The silliest things I ever did
Are too strange to mention here
They still amaze me
Their memories fill
Me with dread and fear
I’ve stumbled in places
I wasn’t supposed to be
I’ve walked on red-hot coals
Sunk in scum so thick
Fallen through air too thin
I’m still here
Head held high
With a smile on my face
Still alive and walking on
Still making mistakes
I’m glad to say
That my mistakes belong to me
Exclusively, exhaustively
I’m the sole creator
Author and implementer
Right down to the dots on the t’s
To the crosses on the I’s
My mistakes are mine
To laugh at
To cry with
And learn from
PoP (c)14 Feb 07
Thursday, February 15, 2007
A Time For Change
bewildered, I stared into space
eyes unseeing
wind twirling unruly hair
tangling feelings
and thoughts of a better
yesterday
how things changed in such a short time
when still green leaves fell off trees
and fertile ground was suddenly parched
rain turned red as blood
and the sun was cold
with hands taut on my aching head
and fear running down my cheeks
I held my alarmed heart in these tired hands
and tenderly caressed it with fingers
as light as a feather
POP (C) 15 Feb 07
eyes unseeing
wind twirling unruly hair
tangling feelings
and thoughts of a better
yesterday
how things changed in such a short time
when still green leaves fell off trees
and fertile ground was suddenly parched
rain turned red as blood
and the sun was cold
with hands taut on my aching head
and fear running down my cheeks
I held my alarmed heart in these tired hands
and tenderly caressed it with fingers
as light as a feather
POP (C) 15 Feb 07
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Baba
What do I call you?
Baba, Daddy,
Father, Friend
What do I call you?
How I looked so much like you,
I thought when we first met
Or did you look like me?
You see, me is the only part of you
I’d ever known.
How I’d written
and re-written this script
of our meeting!
We’d have an immediate connection
and our talk would be filled with reasons
to cushion all feelings of abandonment
I smiled as my hopes for a hug shrunk
with your outstretched hand;
your smile, a mirror image of mine
in definition and hesitation.
We brushed faltering over
Our lives,
Grazing over the turn of events
that brought me to meet you
for the first time when I was thirty
And you, almost seventy.
Two measly times I met you,
then you went and died
before I found the courage
to grab that hug from the dreams
of a little girl.
Or regale you with stories
of growing up
and seeing you in my mind’s eye,
tall and strong,
swinging me in powerful arms.
How do I mourn you?
Dad? Baba?
When all I saw was a man
way out of his prime
ambling in tired stride.
Through with the task of raising children,
and without doubt out of his depth
in filling the yawning void in my heart.
In my dreams
I can still hear that little girl’s laughter
as I smile at your still face
and the dreams that died with you.
(c)PoP
Feb 1 07
Baba, Daddy,
Father, Friend
What do I call you?
How I looked so much like you,
I thought when we first met
Or did you look like me?
You see, me is the only part of you
I’d ever known.
How I’d written
and re-written this script
of our meeting!
We’d have an immediate connection
and our talk would be filled with reasons
to cushion all feelings of abandonment
I smiled as my hopes for a hug shrunk
with your outstretched hand;
your smile, a mirror image of mine
in definition and hesitation.
We brushed faltering over
Our lives,
Grazing over the turn of events
that brought me to meet you
for the first time when I was thirty
And you, almost seventy.
Two measly times I met you,
then you went and died
before I found the courage
to grab that hug from the dreams
of a little girl.
Or regale you with stories
of growing up
and seeing you in my mind’s eye,
tall and strong,
swinging me in powerful arms.
How do I mourn you?
Dad? Baba?
When all I saw was a man
way out of his prime
ambling in tired stride.
Through with the task of raising children,
and without doubt out of his depth
in filling the yawning void in my heart.
In my dreams
I can still hear that little girl’s laughter
as I smile at your still face
and the dreams that died with you.
(c)PoP
Feb 1 07
Monday, February 05, 2007
Spare Wheel
Where do I stand with you?
I’m sure I’m not first
That would be what most is
Dear to you
I’m not your second either
Nor your third for that matter
I prided myself in being fourth
Going by all the important things
In your life.
Then, somehow things got busy,
Work, life and all other important
Things took over
And you left me standing here
Wondering where I fit in
Asking where I stand with you.
