"patroling" poems
Bang! Bang!
The sounds of gun shots mid-day on Thursday,
Sirens getting closer to the crime scene,
Just two weeks ago a man's life was terminated for a cellphone,
More thugs and more gun fires,
the tragedy so bad it even appeared in the news.
But today i can feel fear creeping in my vains,
Another man shot dead today,
why do i have to live in this community?
For i am afraid.
Few months ago
it was just like an action movie,
people running and rolling
while the loud sounds from the police guns aiming over my
roof top kept on going
Bang! Bang!
I see the police patroling the streets by day,
having picnics in the park
while they watch their horses eroid away the soil.
They feast to some take away outlets
filling their sagging bellies by night.
While they letting the just go unpunished all year long,
Oh! It hurts.
I feel a bullet on my chest,
Oh! It hurts
for i cannot look through the dark
night anymore.
I sit on the side of this wide classroom window,
And i wonder,
What if one bullet comes straight to me. (God forbid)
Oh this township that i loved,
you are not safe anymore.
Where can i run to for i called you home?
There is no distance further gone without any loud sounds;
Bang! Bang!
Oh mam' ngiyalil'
ngililel' labo abangasek'
ikakhulukaz' imphil' yam'
umphefumul' ongenacal'
kungab' sewabayin' wena dolobh' lami.
I called your name,
with so much pride and bragging,
but now i cannot even say your name
for you have groomed thugs,
gangsters,
vindals,
drug addicts and drug dealers,
harlots... And what else that we do not know?
Could it be blood sacrificies,
are these the 'EndTimes' proclaimed in the book of Revelations,
Why should i bother trying to think when all i hear in my head are ecoing sounds
Bang! Bang!
All i need to do is to find a way out,
Nyawozam' ngibeleth' !
Ngob' inhliziy' ayisahlalisekang'
qobo
when will that day be,
when crime will be stopped for good,
and police do justice to the community?
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
It was 4am and snow
had fallen silently for hours
leaving a thick blanket of marshmallow skin
draped over all, and silence reigned
like a wise emperor whose subjects slept
without fear of Timpani.
Trees were over- burdened by drift
and bent like old men,
they stood
where their seedlings had taken root
centuries before villages
crept
up from the valley
to squat among them,
bringing chimneys and children,
women and men,
and all their
dreams.
It was late
and stillness shimmered
in moon-glow and cedar musk.
frozen stars,
all around
mounds of them
as gentle winds
plowed through the natural world
sweeping smoke from rooftops.
As
Giant owls; Their wings
cupping the elemental
patrolled pillows strewn about
the star chamber
of all Gods...
Up where an omnipotent Love
dreams on and on about giant owls
and how from here, the owls were gods,
patroling the nursery
of new gods.
Owls were floating in warmth, that had been
crushed into something
it had never suspected,
they were Owls
that kept the riff raff
outside
the perfect moment
for gods to catch some sleep...
they make it so
As Owls
too small too comprehend,
the vast Love
that loved them...
even so
a majesty was theirs
if not a mind that could have known - and not
unravel from the effort
of such Understanding
They were
savagely beautiful
in all their oblivious fulfillment
of the creator's plan;
they were
Lords
wearing crowns
without burden...
At 4am, the mice below the frozen stars that fell overnight were in there dens with uneasy sleep tickling their whiskers. Those mice out of sight of The Plan's Predator, unseen in the dirt pouch under rich soil and snow, The lucky ones continued to be blessed. The gods were sleeping... and they all loved mice... So at 4am, the mice below the frozen stars that fell overnight; they received all access to another day on earth... they enjoyed the consequence of Love's action, for owl eyes were denied cute things to look at but saw everything else. And beaks ... Well....
They would go wanting.
At 4am, all Mice who prayed for windows never got windows at all.
And the first snowflake to ever have a Red dream
was later made a prophet.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 11:27 AM UTC
I was held hostage
By a white man in uniform
Wasn't a policeman, private security
He wore his gun on his belt, seemed nice
Approaches me in the night
Approaches me who is minding my own
He's talking to me, but I have no where to go
I can't run, I can't leave, I'm stuck
He's talking to me, about life
Talking about how he hates paying taxes
Talking about how he works for his own
His words are acid, an ignorant eruption
I have to bare this, I can't risk it
I do not dare. I do not dare risk it.
To tell this man to leave, this white man
With a gun, in uniform, patroling
Maintaining the peace.
My heart is racing, I want to escape
But I'm his hostage, socially bound
To the mercy of this white man and his gun.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 12:00 AM UTC
Sitting
Coldly listening to the soothing screeches of night
********** the blinding thought that lingers
Shifting my eyes as a tripod, stationary, keeping from falling
Silently patroling matters that obscure the light.
Venture.
Slowely entering an unshatterable abyss
Silhouettes dancing in the panoramic view against light and dark
Wispers, loud enough to break, soft as song, beautiful enough to heal
Movements of laughter, great screams of battle.
Embrace.
The dancers convicted movements slowly are greeted by striking colors of vibrant
The beautiful voices are pictures of heavenly sirens, echoing my heart
Thunderous roars of tune describe the battle that goes on
All in one, glowing of unimaginable ground.
Exit.
The heaven like dancers stop
The beautiful voices fade
The battles of intense sease
Light comes out of the darkness.
I awake
And forget.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC