Oh captain! my captain!
We smoked hemp and cannabis and all forms of grass,
We drifted off to nether lands and grass lands,
But still the pain in our bellies remained,
the angry rumblings of our no longer satiate bellies woke our now hazy galaxies.
We walk through death's valley,
We behold hades gates,
Behind it the fat of our cattle,
The richness of our soils.
They far off people whisper;
"And why can they not revolt and spill their blood one more time,
Revolt until they eat the spoils of revolution
and their bellies burst open in the pleasure of gluttony,
Savages they always are after all."
Hardly had they spoken than,
Out of the book of Words,
The pale rider burst forth;
I heard a voice booming behind;
"Do not harm the wine and oil."
Darkness.
And then we picked up sticks,
And then returned to the forests,
And swung from the trees.
Judgment.
We were merciless,
they were buried where they fell,
we slew the zombies,
our lights shone upon the vampires,
the Banshees fled,
the minotaurs begged for mercy.
We were merciless.
New beginnings.
The blood filled rivers are clean,
The barren ground quenched,
The gods of our fathers assuaged,
We returned to build Rome.
We planted the vine yards,
The lamb walks with the lion,
We are the children of the revolution.
D e Wasake
29 October 2011
Saturday, 29 October 2011
Wednesday, 24 August 2011
Manjeri: persistence of memory
When silence breathes her sorrow
and still winds carry men's sad sorrows,
I pull the singing bird to my bosom
and weep into her bosom.
When we love so deep
and then miss so deep
I pull the naive girl to my self,
we love a moment or two
and then cuddle till the break of dawn.
memories fade,
sorrows fade,
time blunts everything,
time blunts nothing.
I didn't ever forget you,
but i carry the cross always,
the cross of changes,
the persistence of memory.
Do you remember, do you?
Manjeri Manjeri, I wear you like a tattoo.
When silence breathes her unholy breath
and minstrels and muses skip along distant paths,
sadness fades, time fades,
I plant upon your neck a million kisses.
D E Wasake
9 May 2011
and still winds carry men's sad sorrows,
I pull the singing bird to my bosom
and weep into her bosom.
When we love so deep
and then miss so deep
I pull the naive girl to my self,
we love a moment or two
and then cuddle till the break of dawn.
memories fade,
sorrows fade,
time blunts everything,
time blunts nothing.
I didn't ever forget you,
but i carry the cross always,
the cross of changes,
the persistence of memory.
Do you remember, do you?
Manjeri Manjeri, I wear you like a tattoo.
When silence breathes her unholy breath
and minstrels and muses skip along distant paths,
sadness fades, time fades,
I plant upon your neck a million kisses.
D E Wasake
9 May 2011
Sunday, 6 March 2011
Blinding lights
In the city of blinding lights;
all the black guys with the white girls,
colour blind, love blind....
there too goes my baby,
and also into the leaking roof church,
where they go down to the river to pray,
singing negro spiritual songs,
after their fat bellies are satiate with rice and peas,
or was it peas and rice?
Down to the river to pray,
to lay down their burdens upon invisible Lord,
after burdening visible poor,
with offertory for church fund, prayer fund and rapture fund.
In the city of blinding lights;
all the black people, devoid of the culture of who they are,
all the white people, devoid of the memory of where they are....
there too goes my baby,
and also into the reality television screen,
where they sacrifice the dignity of their childhood,
and onto Jersey's shore,
they gyrate and player hate,
or perhaps did they play upon hate,
while gyrating upon the beautiful stranger?
Into the reality television screen,
where the parents become the children,
and the children the parents,
and we are no longer sure which is which or who begat who.
In the city of blinding(not blinging) lights,
I was a man, walking into the light, crow perched upon shoulder.
We were fully alive and yet fully dead,
we went down to the river to pray;
with our white women(there too goes my baby),
singing negro spiritual songs,
but in the white man's language,
our fat bellies satiate,
from the rapture fund and the prayer fund and the church fund.
Down by the river,
water turned into wine,
sister light gone, brother darkness here,
and we too became devoid;
not only of the memory of who we were
but also of the memory of where we were.
Colour oh colour,
where is your difference now?
Dickson E Wasake
5 March 2011
all the black guys with the white girls,
colour blind, love blind....
there too goes my baby,
and also into the leaking roof church,
where they go down to the river to pray,
singing negro spiritual songs,
after their fat bellies are satiate with rice and peas,
or was it peas and rice?