PoP
5 Feb 07
I’m sure I’m not first
That would be what most is
Dear to you
I’m not your second either
Nor your third for that matter
I prided myself in being fourth
Going by all the important things
In your life.
Then, somehow things got busy,
Work, life and all other important
Things took over
And you left me standing here
Wondering where I fit in
Asking where I stand with you.
PoP
5 Feb 07
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Her Life, Her Dowry
outwitted by the devil
she scraped the last dregs of life
trying to cast away the evil
in which she had cast her die
she lay drowning in her blood
each breathe a painful clutch
to an existence gone mad
and no longer worth much
she stared at his angry face
saw his bared teeth, heard his raspy breath
disgustingly keeping pace
with the rasping pain in her chest
she watched him slip away
and wondered how she’d ever loved
this man who made her pay
with her life her dowry
abused out of love and days
she embraces the diaspora of the soul
lioness © 4 Jan 06
she scraped the last dregs of life
trying to cast away the evil
in which she had cast her die
she lay drowning in her blood
each breathe a painful clutch
to an existence gone mad
and no longer worth much
she stared at his angry face
saw his bared teeth, heard his raspy breath
disgustingly keeping pace
with the rasping pain in her chest
she watched him slip away
and wondered how she’d ever loved
this man who made her pay
with her life her dowry
abused out of love and days
she embraces the diaspora of the soul
lioness © 4 Jan 06
Friday, January 19, 2007
Friend Or Foe
At the political rally yesterday
He said my neighbours
would steal from me
and not let me prosper
He said these my Kenyans
would stab me in the back
My neighbour looked at me
And I at him,
As we burst into laughter
You see,
my neighbours
have sat with me
through nights long and lonely
Encouraged me
when hope gave way to grief
Held my hand
when the rising
sun turned cold as night
and a new day
brought no relief
They fed my children
when money was scarce
Through thick and thin
we’ve lived as one
our feeble lives held together
by sturdy bonds unknown
where buildings touch the sky
We’ve held each other
as tongues of fire
gobbled up our shanties.
We’ve re-built the structures as they fell;
All for one and one for all
We’ve cried and prayed
together, for each other,
when hungry nights seemed
like all we’d ever remember
It tickles me to hear
this highly paid politician,
say that these people,
these people who watch
my back every day
are not my friends
because their tribe
is different from mine.
Lioness (c) 17 Jan 07
He said my neighbours
would steal from me
and not let me prosper
He said these my Kenyans
would stab me in the back
My neighbour looked at me
And I at him,
As we burst into laughter
You see,
my neighbours
have sat with me
through nights long and lonely
Encouraged me
when hope gave way to grief
Held my hand
when the rising
sun turned cold as night
and a new day
brought no relief
They fed my children
when money was scarce
Through thick and thin
we’ve lived as one
our feeble lives held together
by sturdy bonds unknown
where buildings touch the sky
We’ve held each other
as tongues of fire
gobbled up our shanties.
We’ve re-built the structures as they fell;
All for one and one for all
We’ve cried and prayed
together, for each other,
when hungry nights seemed
like all we’d ever remember
It tickles me to hear
this highly paid politician,
say that these people,
these people who watch
my back every day
are not my friends
because their tribe
is different from mine.
Lioness (c) 17 Jan 07
Queen Or Servant
Will you bury us all
And preside over our funerals?
Can you embrace the jiggered fingers,
Where poverty still lingers?
Now that you’ve crossed the divide,
You feel you have arrived.
The drunkard you see,
Is just a poor and troubled me.
How will you be a servant,
With your conceited false bravado?
Are these your saviour’s teachings,
To which you subscribe?
How will you lead,
When you can’t practice what you preach?
Will you lead a people so dirty in your eyes
Before you remove those rose coloured glasses?
Lioness © 16 Jan 06
A response to Bishop Wanjiru’s (Starehe seat aspirant) comments on J.K. Ndimu.
And preside over our funerals?
Can you embrace the jiggered fingers,
Where poverty still lingers?
Now that you’ve crossed the divide,
You feel you have arrived.
The drunkard you see,
Is just a poor and troubled me.
How will you be a servant,
With your conceited false bravado?
Are these your saviour’s teachings,
To which you subscribe?
How will you lead,
When you can’t practice what you preach?
Will you lead a people so dirty in your eyes
Before you remove those rose coloured glasses?
