Wednesday 21 December 2011

Hombarume’s bride..Tembo moyo  aka chirenje[17/08/07]written 17 August 2007
Sweet words the nectar oozing with ease from my griot tongue,to pleasure the ears of my bride..seducing her every curve as l know how penetrating deep and unlocking her mind’s tension together in this oblivion ,hanging on the precipice of ecstasy.I caress her with careless whispers making her soul gyrate mind’s body and soul entwined.it is for us that l brave the jungle for her l hunt. my arrows,knife and spear  sharpened by her passion the thrust of my weapon going deep into the heart of the hunted.just yesterday l picked up a tortoise shell and pictured it as ideal for her to secret her charms and cosmetics upon receiving it she said thank you but  also ‘find me a dazzling stone’.so l brave the jungle with all its foliage to find the proverbial needle in a haystack.l pick up some seeds spat out by the trees  natures gift, depriving them of a life in  the soil,where they would have replaced the trees we cut last season.l strip the bark of a tree l was shown by my grandfather and add some natural colours to make it exotic so as  to pleasure her eyes ,to make her a unique ,outstanding and appreciated being, well she accepts and not to hurt my feelings and says ‘also find me a dazzling stone’.the impunity ,selfish, manipulative, mental disorder of this deluded species l say in a soliloquay my temper boiling .next l journey long slowly into the darkness l creep as the light camourflaged by the sun that has not gone to sleep l coke my ears nurtured by survival , feel the icy gale in its anger it speaks. lm pensive.abused by the night as it is abused in that transitionary period called dawn.l am not alone. What is this bone of contention with the dark,perhaps the animosity is straitjacketed by all the negativity that lies in the shadows of an ignorant existence.l ford the gorges and brave the undomesticated species completing natures ruthless cycle.l hear thunderous claps as l near the ocean reacting to the varimba dance of the mermaids below.l pay homage place my huuta ne museve ,bakatwa ne gano plus the hombarume’s mbira on the sacred ground ,pinch the scared snuff petition my plight to the great spirits of the water.the ocean belches stone’s from its depths washed up to the shores.pleased l return from my ardous journey enroute l have with patience made a bracelet using topaz,amethyst,jade and crystals but my subconscious tells me something is amiss.l get home to ululation and jubilation give my children their gifts in the privacy of our bedroom at the most intimate moment l give my wife her’s she says thank you and as if to spite my efforts she says that statement which is now my heart and minds mantra ‘but l would appreciate it if you added a dazzling stone’.in fury with my nostrils smelling blood ngikhafula amahlwili njenge mamba l return to my second home the ,bush which does not bother me with stones.quick with the bow l hit an impala with the poisoned arrow l rush to cut its throat.the skin is for the bedroom and the tail is to make her bracelets that will demonstrate my prowess not to frustrate me further she says ‘what of my dazzling stone’but this time in the wisdom l have incurred while searching for what l have l stopped looking  hard and started listening then l  say to her ‘woman, mother of my scions, grand mother of posterity how can l give dazzling stones to the most precious and rare stone,the only one of its kind in the universe?you’ and with that she wore everything l had suffered for,bled for and nearly died for-without fuss and was content with being praised. [no woman is hard to get but they are difficult to relate to besides being bold a man must have patience and be a good listener have the wisdom to hear  the things unsaid]

TRANSLATIONS
HOMBARUME:   HUNTER
VARIMBA: MUSIC PLAYED WITH THE MARIMBA INSTRUMENT SO NAMED IN MOCAMBIQUE
BAKATWA:IS A KNIFE WITH A WOODEN HANDLE AND STAYS IN WOODEN SHEATH
HUUTA NE MUSEVE:IS A BOW AND ARROW
NGIKHAFULA AMAHLWILI  NJENGE MAMBA:SPITTING VENOM OR ANGRY
GANO:MOON SHAPED AXE NATIVE TO MOST AFRICAN COUNTRIES

Thursday 22 September 2011

Griots Idiots Zealots Bullets Anarchy Slogans Chants Religion Tradition Face to face All collide Summer Autumn Winter Spring All seasons Questions Answers All for solutions Pollution Pollution All bad for the enviroment Rain Rain All chemical rain Toxic stench We detox the chemical breath from the bellows of the winds lungs Cut down on industry pollution Don't buy the enviromentalists tongue Green like the fatigues of nature is my song I love trees they are the only people some short some tall Swinging their arms in praise and worship Not competing they swing side to side they are equals

Tuesday 20 September 2011

expressionism

hush like the language of a mute
deep and focused like the blank stares of a blind man
life is like an ambulance in a traffic jam
its like a nerd reading too much into my situation with intellect
pockets are thread bare from blistered palms

love love love

the song that plays in the bed room
 the symphony
rhythm seducing our ears rocking our world
cementing bonds of passion
my doctor friend cant cure this
you are my number one of the counter prescription
lm addicted
l love the sex the cooking and the conversation
making those classics unrecorderd bedroom compositions
the uhs the ahs
chant to the rhythms of my heart...

another verse

ak47s are said to fire civilian proof bullets
the result diplomatic screams and tears,
 not life threatening l hear
no need to run for cover

hmm

 son of chaos and order
sun of passion
a spawn in time clone of one
straight from the bush toilet
radio silence
urban gandagas mudzimu ndiringe song
spat from public testicles
struggle to swim in private ovaries
wireless soundsystems
 victims no facebook belly dancer
internet stripper
visual jack the ripper
soliloquay junkies
pimpled genitals
common love
sun flowers blushing white rosies
charcoal breath brown stained teeth
observations

books and nechakuti chakuti

some inherited Ak47s
we complete diplomas via street correspondence
we resist those placing our eyes in the sentence of a page so that the truest bantu selves are in a coma

tell a vision

the television looks at me but not i n i
it is a five star general at the battlefront
it is at war and imagine how many men helped carry the machine through your front door
the 'dictator'
new model of the urban parent
i can tell it to shut upp my pressing mute
the no strings attached companion
who has a 1 way conversation
tv is lonnely iot has a madmens soliloquay
sells visual viagra to keep me on the couch
tv is the wardrobe of many accesories the only one 'i' believe because 'l'z can see leisures cancera neverland of ungrowing characters forever young
it puits the mind behind bars
but eye lifts imaginations from other prisons
children are boxed in no more zulu zulu buya rain dances they follow seasons
suddenly faith and whatever truth is is the mono[ppoly of a directors script tv has a disclaimer-'do not try this at home'
l love the animal channel
the jungle brought to my living room
the mighty roar of the lion behind closed doors
theyve slaughtered those in they
 jungle to monoplolise them in the conservancy of their shows...

abathwa-hottentot god

i serve a hottentot god
he is the dersert that talks back
all i ask for is the gift to find water
speak a language more coded than the sands of a ruined city now the dust of the kalahari
who tells a spiritual tale in mpore ways thatn carbondating
whose astrology is more about jupiter and venus
who states why all planets the otherv planets had traditional weddings
 and saturn wears the rings
who tells me that all planets are his jewels
pearls on invisible strings
and earthn is the fertile wife
and we were given time as our midwife
so gladly i will return to my rootys remove my boots on occassion
dance for the pregnant cloud to birth life

mama africa

fuck these tablets
mama africa is not getting better
doctors say she will get better but their pockets are still getting fatter

Friday 29 July 2011

Mwari we nyasha
Temerai nyora dzemweya panokona
Dzenyama
Roverai hoko dzemweya


The dream is personal and is eloquent
It uses the brain and it is the search engine of the soul/
The vision is the kaleidoscope
That's keeping us glued to the purpose