"zanzibar" poems
~
*Holding court at the Zanzibar,
they looked on good nights
like Egyptian Queens, like Ancient Babylonians.
On not so good nights,
they resembled Brassaï's Moma Bijou -
"fugitives from Baudelaire's bad dreams",
and even then they looked magnificent.
Identity wasn't something you nailed
yourself into in late adolescence.
It was a trick of the light,
and if you were to avoid
burning yourself out,
then you simply let the flames
lick over you
and turned the ashes into kohl.*
~
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 11:47 AM UTC
Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious
asked my opinion on Mayakovsky
I read him Corso Creeley Kerouac
advised Burroughs Olson Huncke
the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.
Is he that good and kind? Am I that great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imagery-
overambitious dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.
T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.
3.9k
The stink of fish on earthen streets
A hot wind blows from ochre hills
Black faces shine with brilliant teeth
Street market ***** doth cure all ills.
Redness in her plaited hair
Rhythm in her steady tread
A harmony of balance, she carries
Water jars on her head.
A market girl is singing
As she sits among bananas
The drama in her music
Is as dusty as the street,
It fills the air with magic
As it lilts above street chatter
In the atmosphere of Africa
Where new and ancient meet.
The goat boy herds his docile flock
Through camel trains and bales
The steamer tethered at the dock
Announces that she sails
With billowed steam and mournful wail
It echoes through the town
And the planter and his agent
Bargain with a harried frown.
The bleating of the goat herd
And the stench of fish and dung
Is as ordinary as Africa
In the searing mid day sun.
Zanzibar is spices, Zanzibar is Stone.
Club Zanzibar is whiskey on the rocks
Consumed alone
Or shared upon the balcony
In the shadow of a palm
With the turquoise Indian ocean
Reaching out beyond the arm.
Do you see the dhows are sailing?
Do you see the fishing nets?
Do you hear the oarsmen chanting?
Did you see black muscle flex?
Have you watched the dripping sweat
Cascade on alabaster brow?
Have you inhaled the scent of Africa
And allowed it to allow?
Colobus monkeys in the treetops
Narrow lanes in the bazaar
Dull white walls adorn stone buildings
And the rupee is by far
The favorite tenure of the Island
Since the days when slaves were sold
By Arab camel caravaners
Who traded coin for young black gold.
East and west collide in concert
Africa and Asia blend
The Sultan's mix of race and spice
In Zanzibar, beyond lands end.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
3rd June 2008
Oct 13, 2009
Oct 13, 2009 at 11:06 PM UTC
Winding through the alleys
down to the old bazaar.
wander through the Stone Town
in the Port of Zanzibar.
The colours and the people
the spices in their blood.
Aromas floating through the air
through the neighbourhood.
The laughter and the singing,
the sparkle in the eyes.
The joy of life and living,
never in disguise.
Winding through the alleys,
down to the old bazaar.
The joy of life and living,
on the streets of Zanzibar.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
Philip Le Barr,
Was knock down by a car,
On the road to Mandalay.
He was knocked down again
By a dust cart in Spain
And again in Zanzibar.
So,
He travled at night
In the pale moon light
Away from the traffic growl
But terrible luck
He was hit by a duck
Driven by an owl.
3.3k
Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of love this is Africa
What's in Africa? What's there to see?
I asked myself on the New Year's eve
I thought that I was good in geography
But I didn't know Lagos or Nairobi
I might be ignorant, I have to admit
About Africa I knew just a little bit
The great Sahara - sands of mystery!
The Nile river - so much history!
