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Raghu Menon Jul 2015
Large and wide
Deep and Cool
Filled with the purest water inside
It was our village's hallmark pool..

Stone lined walls on all sides
WIth steps going down to the water
And stones for washing clothes
Which also doubled for scrubbing our feet..


Live with fish and water snakes
Who were friends with us kids,
Frogs who would sing chorus during the rains
and ferns green and bright on the walls.

With overhanging trees on the banks
We came running and dived into the water
somersaulted and torpedoed
and swam in all fashions and styles...


Swimming and diving from the banks
We played "catch me if you can"
from the time we are back from schools
Till it is dark and when calls come from our homes.

With swollen finger tips
and red eyes, but
After the long swim and bath
Having dinner right away and
slipping into a good night's sleep...

Days where there were no TVs to watch
Days where there no homeworks to be done
Days where what mattered most were friends
Days which take us to the sweet childhood..

Gone is the pride of our village
there are no kids who play in the water
For there is no water in the pond
except for a few months during the rains

Kids are no longer kids
They have TV to watch
Phone and computers to play
Virtual friends to play with

Lucky we were
to have such beautiful childhoods
Such memorable friendships
Such adventurous rainy seasons
....
Correctly he is John the Baptizer,
His birth was delayed up to late,
Late post menopausal age of his mother,
Elisabeth the wife of Zachariah the priest,
At the temple of the Jews in Palestine
During the regal time of Rome
As a world empire and a role model of tyranny,

Imagine conceiving after menopause,
During the nonagenarian ages
Of all the ages, in the nineties?
But she conceived John,
Was it true or mere sensationalism?
Or mere nerve chilling art style?
To hold the world audience a hostage?
I don’t know but  John was born
After his mother’s menopause,

He contrasts with Jesus
Born by a ****** Mary,
Imagine a Jewish ******
Without ****** *******
Became pregnant,
And gave birth to Jesus,
When Mary was pregnant
She socially visited Elisabeth
John’s fetus somersaulted,
Like a Chinese acrobat
Inside his mother’s tummy,
It was his baptism before birth,
But may be pregnancy of a ******
Has more strength than pregnancy
Of a post menopause octogenarian,

Hence the famous ode by Catholics;
In the name of Hail Mary
The mother of God
Most blessed above all women,

These post menopause pregnance
And ******‘s pregnancy without ***
Contrasts with Adam’s creation from clay
And Eve’s creation from Adam’s left rib,
Another super-sensational literature,
Or pataphorical art; Magical surrealism?

Let me not go dumb or mute
Like Zachariah when he believed not,
But no, I already believed ergo, my vocality,

Now why did John refuse to put on clothes?
Only to put on a skin of a goat,
Or was it a monkey Clobus,
The one which we in Africa
We are forced to ****
Before your father permits you
To face the circumcision knife,
John again refused to eat cooked foods,
He survived on raw honey and locusts,
Nuts, roots and raw fruits, dietician?

Or it was self denial or self immolation?
Like the one often displayed
by the Islamic statesmen aka terrorists
When committing suicide bombing?
No it began with the Japanese Kamikaze,
In preparation to bomb Pearl Habour,
I don’t know at all at all,

Now what of the howling in the wilderness,
Calling for people to baptism in water
At the riverbanks of polluted Jordan
And when he saw the Negroes
Among those who came for baptism
He called them the viper’s generation
Or were they Libyan Arabs?
And Jesus came, John went inferior,
He declined to baptize Jesus,
But Jesus pleaded for the service,
Then the dove opened the heaven
And came down to anoint Jesus,
Which heaven was opened?
Was the sky or the heaven?
This must be the writer’s Gnostics
Used to calling the sky as the heaven
Why the dove and why the heaven?