Lioness © 16 Jan 06
A response to Bishop Wanjiru’s (Starehe seat aspirant) comments on J.K. Ndimu.
Monday, October 30, 2006
What About Us?
If we elected
The same people we
Have always elected
We would live another
Five years
As we have lived
The last five
Or it would be
Worse
We would watch
Them protect their
Own
Speak for their
Own
Feed their own
Not one of them
Would care about us
Until they needed us
To elect them
To watch over
Their own
Speak for
Their own
Feed their own
Again.
PoP 12 Oct 06
The same people we
Have always elected
We would live another
Five years
As we have lived
The last five
Or it would be
Worse
We would watch
Them protect their
Own
Speak for their
Own
Feed their own
Not one of them
Would care about us
Until they needed us
To elect them
To watch over
Their own
Speak for
Their own
Feed their own
Again.
PoP 12 Oct 06
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
I Will Not Be Paying My Taxes
It’s the thirtieth day of May
Not just another day
I sit wound in a tight knot,
anger rises bitter in my throat.
My fingers hesitate to sign off my sweat
into the bottomless pit of corruption.
This day in May,
a woman is raped,
a baby aborted,
a mother, from hunger dies.
This May,
a father’s life is lost:
potholes cradle his blood
to be savored like a rare wine
on the lips of a corrupt contractor
This day,
a traffic cop
holds out his blood thirsty hand:
his signature, permission for murder.
The people’s trust he disregards
to keep the rich man’s defective
fleet on the road.
Today,
another desperate and jobless
young man determinedly tightens
the noose around his neck
and kicks away the stool that holds his future.
A woman wails,
her screams bounce off
the hospital’s dilapidated walls:
‘No medicine’, she howls again and again,
echoing what the doctors said
as her child died in her arms.
This May,
a young girl lays her heavy head
against the urine stained wall.
Glazed eyes stare at hopelessness honed
to perfection by the illegal drugs
she sells herself to buy.
And the minister’s wife
Just back from abroad,
from pomp, romp and designer shops.
In her fancy car, back-left she sits
driven by the tax remunerated chauffer
This is the life, she thinks
while looking through the tinted glass
with disdain
at begging street
children
On this last day of May,
bent over my tax forms,
I believe I will not
be paying my taxes next year.
PoP © May 31 06
Not just another day
I sit wound in a tight knot,
anger rises bitter in my throat.
My fingers hesitate to sign off my sweat
into the bottomless pit of corruption.
This day in May,
a woman is raped,
a baby aborted,
a mother, from hunger dies.
This May,
a father’s life is lost:
potholes cradle his blood
to be savored like a rare wine
on the lips of a corrupt contractor
This day,
a traffic cop
holds out his blood thirsty hand:
his signature, permission for murder.
The people’s trust he disregards
to keep the rich man’s defective
fleet on the road.
Today,
another desperate and jobless
young man determinedly tightens
the noose around his neck
and kicks away the stool that holds his future.
A woman wails,
her screams bounce off
the hospital’s dilapidated walls:
‘No medicine’, she howls again and again,
echoing what the doctors said
as her child died in her arms.
This May,
a young girl lays her heavy head
against the urine stained wall.
Glazed eyes stare at hopelessness honed
to perfection by the illegal drugs
she sells herself to buy.
And the minister’s wife
Just back from abroad,
from pomp, romp and designer shops.
In her fancy car, back-left she sits
driven by the tax remunerated chauffer
This is the life, she thinks
while looking through the tinted glass
with disdain
at begging street
children
On this last day of May,
bent over my tax forms,
I believe I will not
be paying my taxes next year.
PoP © May 31 06
Hear No Evil, See No Evil
The burden of silence
is a load better not borne.
It is a failing of mankind
in the chain of cause
and effect.
For when the tide turns,
and choices are a thing
of the past;
when freedom’s the only thing left to give,
we will not have the chance
to speak.
There will be no place to hide
as the tentacles reach for gold.
There will be no freedom in
America;
Or liberation in
Iraq;
no complacence in
Kenya;
or democracy in
Jordan;
there will be no trade in China
or Japan.
The anger of the masses will
be tossed this way
and that.
Turmoil will become a bosom
friend.
And grief,
a parasite.
Blood will flow
where children once played.
The gentle coo of doves,
replaced by
angry shrieks from bomber planes.