Africa is magical and magical is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of joy this is Africa
Namibia, Nigeria, Niger, Angola, Algeria
Burundi, Benin and Libya, Lesotho and Liberia
Burkina-Faso, Botswana, Guinea-Bissau, Ghana
Djibouti, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Uganda, Rwanda, Gambia
I saw a film on Serengeti Park
A one of a kind, a must-see landmark
I watched a documentary on pyramids of Giza
They're much much older than Mona Lisa
I heard that oldest coffee plants
Take their roots in Ethiopia's land
And that samba, rumba, funk and jazz
Take their beats from African drums
Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of love this is Africa
Cameroon and Congo, Malawi, Mali, Morocco
Côte d'Ivoire and Kenya, Mauritius, Mauritania
Tunisia, Tanzania, Eswatini, Eritrea
Sudan, Senegal, Somalia, Sierra Leone, South Sudan
You can travel around cities of Africa
Like Cape Town, Cairo or Casablanca
If you're in love or plan to be
Go to Zanzibar, feel that ocean breeze!
Climb up mount Kilimanjaro
Watch the zebras cross the Masai Mara
If you're adventurous, you're a dreamer
Take a wild trip down Zambezi river
Africa is magical and magical is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland of joy this is Africa
Comoros, Chad, Cabo Verde, Democratic Republic of Congo
Ethiopia, Egypt, Guinea, Gabon, Equatorial Guinea and Togo
Madagascar, Mozambique, Central African Republic
Sao Tome and Principe, South Africa and Seychelles
Africa is beautiful and beautiful is usual in Africa
Continental wonderland, I'm on my way to Africa!
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 7:33 PM UTC
In a creche,behind the mesh in Zanzibar or Bangladesh,kids are reigned in,chained up,emptied of the loving cup that childhood gives,
who lives like this so they can miss the fun of being young?
who sticks the chiv in,trims the day,who works them for so little pay?
Look in your high street shops at hopscotch clothes from hopscotch kids in hopscotch homes, on the skids and before you buy,before you try on one more suit born from some child's unlived youth,the truth is out there in the things you buy,'cry freedom'in your cheap t-shirts and cut price flowing patterned skirts,but
the truth remains and stains your heart as sure as if you were a part of sweatshops sweating out the lives of tiny tots and will high street shops, always be the outlets for this insanity?
I'm sure the answer will arrive
eventually.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
247
What would I give to see his face?
I’d give—I’d give my life—of course—
But that is not enough!
Stop just a minute—let me think!
I’d give my biggest Bobolink!
That makes two—Him—and Life!
You know who “June” is—
I’d give her—
Roses a day from Zanzibar—
And Lily tubes—like Wells—
Bees—by the furlong—
Straits of Blue
Navies of Butterflies—sailed thro’—
And dappled Cowslip Dells—
Then I have “shares” in Primrose “Banks”—
Daffodil Dowries—spicy “Stocks”—
Dominions—broad as Dew—
Bags of Doublons—adventurous Bees
Brought me—from firmamental seas—
And Purple—from Peru—
Now—have I bought it—
“Shylock”? Say!
Sign me the Bond!
“I vow to pay
To Her—who pledges this—
One hour—of her Sovereign’s face”!
Ecstatic Contract!
Niggard Grace!
My Kingdom’s worth of Bliss!
3.2k
Zinging the zen-zone I was in
A zany request zig-zagged my way.
Princess Zinnia from the Zuider-Zee
Required a zippy line or two
To paint the zeitgeist of our times.
With the strength of a Zamboni-
With the power of a Zeus-
And an uncommon zeal I set out
To zap the doubt that slowed me.
With the flair of a Florenz Ziegfeld
And his zoftig choir of beauties,
I morphed into a zealot
Gamboling in the zephyrs
That wafted in from Zurich and Zaire,
Not to mention Zanzibar.
I felt like a Zacharias
When my zealous work went bust.
The writing turned into a zonk-
The accolades were zilch.
I felt like I’d been zippered up
Like a zebra in a zoo.
I lost my zest for going on
And slopped around in old Zoris,
Listening to zydeco’s beat
And feeling like a zit.
But then the Zodiac-
My zinging-singing sign
Came to my rescue
And I was marching off to Zion.
I was one wowie-zowie-zucchini
As I zipped across the pages
And zoomed from one idea
To an even zippier one.