Then john again began doubting
Very genuine doubt I m telling you,
You see john began spying on privacy of the king
Was he also a night runner? Maybe,
He spied on Herodias the mother of Salome
She was a chic for the king; Herod Antipas,
This stuff threw John into  a calaboose,
Then John began day dreaming
Like any other prisoner
For his freedom and bush foods
He really missed honey and locusts
And also the fruits; Quavas and mustaberries,

He thought Jesus would come running,
Panting like a cheetah to pull him out,
Out of colonial prison, Jesus never came
Hence Johns doubts;
If Jesus is the Messiah really,
Can’t he come to redeem me?
From these colonial prison Herod,
Look; we are all Jews
In fact blood related Jews
And it is a year he has never come,
To pay me a visit when am in prison
Is he the Messiah really?
Or we still have to wait for a true messiah?

But Jesus was a rude messiah
Or Jesus was jealousy? Envious?
Of John’s spiritual competence,
I think he was wrong, totally wrong
He should have saved john the Baptizer
From the Roman colonial prison,
For there is no need nor spiritual logic
For Jesus to heal the lepers, and the blind
To resurrect Jairus’s daughter
And command the devils out of a madman,
But he could rescue his cousin brother
From a colonial prison, was it detention?
Remember Mary and Elisabeth were sisters,

John was a victim of circumstance
Like those who now languish in torture,
Torture chambers of the quatanamo bay prison,
Detained and tortured inhumanly
Without hope of trial nor justice
For no other reason but faith and race,
John was a harbinger of Sadam Hussein,
Osama Bin Laden, Mummar Gaddafi,
Nelson Mandella, Luther King, Dedan Kimathi,
Elijah Masinde, Arap Manyei and Mugo wa Gatheru,
They fought tyranny with firmness
They underwent torture for the sake of humanity,
They suffered for no reason but folly that goes with tyranny.

And finally, Salome the poet,
Living by performing the spoken word,
And Proceeds of her mother’s adultery
And vampirizing on the blood of the righteous
She came and danced in artful wickedness
by gyrating her ***** satanically
In the usual wicked style of a *****’s daughter
Sending the male audience nerveless with ego
Only for to suggest her prize;
As John’s head on the platter,
John was grisly mattered in the cells
Then his head was delivered on a platter
To Salome the poet the daughter of Herodias,
It all happened when Jesus was aware
Amid the full wind of his wonders
On the crest of his fame as the messiah
Isn’t saving the prisoner good as resurrecting
Young damsels and healing the lepers’?

But anyway, it is stark culture of Europe
To chop off the heads
Of those who oppose their tyranny,
It is not only John the Baptist that have suffered,
Suffered like this in the hands of Europeans tyranny,
The list of such-like victims is endless;
Mugo wa Gatheru was buried alive in Kenya
He was ordered at a gun point
By the British colonial police,
To dig his own grave using a mattock
Then the British clobbered and buried him a live,
On this brutal burial of Mugo wa Gatheru,
The Queen of England promoted these policemen
That buried Mugo wa Gatheru,
Kotalel Arap Samoia of the Nandi Militia in Kenya
Was shot twice in the head by the British spy;
The spy chopped off Koitalel’s head
He took it to the queen in heroic dint
And the queen glorified the spy,
Anglo-American power chopped of sadam’s head
Anglo-American power killed Mummar Gaddafi,
Anglo-American power Killed Osama bin Laden
They perpetrated all these without trial,
I am tired of all these………………
S E L Jan 2014
the dregs of your spotted smiles somersaulted in an elegant arc

fell in helpless array and landed nine planets away from my feet

and something slightly old still feeds my anger at your impatience





I forage through my grace to keep my tongue from spilling mess

and my heart feels all squiggly as I sneeze my way to your mocking silence

I gladly offer sweet indulgence while you openly despise my faults




I forage through my fantasies, not wishing to appear so trivial

lesions swell on the plastic head of revulsion

let not depression eat at your sweet magical pulse

still strongly beating in the sometimes sepulchral coffers of life




scorn not the honey bee buzzing or the hummingbird flitting

embrace the nuisance of calamity

for it helps along the way

to make vigorous the spirit

to wedge a cardiac space in place of pillowcase full of stones

where giants sleep in silent meadows across the land

sensing no sharp slingshot from no nifty bottle legged creature

and disappearing into the thicket would be the right time

on a heavy back, a child carries a burden made of toxic crayons

to melt away the awful prejudice of its forbears; undo the chains

the bringer of rain stands alone in a puddle, or is it a lake?