Down to the river to pray,
to lay down their burdens upon invisible Lord,
after burdening visible poor,
with offertory for church fund, prayer fund and rapture fund.
In the city of blinding lights;
all the black people, devoid of the culture of who they are,
all the white people, devoid of the memory of where they are....
there too goes my baby,
and also into the reality television screen,
where they sacrifice the dignity of their childhood,
and onto Jersey's shore,
they gyrate and player hate,
or perhaps did they play upon hate,
while gyrating upon the beautiful stranger?
Into the reality television screen,
where the parents become the children,
and the children the parents,
and we are no longer sure which is which or who begat who.
In the city of blinding(not blinging) lights,
I was a man, walking into the light, crow perched upon shoulder.
We were fully alive and yet fully dead,
we went down to the river to pray;
with our white women(there too goes my baby),
singing negro spiritual songs,
but in the white man's language,
our fat bellies satiate,
from the rapture fund and the prayer fund and the church fund.
Down by the river,
water turned into wine,
sister light gone, brother darkness here,
and we too became devoid;
not only of the memory of who we were
but also of the memory of where we were.
Colour oh colour,
where is your difference now?
Dickson E Wasake
5 March 2011
Saturday, 15 January 2011
Deep end of the ocean(part III)
Boogie nights swiftly go by me,
As quickly as the man friday welcomed to crusoe island,
The bearded man awaits little miss mermaid,
Who with a pout and a swish of her fin
comes and goes,
As shyly as this island's tidal waters
So far in and just as soon so far out!
The silence of this unholy night
Broken by the shrill scream of the device,
The cautious voice on the other end
Tiptoes around the boogie night blues,
And clutches upon the life buoy;
They have afterall made it to 8 moons,
(And not a penny more I daresay)
Only more footprints
In the sands of time
In the sands of this desert island's shores.
The little miss mermaid,
With a pout and a swish of her fin,
Dives,
And in her place,
What angelic creature is this!
Could it be as the phoenix of old,
Rising on twillight moon,
From the ashes of her tears?
What angelic creature is this,
With a pout and a swish of her fin,
Luring me into cravens and crags,
To the deep end of the ocean,
Still waters running deep,
Deep emotions to stir, for which to weep,
And to the bottom of the sea,
We drink sea teas and shell sea peas,
We tell sea tales and ride upon sea snails,
(Of course we dreamed sea dreams).
The little miss mermaid,
With a pout and a swish of her fin,
Whispers;
Love me forever.
The bearded man,
With a growl in his voice,
With the pearl of her heart in his palm,
Whispered(in a growl of course),
Always, love always.
At the deep end of the ocean,
At the two ends of the hearing device,
deep emotions stir,
for these we weep,
For these we hope to keep,
Another 8 moons
D E Wasake
14 January 2011
"Twilight; phoenix"
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless
As quickly as the man friday welcomed to crusoe island,
The bearded man awaits little miss mermaid,
Who with a pout and a swish of her fin
comes and goes,
As shyly as this island's tidal waters
So far in and just as soon so far out!
The silence of this unholy night
Broken by the shrill scream of the device,
The cautious voice on the other end
Tiptoes around the boogie night blues,
And clutches upon the life buoy;
They have afterall made it to 8 moons,
(And not a penny more I daresay)
Only more footprints
In the sands of time
In the sands of this desert island's shores.
The little miss mermaid,
With a pout and a swish of her fin,
Dives,
And in her place,
What angelic creature is this!
Could it be as the phoenix of old,
Rising on twillight moon,
From the ashes of her tears?
What angelic creature is this,
With a pout and a swish of her fin,
Luring me into cravens and crags,
To the deep end of the ocean,
Still waters running deep,
Deep emotions to stir, for which to weep,
And to the bottom of the sea,
We drink sea teas and shell sea peas,
We tell sea tales and ride upon sea snails,
(Of course we dreamed sea dreams).
The little miss mermaid,
With a pout and a swish of her fin,
Whispers;
Love me forever.
The bearded man,
With a growl in his voice,
With the pearl of her heart in his palm,
Whispered(in a growl of course),
Always, love always.