So here, Sunprincess, is your verse
I’ve used up every letter zee
And gone from very bad to worse
But of this challenge, I am free.
ljm
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
On the mud flats of Padma Delta
where the mighty Ganges slides
into the Bay of Bengal
ships come to die.
Rusting oil tankers,
container ships from Panama
passenger liners,
and cargo ships from Zanzibar
North Sea fishing boats
research vessels and mother ships
anything that floats
each one has made its final trip.
Steel Leviathans
low tide beached
oil-slick stuck.
Metal monoliths
****** deep
into black sand.
The people of Sitakunda
come marching, ants
across the slippery surface
of diesel sand
to pick the carcasses apart.
Barefoot, with only blow torches
hammers and brute strength
wrenching rivets, nuts and bolts
breaching beams and deck
splitting welded seams
until the hulls are gutted
ribbed struts broken down
and torn from the edges of shape
Bit by bit
they scour and empty
right down to the core.
Bit by bit
they carry *****
to the waiting shore.
Where melting pots are kept boiling
giant stock pots stewing goodness
in a broth
but metallic flavours and oily spiced stench
hang in the misty bleakness of the bay
Skeleton hulks shift and ride
lurching, lifting with the tide
rolling, dangerous still
collapsing, with groaning creak
to maim, to crush and ****
the daring, the slow and the weak.
© M.L.Emmett
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
I said...
Ribbons lemon chewing gum
Daisies dandelion
Button teabag souvenir
Cheese cake Uncle Brian
Pepper buses diary
London *** Nantucket
Leaves carrot underwear
Ten piece bargain bucket
Raisins phone apple pie
Sock key Zanzibar
Duvet sausage dinosaur
Peanut bumper car
Mouse banana chicken wing
Fleas vermilion
Elephant soda stream
Stoat pavilion
Moose flower stickleback
Garlic salted butter
Taco dragon paper cut
Poison pizza cutter
Sandwich Batman coffee cake
Vaseline grape snow
Golf ***** haberdashery
Weasels tally-ho
:o)
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
Take this metal car and plane
And give me a camel or a horse
Take these four walls
I want to trade them
In for a tent
I will pitch it at the bottom of the Mountains
On the banks of Barada
That runs through Damascus
Or the shores of Tigris
That binds Turkey and Iraq
In the suburbs of Amman
Amongst the unique contrast
Of old and new
Or the deserts of Arabia
The unknown regions of Yemen
Maybe on the slopes of the pyramids
In the oasis of Libya
The valleys of Kashmir
On the beaches of Zanzibar
I'll trade in the can of pop
For coconut water
Or thirst quenching
Organic blends of fruit juice
That I will hand pick
Straight from the trees
Sleep to the lullaby
Of rain and birds
In a tree house
In Kuala Lumpur
Awake to the
**** a doodle doo
Of a rooster
In Bangladesh
Then go and collect
The eggs from the hens
I'll trade these windows
For a panoramic view
Technology and social networks
For loyalty and love
Go back to simple living
Be friends with the earth
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
Man...
I should not even be speaking to you. You don't got that broken look, & your edges aren't sharp enough.
That exoskeleton never saw the light of day, it laid down and died before ever being concieved. Boy, you ain't no mystery. It kind of breaks my ****** heart though, yknow?
No, ydon't though.
I mean, yknow how it feels to bleed out all your aura, feeding it to, **** I don't even know, the unknown. Dark energy. The infinite divine, the great conundrum.
Givin it to god? Wherever you find him or her or whoever. Whatever.
I guess it doesn't really matter as long as you're happy.
In the dust clouds of the destruction the bedlam be loud & disgusting & lovely & you may find solace if you so choose. That ***** is hiding specifically there, you just gotta look. But it WILL be exhausting & exasperating & emotionally draining.
All the ice'll melt before it bubbles & becomes vapor & you won't believe it, all cause you can't see it but that's ******* stupid.
They say people don't like to be called stupid. Yet the sad reality is a lot of them are, or at least they just got a lot of really stupid tendencies & would rather not address those kinds of things. But see... man, I don't think anything's sacred anymore.