are YOU awake?
The Wait:
don’t look for love in public spaces
love is shy always
hesitating she comes with flowing grace
to the patient lover
in the end all that is needed
is to look into the mirror –
in the reflection of your eyes
you’ll find her!

The First Smile:
Oh! Say not that this world is mean
do not turn your face away from me!
the lack of a smile in return
was not intended to spurn
but your smile left me so captivated
so caught up and fascinated,
that even as my heart somersaulted,
my lips forgot to smile!

Being Together:
the mist hides my secrets,
of it are born my desires
the arc of the moon expands to contain
every wish of this lovesick heart
the morning but amplifies this-
the sweetness of the night’s embrace
on sleepless pyres were burnt our passions
on winter’s breath our dreams impaled!

Inseparability:*
Love isn’t Love
until one sees
that I am You
and You are Me
so where lies the question
of coming and going
wherever you are
there I shall be!

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Gaye Sep 2015
What’s the color of the sky in your memory?
I know you loved your twinkling mansion
But with misty eyes I realized that-
You’re awaiting just beneath my heart.

I hummed melodies lacking pace
And studied verses to sidetrack you
But do you remember the days
I talked to you endlessly?

You kicked me with at most joy
And somersaulted all around me
But you never knew that I dreamt-
A thousand dreams of loving you!

I’m sorry for all your dreams
I’m sorry for all your smiles
You deserved to be born
But I butchered you!
margaret Jun 2017
I am forever stuck
On spin cycle,
Tumbling around in my own mind.
Drowning,
Gasping,
For air.
I cry out for help,
but no one can hear me
Through the glass.
It seems they can't see me
Either,
As I am somersaulted
Into pain.
I just want someone to be
Gentle.
Cycle,
And all I can think is
Lazy days,
Daisies lay as
I wilt
Among the clothes.
Terry Collett Jan 2014
Judith sat on her bed
the window showed
night sky

