Tim Miner's Musings

Credits: pinterest This thumping ticker, Warming up my body, good at feels And pulsations. Racing my thoughts and wants (im)pure; Kind, disposing, Violent, affable, nonplussing. Beating up its compartment with a want thus high; Enraged, Aspirational. Wild, unruly, hollow creature Wading dangerously through infatuations, Electro-scheming situations, And rogue hurricanes that run many a ship aground, This indefatigable pump, With whooshing throbs; Mine possession, I cage.

Credits: Pixabay I met an owl Perched, mute, afoul. Her stare, my going further, no, Plume combed and chic, though cold the night; Her eyes flamed, alight Talons clung on dear wood Startled was her mood. I watched the owl, Flat-faced, homely, prowl Swooped down the bore, of its tree store; Gorged out a mole’s heart, too; Blood-bathed the trunks, though twice as big as her, yielded to The fatal duel, with feeble paw fights. The mirror says, ‘Behold, a flake!’ Sifting through scripts in the receding moonlight. Framed with geek eyeglasses, a’ fake, dreaming. Where, an owl flapped at his window, Like conjured up witches from limbo. Demurely, I looked at the owl From the swarthiness of her psyche, saw a soul inside Fiery that it frightened; deep, wise, wide, Yearning to hoot the night away Nature bid a tame messenger stay Harping clear intuitive words woven into silent chords ‘You must be one of us, easy, make no fuss.’

Credit: Pixabay My attitude is Celibate, I have avowed to Silence; Speak no vile, say all good, Say it all in prayer. Cut out my heart of vain feels To let light filter into The voids; Illuminate. Cloistered my ego into an attic, The self and the shelves. Committed to love, leave, to live. Draped my being in a habit Feels better to be, in the World, Not being of it. In my silent hermitage To interact with it; To live in its midst. Hurry, Take me to the monas tery.

Credit: Pixabay Screeches, blaring horns, rambling vehicular traffic Frightens, I have seen many a crushes, careless; Car and body mangled. Flesh minced, all and gory. Senseless. Seen homes, shops razed; reduced to ashes and cinder. A people weeded out, dispossessed of their lands by cabal developers; Faceless privates they are called, Shameless. Great churches with graying walls of truth Thick, round masonry and domed Reverberating with choirs of politicians Gyrating around altars and tithe barns, maleficent. And in public squares singing deceitful refrains and party lies, How low can we sink, fealty? Lo and behold, brother, The reprehensible Fire of greed that burns tons of smokeless anthracite coals; Pillages public coffers, bleeding our small economic strength away. Betrayal! The streets we walk, the grounds we till are Imbrued in blood. Bloodbaths of people thine hands slit Their throats. Innocents whose Massacres are sc

Photo credits: Pixabay Cold, a cold carrel Shelves crammed With creased cookbooks Squares, chalk lines and wood chisels Tools for his craft In too tiny a space. Cold, a cold cradle Cast in steel, cold, metallic cold Rocking the carpenter’s yearling To sleep after his daily sip Of crusty cream cheese Cheeky, chortling And in his childish rage Hurls his china cup To chase imaginary spooks His world, a blissful place Cold, a cold corridor Walls choked Up with faded carpets chipped At corners on racks they cling to Matless and wood chippings for his pillow The carpenter crumples his beddings And tucks his son, he cuddles his joy He can feel his heart pace Cold, a cold lone chair Rickety, reminiscent Braced on the curving wall Of his shanty Next to his workbench Where he hammers timber to shape A litany of laments, a flood of Whys?! The unfair world Failed relationships, crumbling business Leaking shack, he drown

This well trod path listens attentively to my early morn and evening humming, swinging its lush grass stalks, soaking my sturdy feet in soft dew with its velvet touch flapping at my heels we friends, this place this track I know leads home.

As a gardener, one learns the hate for weeds faster than the love for their ugly fruits and vegetables. A farmer naturally dislikes weeds; they sap up all water and nutrients from the farm, scramble and choke ‘good’ plants. Worse still, they run down all his time and energy invested on the farm. The farmer knows the future of his venture is secure when his garden blossoms and brings forth fruit.   Like a ritual, he wakes  early everyday and walks round his farm to ‘ visit’ the fruits, whistling happy tunes and watch them grow into maturity. Everybody likes to see the yields of their labour double, dazzle. Fruits bring forth joy and some sense of security. Then harvesting beckons. The farmer summons up his farmhands and heads to the farm to glean his fruits and his vegetables. Fruits of all colours and tastes flood our markets. Vegetables drape the grocer’s shelves – camp green – the colour of life. The farmer is happy for the sales from his produce have been quite impressive. 

I know Nairobi traffic snarl-ups can be nerve-wracking to sit in. The blaring car horns deafening. The car fumes choking.  Walking through masses of people who seem to be in some unexplained hurry nauseating; whether in the sweltering tropical heat or whenever clouds laden with rain threatening to tear down. Looking up at the skyscrapers lining up the streets does not help you either, it’s dizzying. The raising dust in the streets hitting hard into your eyes. In between jostling for space with vehicular traffic on narrow roads (risking a limb) with gaping manholes flowing with not so clean water, O Pedestrian, you are looking for some escape. No sidewalk for you Pedestrian, no sidewalk. Blame it on the poor city road planners and builders. In all this madness, filth and noise where do you retreat to? So sometimes you take refuge under some tall buildings and wipe off the dust and sweat from your brow and to cool off. Then walk up the reception past the security guards of a great o

As a pastime, GOD from His place on high watches the earth spin on its moil And goes, Waiiit! What's that maen?! Taking off His binoculars. And sees coloured wavy paths and plumes of smoke spiralling from its Rickety chimney. Oops! WHO BORE THAT!? Surprised. Sometimes He has to look harder at the blackness of that plume of smoke and wonder what's burning. Come on Earthlings, I didn't ask for a holocaust if ever, He smirks. Sometimes, He has to shout down to man, STOP! STOP IT! STOP! Who hears, who listens? Who stops? Not that man doesn't hear but will he stop? Why the ozone layer's depleting, depleted. Conserve your home man, Recycle, reuse, reinvent.

What leaves comes back; What evaporates Condenses,  Liquidifies. What's been emptied will be Filled up again. Break, fix Tear, mend What's damned, redeemed Wound, stretched Bend, stiffened, Raised. Rise. What's lost will be Restored, immediately Definitely Find your middle ground,  Hold on What's yours will Find the address to your door Open, answer that call Be indemnified, be restored Nature loves balance.

The exciting crowd, We a'walking wherever Whenev'r we like We colonize, Conquer territories yonder the lake Drain, draw paths, trail And bushes rake Trudge, dredge, trend Ambitious humble hustle Gratings, Rough, molten emotions Shaped on anvils Lead heavy Filed, sharpened The mounts of despair grind, flattened, filtered. Some muscle, Huh! Pits of doubt filled, rid off And walk a taut rope Balancing, falling not Victory! Your rambles, faint or loud Concern me not. Fluidic Either way you'll say me, My contortions Keep you bemused Me, Myself and I, unbeaten still. Nothing unsurmountable In the army of one, Strong and true. We are an exciting crowd. We are always hugging, whenev'r. #ego #teamAmbition #myMusings #humbleHustleMuscle #narcissism