So simply. **** it, go with the flow, just...float.
Oh I wish.
I could take myself serious, so others might take me serious but I end up sounding crazy either way. I think we're all losing interest here. & I'm gettin real sick of tryna make sense of myself, to myself, to & of everybody else.
So if anyone needs me you know where to find me. I'll just be kickin it in the middle of "the **** like. This is my normal.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
Inhaling, hushed, from hashed cigars
my mind implodes in Malimar
where Naiads bathe in caviar -
I dream of dwarves and three-eyed tsars.
The captive kiss of Princess Mars
(who talks in tongues at seminars)
burns red beyond Her blue boudoir -
I writhe within Her pale peignoir.
Her Maids gloss lips with cinnabar,
bedizen cheeks in dusts that mar,
serve teas beside the reservoir -
I sip them from a samovar.
Disguised in smoke and lamps of spar
Her Genies gender gold dinars,
evoking flames in ginger jars -
I plea before the Commissar.
At Princess’ neighbourhood bazaar,
white shadows slip through doors ajar
to drape my dreams in ash and char -
I long await the Avatar.
Her Merchants (preening, proud Hussars)
paint pretty scenes on VCR’s
while sailing ships to Zanzibar -
I strum the strings of warped sitars.
Her Prophets sometimes cruise in cars
else while at each and every bar
to speak of space and time bizarre -
I pass my pride for small pourboires.
Her Necromancers trace in tar
tall tales of wisdom flung afar,
transported by the Registrars -
I hitchhike on their handlebars.
Her seers conjure repertoires
where She and I are on a par
in infinite surreal memoirs -
I sometimes sense the void is ours.
My Princess never sees the scars
cut by Her whispered “au revoirs” -
I often wake to ask ‘who are
these Gods that sail the distant stars?’
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
I loved you on your assurance of loving me too
I kissed you as you kissed me in turn
I showered you with the gifts and series of treats
I courted you on the shores of Zanzibar island
We hovered around and hopped in choppers
To give a toast of debutante to our love
I swell your account with all currencies
I paid your University fees and hostel costs
I financed wholesomely the wedding of your sister
I did all whatsoever you wanted from in time
You got pregnant and promised me a baby
Only you turned around to abort my baby
The second week I lost my job
Babie you are very bad.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
in the Land of Zanzibar
are Black souls
with bruises and scars
buried beneath
every planted magnolia tree
are the severed heads and
bodies of African slaves
who dared to look
at the Arab Women
are the seeds planted
through the bitter
hands of slavery
in the Land of Zanzibar
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
I wish I was in Zanzibar
to walk upon its sand
to feel the impressions of poems
that explode within my palms
and all the ink that baths upon
and calls itself anew
is but a shower of raging sunlight
that drags my heart askew
I wish I was in Zanzibar
to walk upon its sand
to feel his beutiful fingers
entwined within my hand
my arms stretch out above my head
I really do love him
But know that he is dead
I wish I was in Zanzibar
to feel its gentle waves
its foam like Can Can dancers
performing on a stage
and one day soon
I am going to have to go there
and then they all will know
that I am a boy, a mere pretender
in slow motion in the show
and here I will look for butterflies
as I make my way to school
and claim the part of intelligence
or perhaps that of fool
I think in velvet red
and dream of the day it will be me
naked upon the stage
I wish I was in Zanzibar
to feel its gentle rage
and put my palm to ink and pen
and write upon its page
I wish I was in Zanzibar
its where I wish to go
to play all day upon the sand
and be in its strange and wonderful show
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
Armed with a truthbrush
And a few mythbusters
From zanzibar,
I scoured my soul
Like I'd never done before
Defying delusions
Of grandeur
Guarding doors shackled
And sealed
With cultural stereotape
I broke through the locks
And the shock
Of four centuries
Consumed me
The stench of humanity
Gone wild
Was palpable
Like cotton and gold
But the world was neither