At the deep end of the ocean,
At the two ends of the hearing device,
deep emotions stir,
for these we weep,
For these we hope to keep,
Another 8 moons
D E Wasake
14 January 2011
"Twilight; phoenix"
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
The vulture mourns(at the death of love, part 2)
It was the best of times,it was the worst of times;
we loved with all our hearts,
we loved with all our best parts,
but foe(and perhaps friend too),
outside looking in,
albeit through smoky windows,
through stained glass of reputation past,
cast the stones of judgement,
and sung the chorus of old;
the chorus of lovers gone, lovers forlorn,
the ones handed over to the dark side,
but not before being worn out with twist and lie.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times;
who shall sing our praises?
Send the vulture.
The vulture is afterall a patient bird;
he will mourn for us,
and then feast,
at the death of love.
Dickson E Wasake
6 October 2010
we loved with all our hearts,
we loved with all our best parts,
but foe(and perhaps friend too),
outside looking in,
albeit through smoky windows,
through stained glass of reputation past,
cast the stones of judgement,
and sung the chorus of old;
the chorus of lovers gone, lovers forlorn,
the ones handed over to the dark side,
but not before being worn out with twist and lie.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times;
who shall sing our praises?
Send the vulture.
The vulture is afterall a patient bird;
he will mourn for us,
and then feast,
at the death of love.
Dickson E Wasake
6 October 2010
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Snuggles flies home(an insomniac poet dreams)
3:30 am, an insomniac poet muses: "daylight is already coming, birds already stirring, the wind blowing gently;on the road to Zion we now gird ourselves for the thief lurks close, oh ye fellow travellers asleep: arise and shine! The glory of the Great Shepherd is already shining upon you, upon the earth, the cross of changes, here already, the sheep of change, already home!"
3.42 am; a sleepy thought stirs; "who or what is constantly unwound when we wind? who or what knows of this connection when we clasp and snuggle? Who or what can decipher the distressful unconnection when you fly away with snuggles? A once sleepy thought now sits wide awake, on the edge of daylight now emerging; the crossroad of changes, is already here, the track of our dreams already home!"
3.55 am a sleepy poet bemoans; "oh you sea gulls of this quaint little town, what nocturnals are you? what strange mutation are you made of that you forage and scream and fight for our trash, a leftover chip here, a leftover slice there? What strange times you live in that you hunt at hours unknown, at hours that your unknown ancestors ancient were still in the sea cliff's crags and crevices minding little gulls or loving mother gulls at nest home. Surely the sea of changes is here, our dreams no longer home!"
4:07 am; an insomniac poet dreams; "when snuggles flew home, a lonely heart beat, a sleepy head dreamed of airplanes becoming horses, of knights dark charging across kisumu's heaths(or perhaps riding an elephant), of dawn's break swimming across victoria lake. When daylight came, we boarded the "MV KAAWA" we joined the african secret society and quietly slipped into our lover's dream, no longer wishing for airplane horses or knights lances or elephant rides but across the sea of changes, across the uganda railway, huffing and puffing, merrily carrying snuggles across the border, the now fat controller not left behind, we loved them both, until the Shepherd took the sheep of change home!"
D e wasake
27 July 2010
"When snuggles flew home"
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless
3.42 am; a sleepy thought stirs; "who or what is constantly unwound when we wind? who or what knows of this connection when we clasp and snuggle? Who or what can decipher the distressful unconnection when you fly away with snuggles? A once sleepy thought now sits wide awake, on the edge of daylight now emerging; the crossroad of changes, is already here, the track of our dreams already home!"
3.55 am a sleepy poet bemoans; "oh you sea gulls of this quaint little town, what nocturnals are you? what strange mutation are you made of that you forage and scream and fight for our trash, a leftover chip here, a leftover slice there? What strange times you live in that you hunt at hours unknown, at hours that your unknown ancestors ancient were still in the sea cliff's crags and crevices minding little gulls or loving mother gulls at nest home. Surely the sea of changes is here, our dreams no longer home!"
4:07 am; an insomniac poet dreams; "when snuggles flew home, a lonely heart beat, a sleepy head dreamed of airplanes becoming horses, of knights dark charging across kisumu's heaths(or perhaps riding an elephant), of dawn's break swimming across victoria lake. When daylight came, we boarded the "MV KAAWA" we joined the african secret society and quietly slipped into our lover's dream, no longer wishing for airplane horses or knights lances or elephant rides but across the sea of changes, across the uganda railway, huffing and puffing, merrily carrying snuggles across the border, the now fat controller not left behind, we loved them both, until the Shepherd took the sheep of change home!"
D e wasake
27 July 2010
"When snuggles flew home"
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless
Tuesday, 6 July 2010
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