The deadly birds will
shed their lethal loads,
and the resultant craters
will be the only sanctuary.
PoP 6 Aug 06
is a load better not borne.
It is a failing of mankind
in the chain of cause
and effect.
For when the tide turns,
and choices are a thing
of the past;
when freedom’s the only thing left to give,
we will not have the chance
to speak.
There will be no place to hide
as the tentacles reach for gold.
There will be no freedom in
America;
Or liberation in
Iraq;
no complacence in
Kenya;
or democracy in
Jordan;
there will be no trade in China
or Japan.
The anger of the masses will
be tossed this way
and that.
Turmoil will become a bosom
friend.
And grief,
a parasite.
Blood will flow
where children once played.
The gentle coo of doves,
replaced by
angry shrieks from bomber planes.
The deadly birds will
shed their lethal loads,
and the resultant craters
will be the only sanctuary.
PoP 6 Aug 06
The Jobless Graduate
Before the first cock crow
As night moves to the background
I greet the day
With a stretch of rickety young bones
And a mighty hungry yawn
I look around the old junk shed
As I listen to the angry protest
of my joints’ creak and pop
From my nightly crawl
Into the windowless shell
Of my bedroom; an old landrover
Half sucked into the earth
The cold air saturates my face
As I hit the road
While trying to ignore the angry gurgle
Of my hungry insides
I dare not remember
when I had my last meal
As that will only make matters
So much worse
I pay no heed
To the sole-less shoes on my feet
Or the incessant pinch
Of the gravel on my cracked heel
I walk as I always have,
Looking straight ahead
As my family album
Rushes through my head
I see myself as I struggled through school
My grumbling stomach always demanding food
In my minds eye little children
My brothers and sisters
Too ill to make the long walk to hospital
And father gone, done in by years of frustration
Now drowned in alcohol
Mother distraught,
Trapped, with nowhere to go.
I pat my jacket pocket
Feel the proof of my university degree,
And assorted certificates
Obtained from years of struggle
And borrowed money
I stride as I’ve done for four years
Eyes unseeing straight ahead
Narrow mouth determinedly set
And swallow the lump of hate
Rising in my throat
PoP 26 May 06
As night moves to the background
I greet the day
With a stretch of rickety young bones
And a mighty hungry yawn
I look around the old junk shed
As I listen to the angry protest
of my joints’ creak and pop
From my nightly crawl
Into the windowless shell
Of my bedroom; an old landrover
Half sucked into the earth
The cold air saturates my face
As I hit the road
While trying to ignore the angry gurgle
Of my hungry insides
I dare not remember
when I had my last meal
As that will only make matters
So much worse
I pay no heed
To the sole-less shoes on my feet
Or the incessant pinch
Of the gravel on my cracked heel
I walk as I always have,
Looking straight ahead
As my family album
Rushes through my head
I see myself as I struggled through school
My grumbling stomach always demanding food
In my minds eye little children
My brothers and sisters
Too ill to make the long walk to hospital
And father gone, done in by years of frustration
Now drowned in alcohol
Mother distraught,
Trapped, with nowhere to go.
I pat my jacket pocket
Feel the proof of my university degree,
And assorted certificates
Obtained from years of struggle
And borrowed money
I stride as I’ve done for four years
Eyes unseeing straight ahead
Narrow mouth determinedly set
And swallow the lump of hate
Rising in my throat
PoP 26 May 06
From The Cradle
That orange or yellow
meant–for-children bomb
that bursts in crescendo
like a tuneless symphony
exploding little arms and legs
into shards of bone and gleaming
glistening sickeningly wet flesh
strewn all over the place.
The lifeless
baby eyes
looking
right into you
and wondering
how much longer you
will remain silent.
This is about the yellow/orange bomblets that burst from the 1000-pound bombs dropped by the B-1s in Iraq. Some of these bomblets don't explode on impact and remain on the ground stealing the lives of innocent children!
PoP 23 June 06
meant–for-children bomb
that bursts in crescendo
like a tuneless symphony
exploding little arms and legs
into shards of bone and gleaming
glistening sickeningly wet flesh
strewn all over the place.
The lifeless
baby eyes
looking
right into you
and wondering
how much longer you
will remain silent.