Pitiless nor blind
To the plight
Of the slave's child
And the chiren
Of her *****
Would unite in the fight
To repair wounds
20 generations deep
Making the scars
Of imperious nations
Easier to bear
~ P
(#TheScarsofImperiousNations)
4/21/2014
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
You ignite the papaya scent
of Zanzibar romances
spiced woods behind ears
seducing the body's non-senses
like kisses enticed from hints
formed in a humid land
kneading your cat pad toes
into my kicked off sandals
soft sinking
warm as sand spreading
on golden embers
smoking like a slow glowing dhow
sailing wine tumblers
spilling Matemwe beach rays
of crystal rain in sunshine
tinkling against my skin
like the random meditation
in wind chimes
tuned by the slight twitch
of Mnemba Atoll frangipani
to unwind my fire
into an isle of leaves
singing sunny
somewhere mysterious
through winding alleyways
we kissed on shady curves
sprung open
on to Stone Town seas
your weather
beaten hair
waving in Forodhani Gardens
showered into labyrinthine storms
travelled blue-black horizons
infused with times
of thunder roaming
lost in alluring plans
mindful I look back to check
your coral stone directions
we swept into an unclipped tent
of Salamah **** Saïd's
eating hot shwarma
like I was the Sultan and you princess
your attractions slipping a cargo off
of precious unguent wet essentials
drying to flow a silken scarf
around Darajani Market thrills
floating in a dark continent
on each kiss to my needy neck
leaning in the white wake
of Zani-bar dreams
which seek
to push the boat out
on your shoulder
once you're moored
on to my arms
longing for you
swaying now
under sweating hot
Gizenga road palms
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
in the Land of Zanzibar
are the Black souls
with bruises and scars
chopped heads
and
castrated bodies
buried beneath
the planted magnolia trees
are the severed heads and
bodies of African slaves
who dared to look
at the Arab Women
are the
planted magnolia seeds
for we weep
what we sow
in the
Land of Zanzibar
that
we still know
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
Zanzibar,
From these waters I picked the salts,
Embroidering my words on their slates,
Asubuhi Nyema Ndugu Nzuri,
The melodies of the moonson,
Has trigger the waves,
They dance to the long drawn song,
NDUNGU
The dhows are taut,
And primed for sail,
Is Sofala set?
Are the docks decked?
What about the sands;Are they spiced?
And the puppet performers?
NDUNGU
Our cronies will soon ingress,
Reach mapungubwe with my words,
Tell him to tailor rapta and kilwa kisiwani,
And put the leopard kopje in order,
NDUNGU
Ultimate,are the bounties swathed?
Kuhusu Ndungu Bora
Zanzibar.
Zanzibar,
Historian E.Lexano,
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC
Smokey, hazy
feathers and fur
fine wine
in a cheap cafe
all the spells love knows
cast at once
I danced out to sea in crystal and gold
and found treasures beyond compare
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 6:12 PM UTC
Destiny do not passed me by
On this road to Zanzibar
Well I tipped my hat
while destiny winked an eye
Then, we politely
Said of each other goodbye
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 9:22 PM UTC
Just in 5 days of being in Zanzibar
I have concluded that a pair of jeans in this heat is not working
By midday my jeans are moist and heavy from my sweat
Seated on my workstation I can feel the sweat forming in between my thighs
And running down my legs
All the time my jeans have saved me
But not on this trip
I still have 56 more days on this island
I need to buy me some kanga or chitenge
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 4:37 AM UTC
Farrokh Bulsara a.k.a. Freddie Mercury
British singer, songwriter known universally
Confirmed he had AIDS and then died the next day
His music through Queen still rocks us all the way
Came a man from Zanzibar named Farrokh
Whose tastes were both flamboyant and baroque
For fame he was ready
Changed his name to Freddie
After his death millions still love this bloke
A Heathrow baggage handler prior to fame
Wrote a song about his favorite cat, Delilah by name
In his personal life he was very shy, gentle and kind
His life and times are “guaranteed to blow your mind”
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 11:46 AM UTC