Posts

Gory glory gods

Image
gods Are scary deities, I believe They smite with steel rods And for reprieve Prop you up in thorns Demanding for expiation and atonement They have never given man any peace Or some release. Sister, Your gods of wealth and money. Do you rattle them with the jingle of coins? Or glue notes to their faces for favours, for bribes, For fashion, for beauty? Mother, Habituation has its own gods. What sound, what scent, Aroma and odours arouse the ones you serve in your many addictions? Food? Sex? Alcohol? Children? Odds. Father, How do you conceive your deity? Mortal, immortal, visible o’ invisible? Molten or graven?   Wooden? Stone? Or spruced up with paints on canvas?   The morning fog or the mountain steam, indefinable. Written, typed on scripts their names ineffable Their power invincible, destructive but Highly indestructible. Or do you find the idea of one repulsive – understandable? Brother, What fancy place do you
Post a Comment
Read more

Avem

Image
Krik! Krik! Krik! Avem and a dozen other mothers called out to their chicks. Her two chicks have been missing for four nights now. Their chicks have not been found just yet. By maternal guild, they hovered in the air; with nowhere to perch, occasionally looking down for that familiar plume and life. Only a gang of scavenging Sciurus lumbered around on the ground, mocking their call-outs with squeaks so horrible they hurt their ears. This called for punishment. KRIK! No answer. KRIK! Nothing was said. It was one of the saddest days of their lives. Trees get cut down in Mearowi daily, making food scarce for all. Trees have been disappearing for a longtime now, turning the land bare but not their brood. KRIK! Vir has been setting forests and grasslands on fire, pushing away other realities and life forms. But who cuts down the sacred Baobab that houses Avem’s clan? KRIK! The last of its kind on Mearowi. Who is this prick? KRIK! They cried out to Mearowi gods
Post a Comment
Read more

Desert Streams

Image
How lovely lilies and lilacs line any garden, lively How sweet lorikeets sing as they comb blossoms, symphony Magical dews dance on weedy paths, pickled Just how sweet and artful thy touches wert, condensing How we should act in the face of hate and misguided fear, love So, unquiet that it refuses to fit the frame, Fluid - perfectly human, Reverberant, resolute, Flooding in colours loud and merry, Unfeigned, unchanged Raging in hushed tones, yet thrives. Inconstant like desert streams, Softening, desirous Erotically erroneous, a possessed pair Fits like a dovetail, Rich, passionate That country hath no darkness nor sadness but, bright sunshines and laughter Yet hits like a thousand grits in the sand storm, their privation Heals and binds, makes dissimilar similar, joyous and unfettered By nature, by nurture, Springs irrigate the oasis.
Post a Comment
Read more