This is about the yellow/orange bomblets that burst from the 1000-pound bombs dropped by the B-1s in Iraq. Some of these bomblets don't explode on impact and remain on the ground stealing the lives of innocent children!
PoP 23 June 06
Kenya Will Stand United
caught with your pants down
and now fighting
in the cities and towns
the reign of terror is back
evil never wins
only angers the masses
who will make you account for your deeds
in an uprising by oppressed classes
they say the guilty are afraid
this fact stares us in the face
and we reject all you ever said
recognize them as lies meant to set a base
for massive plans of corruption
yes, go ahead,
put hoods on your heads,
like common thieves, hide your faces;
burn, loot and destroy,
whip and kick those who dare stand for truth
we may forget,
the intensity may subside
but your actions will never be erased
Kenyans will stand united
we are drained
from watching in silence as our country’s raped
we will no longer look aside
we will take action
to make this madness subside
for our children’s sake
the media will be free, democracy will reign
history will remind us, will be embraced,
will triumph even when our memories fail
evil will never prevail
we’ve seen you lose your virtue
and watched greed corrupt you
so as is done with vermin
we are shutting down all escape routes
your actions may silence a few
but the majority will rise
and start the fight anew
then you will listen to our voice
Kenya will stand united!
Kenya will stand united!
PoP 2 Mar 06
and now fighting
in the cities and towns
the reign of terror is back
evil never wins
only angers the masses
who will make you account for your deeds
in an uprising by oppressed classes
they say the guilty are afraid
this fact stares us in the face
and we reject all you ever said
recognize them as lies meant to set a base
for massive plans of corruption
yes, go ahead,
put hoods on your heads,
like common thieves, hide your faces;
burn, loot and destroy,
whip and kick those who dare stand for truth
we may forget,
the intensity may subside
but your actions will never be erased
Kenyans will stand united
we are drained
from watching in silence as our country’s raped
we will no longer look aside
we will take action
to make this madness subside
for our children’s sake
the media will be free, democracy will reign
history will remind us, will be embraced,
will triumph even when our memories fail
evil will never prevail
we’ve seen you lose your virtue
and watched greed corrupt you
so as is done with vermin
we are shutting down all escape routes
your actions may silence a few
but the majority will rise
and start the fight anew
then you will listen to our voice
Kenya will stand united!
Kenya will stand united!
PoP 2 Mar 06
War Never Ends
Though the guns and bombs
have stopped,
War is in
the smoke that billows
over the countryside.
It lives in the scorched air
of the mountains
where we once played hide
and seek.
It resides
in the rubble in which we find
our loved ones still;
in the glassy eyes
of children
who won’t speak
or close their eyes in sleep.
War lives
in those whose spirits
went with loved ones lost,
whose lives will never again
be the same.
In those who now crawl
where they once walked
and those whose
sight is in the cane
they tightly grip
War continues
for those who cried
so many tears
and died
many deaths.
Those who ask how
to pick up the pieces;
whether it was worth the misses,
where to bury their pain
and if the anger will ever cease.
PoP 30 Aug 06
have stopped,
War is in
the smoke that billows
over the countryside.
It lives in the scorched air
of the mountains
where we once played hide
and seek.
It resides
in the rubble in which we find
our loved ones still;
in the glassy eyes
of children
who won’t speak
or close their eyes in sleep.
War lives
in those whose spirits
went with loved ones lost,
whose lives will never again
be the same.
In those who now crawl
where they once walked
and those whose
sight is in the cane
they tightly grip
War continues
for those who cried
so many tears
and died
many deaths.
Those who ask how
to pick up the pieces;
whether it was worth the misses,
where to bury their pain
and if the anger will ever cease.
PoP 30 Aug 06
I Want To Believe
I want to believe
We still remember peace
And that we can still talk about it
With true peace in mind
Not as if it’s an illusion
Too vague to achieve
Or a victory for just a few
Not as a conquest
Where some lose and others win
Or a massacre in some sick baptism
I want to believe
We still remember peace
Where no one has to die
So we can live.
PoP 31 Aug 06
We still remember peace
And that we can still talk about it
With true peace in mind
Not as if it’s an illusion
Too vague to achieve
Or a victory for just a few
Not as a conquest
Where some lose and others win
Or a massacre in some sick baptism
I want to believe
We still remember peace
Where no one has to die
So we can live.
PoP 31 Aug 06
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