and moon
and stars
she'd been

carol singing
with the choir
walking the route

outlined
singing at houses
to people

she and Benedict
amongst others
the parson

had the torch
others battery lamps
to read from sheets

she had walked
with Benedict
close by

near to his elbow
breathed in
his air

not cold
his hands
holding the sheet

if I lean closer
I can rub mine
against his

she did
skin on skin
she lifted her eyes

from the sheet
with words of carols
studied his face

lit up by
lamp light
hazel eyes

lips open
now closed
kiss

O if
maybe he will
if

she leaned in
he looked up
from the sheet

looked at the others
nearby rustling sheets
moving lamps

shadowed
he moved in
please kiss

she sensed him near
lips brushed
closer please

touch me
fill me
empty me

he moved in
pressed his lips
to hers

all else blanked
moon
stars

sky
others
rustling sheets

light gone
all else
but the kiss

the lips
undone
opened up

filled
she sensed
knife-like wounds

in her being
in her heart
in her ***

her heart somersaulted
her lips burned
to bright red

and branded his
more more
press

into me
seal our lips
as one

his free hand
encircled her
hers

encircled him
her bed creaked
she moved

further back
their lips
had parted

carols began
others sang
he and she

rustled sheets
lips aflame
she felt older

than her 13 years
at that moment
in time

he seemed ancient
in his 14 years aged
just love

lips
kiss
no crime.
A GIRL AND BOY IN 1961 CAROL SINGING AT CHRISTMAS.
Gracieh Nimmoh Feb 2015
You were here,
Seated right next to me,
Eating slowly,
Savoring every mouthful of my homemade African delicacies,
That I had prepared specially for you,
You ate to your full,
And your face was fixed with a merry grin,
I cleared the table and walked to the kitchen,
Where you followed and held me from the back,
Turned me around,
And looked right into my eyes,
You claimed to be performing a ritual,
“To kiss the cook when the food is good”,
You lowered your lips onto mine,
My heart somersaulted,
My feet and arms were wobbly,
My brain stopped working,
And as I struggled to steal a breath,
During this long and sensual kiss,
I suddenly woke up!
What a dream!
Postman Aug 2017
In white
he was dressed
but all my senses screamed red,
dipped in scorching passion
as he came and stood before me
there and then, his plush lips made an O
as he uttered efficiently the word, hello
Oh! holy hell,
my feet went feeble and
my mind somersaulted,
Sudden hormonal rush
made me blush as if
I were a crazy, stupid teenager.
Oh! Please get a grip
my inner goddess pursed her lips.
His tongue rolled, the velvety sound
like a love song dipped in butter
oozed from his deliciously moist mouth,
it made no sense,
but left me soaked in sensation.
Sensuous sound of his voice
was like a melody of monsoon
on a vivaldian violin.
How I wished we were alone,
not amidst the **** crowd,
How I desired your hands
to discover my contour,
contour that craved for you.
Intense inclination induced by
what? love or infatuation?
I simply don't care, now
all I want is to have you right here.
kelvin mungai Apr 2016
Cluelessly i blankly glared at the snow white writing pad
  As my hand scribbled furiously
Back and forth my fingers moved the pen as it mercilessly tainted the paper
Ideas somersaulted in my skull
My time was limitless
As my pen tried to define my destiny
The scribbling noise was enough evidence that the two were glued in a mutual conversation
Ohhh what do i say
The pen spoke as it continued to *** the blue fluid
You are more than a mystery
The now colored paper replied
Neither could i explain nor understand
As ideas frothed from my recess deep in the core of my brain
Where creativity nested waiting for right moment to erupt like an active volcano
It takes more than thinking it needs focusing the climaxing pen breathed out
Am making a poet am creating a voice of reason
By jumbling alphabets and sometimes drawing blanks
I make words play on top of you
I smiled as it dawned to me i had an arsenal to fight this word war
Pen as my spear and the book my shield
With both i am a knight
A literature warrior
Who can unite intellectuals
And create a kingdom of creativity
Poetry is born
Muluuta Mugagga Apr 2021
Foolishness climbed my brain
Nearby was a liquid ladder
Weaved in materials of strong water
Overusing the ladder polluted peace!

My brain somersaulted many times
Like a possessed mind i breathed pain and agony
My  lady was abused and battered
Disfiguring her body is an understatement

