me - i am walt whitman,
liberal and ***** as nature,
nor till the sun excludes you do i exclude you,
not till the waters refuse to glisten for you
and the leaves to rustle for you, do my words refuse
to glisten and rustle for you...

well **** me... between listening to
KULT's - brooklyńska rada żydów...
and... john williams' - if i were a rich man?

i'd have a harem and a camel's weight worth
of hard-on pills...
while in my youth i'd... invest wisdom and humour
to see a boxing match between king Solomon
and Buddha!
oh these labyrinths of constraints of what someone
else has assured themselves with
"gravity"... just prior...

by the girth of the right of birth and all that's
required of me to come around by: merely timing...
perhaps it would have just been easier to
fudge-pack *** with all the custard lot of ****
to begin with...

Walt Whitman... that ****** on a string...
while here i am... chore bound to juice up...
one of those "fair maidens":
always those... insufferable holes in the ground...
these: the phallus is... obnoxious...
it rises into the air and stratifies shade...
the **** the floral bud...
the mantis... the black widow...
the venus fly-trap...
     no... all caressing creatures!
at least i can both ingest fine food with
my mouth... while also able to:
puke the lies people speak...
which mingle with already eaten food...

if solipsism is merely a concept...
then... what ever happened to that Greek
demigod deity?
Narcissism is a concept: there's also the demigod
deity... but... it seems like...
the old gods of the Greeks kept the existence
of this... prancing ******* rabbit-toothed pony
a ******* secret...
where are we now?
in a society of sociopaths and ghosts!

the advent of Solipssus...
              someone train some dragons or conjure
up some demons to get this
urban rent-boy off his ******* peddle-stool!
to hell with the wrath of Venus!
she has enough ****** on c.c.t.v. cameras making
enough "dough" for not loaf of bread as we speak!

i just... wanted to be assured...
the 'ebrew deity assured me...
                 look at the letters...
the sounds and forms that people are and become...
come much later... but not too late...
they'll still be your... contemporaries...
you'll see a shift...
H-H: rugby...
                     Y: the tongue of the serpent...
begins with W and begins with M...
W: cosine... M: sine...

                   i owe nothing to the Hebrews...
but truth be told... this **** show of scouting for ******
in the ruins of Dubai...
will bite back... i'll be dead then...
the current sparring contest between
the Ishraelis and the Iranians...
always favour the minority...
the ****'ites are... the minority...
    the Persians would never bow to some...
hot-rod & hearted bunch of camel jockeys
findning literacy... all of a sudden!
"all of a sudden"!

           came the great tide... alliances are being made...
the Israelis are already making bargains with
the Persians... once... this... Arabian... fairground
collapses... once the ethics of the western mind
impose... when slavery was abolished in 1833
"somewhere": in Arabia it was only until 1970...

Christianity emerged in year 0...
Islam in year 633... circa...
give 'em some time... too much sun: turban's being
fried at present from all that imported *****-work...
but... come circa 1412... paganism was still
defended in Europe by an alliance
of Polacks and Lithuanians versus
the Teutonic knights...
i guess because the crusade involving
Barbarossa failed... i hope... the great ginger
gherkin did manage to find his way to...
Yerusalem...

  just saying: hands in the air... jazz hands:
Pontius Pilate imposing!
give those h'Arabs some time...
they've been sitting on dinosaur juice all this time
it's not wonder they want to pay out
their... well-earned: investment in...
sand... camel jockey has to have his yacht pride...
his... miracle of Dubai... a city built on sand...
unlike the thick splodges of London clay...
i will die before any of this tumbleweed giggling
happens...
it will be revelled in like a crescendo like no
other...
when... those Syrians were not welcomed
by those Saudis...
because the Saudis would only accept...
in between: Romanian ******...

                  as they would still decapitate youths
for staging minor protests...
the Slavs didn't welcome what the western Lands
seemed to be missing...
i guess: inbreeding paramount?
not... those... ****-less ***-starved youths
as if it wasn't a polygamous cult of bypassing
shared ambitions of...
a plumber hooked up with a hairdresser...
and they had an irish catholic lot of children
together, while the state allowed some aid?

no?
      well... i am a glistening slab of marble
lodged in a ray of moonlight with a smile...
all is not my plan: but the harvest of what's to be
allowed to be... made: demised.
Dad: Sawubona!
Ngema: Yebo, Sawubona! Were you Zulu?
I don’t seem to remember you.
Dad (laughs): I’ve always loved the Zulu!
Ngema: My name is Mbongeni Ngema
Dad: Call me Jo! Your music is loved by my son, Emma
Ngema: Oh, I know your son, he has the blood of the Zulu!
He looks like the kind that hails from Kwa-Mashu.
Dad (laughs): He longed to meet you while on earth
Ngema: Hahaha! That boy was very close to my heart.
Dad: Would you say he knows your every song?
Ngema (laughs): Every day, he discovers a new song!
Dad: He really loved Thina bant’a bamnyama
Ngema: Hahaha. Let’s just call it my last gift to Emma!
Dad: I think he’d really be happy to meet and see you
Ngema: Oh yes! He might be here soon. Let’s ask uJesu.

— The End —