World is  deeply weeping and bleeding
Attacks on bodies and minds are soaring
Excess drug consumption is chocking humans
Onus of reversing the situation stares at me and you!
drugs are sweet but highly toxic
Girl Mar 2021
The feeling of cold metal against my thigh as I inched my way across the ballroom elegant yet unknowingly dangerous. Like a wolf in a sheep’s costume, I glance across the room and lock my eyes with his. Dressed in black and ruggedly handsome. His emerald orbs glazed over with an emotion I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It seemed as time slowed as we gazed into each other’s eyes before hastily breaking eye contact. The music slowed and he made his move, making his way across the maze of oblivious dancers before stopping in front of me. I studied his face for any sign of emotion, anything that could give him away before resting my eyes on his waiting hand. Tenderly lifting up my hand I rested it onto his. His rough palms engulfing my hand as he guided me towards the dance floor. Moving in unison we danced the night away, without a word but somehow with mutual understanding. The cool dagger strapped to my thigh served as a bitter reminder of what was to come. But as the music slowed and I rested my head against his shoulder and inhaled the intoxicating scent of pine my heartbeat quickens. But as every second passes, I can feel him guiding us further and further from the middle of the ballroom. Soon enough we were in an enclosed hallway. I move to step out of his embrace but his grip tightens. His eyes dancing mischievously he leans in, his hot breath hitting my ear. “It’s quite a pity someone so pretty has to end like this.” Reaching under my dress I feel the familiar smooth metal flicking out the dagger I pressed it against his neck for a split second his eyes revealed his surprise.
“You should know that villains often come with pretty faces,” I replied in the same sultry voice I had practiced in the mirror just a few hours ago. Circling around him like a predator to prey, “So who sent you?” My voice ringing out beneath the roar of the music from the other room. His eyes scrutinized my every move as his hand drifted towards his back pocket. Whipping out his dagger we circled each other, matching each other’s pace as if dancing our own sort of twisted tango.
“Guess,” he smirked, his eyes cool and calculating. As the music slowed in the background he lunged forward catching me in surprise only giving me barely a second to sidestep his dagger slashing wildly in the air. I wince as I felt the sharp blade graze the side of my back, my dagger clanking noisily as it slid down the hallway. Catching him off balance I pounce, pinning him to the ground, kicking his dagger to the side. My eyes narrow as I feel his familiar palms caressing my hands, and for a fraction of a second, I let my guard down. Giving him a way out, flipping me onto my back he pinned me down on the cold granite floor. I feel a fluttering in my stomach as he stared into my eyes, before trailing his hot gaze to my lips. And for a split second, I swore I heard him mutter under his breath.
“Till the next dance… princess” then, he was gone. His dark cape fluttering behind him as he fled the scene. Looking out into the darkness at his disappearing shadow I touch my lips as if just remembering to breathe. My stomach involuntarily somersaulted as his words echoed throughout my mind. My logical hatred for him was betrayed by my body and soul as hands were already craving his touch, my lungs missing the iconic smell of pine I had gotten used to. But I was determined to finish this mission, even those soft brown locks, draping over his forehead won’t stop me from that. Standing up I dusted myself off, picking up his dagger and slipping mine back into my sheath my imagination ran wild. A seemingly never-ending stream of thoughts poured through my mind. Slipping through the castle door I looked up, into the darkened sky. Shimmering with a million fairy lights, emblazing the august night sky. But at that moment, I could only see his eyes, exquisite, like priceless emerald. Getting lost among the pine forests, running through the fields of Ireland with the exotic aura of a newborn dragon. Butterflies erupting from my stomach at the thought of the next dance, meeting my prince.
David R Jul 2021
We wandered up the mountain-side
me and a mate of mine,
though hard-going, we kept our stride,
managing just fine

but lo, the weather, it weren't our friend,
surrounded the hills with mist,
so to our steps we had to tend,
in case a step we missed

Surreal was our surrounding,
wrapped by whitest blanket,
sight of ours confounding,
yet bow we did 'n thank it

for there is beauty in the unusual,
albeit not what we wanted,
for it made for the delusional,
as if the fells were haunted

well, on this hike that I tell of,
on place of hardest rock,
in order that i not fall off,
i slid down on me buttock.

and as extra care was needed there,
i dropped my rucksack down
on plateau beneath rock-stair
that i shouldn't break me crown

and what do you think happened next,
just wait until i tell you,
for it made my mate be mighty vexed
and caused a ballyhoo

said rucksack with his camera 'n drone
of almost two thousand quid
it started rolling off the stone
and down the scree it slid

over 'n over it somersaulted
like an egg omelette,
and i tell ye, as it vaulted,
my son, i did so fret

to my luck, there was little harm done
to his precious dear contents,
to his drone was damage none,
but his camera had glass indents

it'll cost him three hundred ton
to fix that iPod good
but what else should I have done?
I did the best I could

what think you, was this aleatory?
should I pay up all the same?
what say you of my story,
am I the one to blame?
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge:
#aleatory

— The End —