Thursday, 31 August 2017


through this great divide paddle
swim through asinine reviews
hold your breath
through walls of conjecture
be heard

Sunday, 27 August 2017


Harsh lights glare
Like an angry multitude
the distance helps
diffuse their anger
the shy stars.
Cold blasts dig deep
into my supple skin
and you hold my hand
serving me the cuisine of your
Up Up Up
on the balcony
where the city noise
with each word you speak
your chest reverberating
through the small of my back
as you serve me
the cuisine of your warmth
Up Up Up
as the world passes below
a drunk conductor getting the fares all wrong
an old PA system blasting out tasteless songs
officers matching in a single file
though no one is crying war or foul
for now your arms are a welcome prison
Up Up Up.
as I meet your incarcerating gaze
harsh lights glaring.

Friday, 25 August 2017

Jungle Sounds by Susan Kiguli

In seasons when
The grass trembles with thirst
And trees crackle
Under the ruthless furnace;
Farmers rejoice at a lone feathery cloud
A false promise of rain:
Thus we stand in arid deserts
Clinging desperately to fallacies
Refusing to believe...
Justice is not here with us.
At the festivities of your adversaries
Your absence cuts through our unaneasthetised flesh
Keen as a surgeon's knife.
Searing pain numbs our hearts
Leaving them limp lumps.
Your absence is a warrior's sword
A silver dagger in a foe's hand
Cutting down the sons and daughters of the land.
In your continued dearth
We are cowardly hyenas,
Running away from jungle sounds
Soiling our legs
Seized by desperate madness.
You, mirage of our lives
We pant after your shadow
Like thirsty desert Tuaregs
Our shrunken tongues
Cannot even croak your name.

Let the seasons go on holiday
Let there be a sun-moon battle
Forcing curfew on night and day
We rather the earth stood on tip-toe
Than smell the aroma of justice
Wafting to us always from afar

If The End Was The Beginning

In tandem with fading innocence
The years swing by
A tooth falls out  here,a tooth is lost there
Living becomes a simmering Death
My back welcoming it
An inch lower every year
Till sticks which used to burn in the hearth
Of my glory days
Turn into crutches faithfully supporting
My frame
I feign forgetfulness
But my mind is fooled not
Would my ebon shimmer
My hips sway with every step?
Would these young men
Who rush to give me way
Pray to have their way?
If the end was the beginning

how young would I be?

Sunday, 2 July 2017

Honest Poetry (Words That Pound).

Poetry requires clarity in expression.There are poets who write with a fictitious voice but the most profound works have been by poets who wrote their minds honestly.
 Could it be because they write of the things society feels comfortable sweeping under its rugs?
Below are some of the poetesses whose works I have been honoured to be acquainted with who I believe write with honesty ringing in their words.

    1.  Emily Dickinson

Born in 1830 some of her works allude to that time but most of it transcends time. It casts a light on timeless conflict with Self, Time, Love, Nature among her many themes.
 When a writer is not afraid to marry their souls to their work, their writing is  lent  timelessness. Her seclusion and solitude probably drove her to write out her mind honestly. 

I like a look of agony,
Because I know it ’s true;
Men do not sham convulsion,
Nor simulate a throe.
The eyes glaze once, and that is death.
Impossible to feign
The beads upon the forehead
By homely anguish strung.

Excerpt From: Emily Dickinson. “The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson.”
   2.  Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou might be the voice of the ordinary black American who felt stifled in racial America. She wrote of anger, the pain and the struggle of being a black woman in that age and afterwards showed through her work how one was to overcome the challenge and empower ones self.
Known as a social activist in her day, her words can jolt you out of your comfort zone.
“In a Time

 In a time of secret wooing
Today prepares tomorrow's ruin
Left knows not what right is doing
My heart is torn asunder.
In a time of furtive sighs
Sweet hellos and sad goodbyes
Half-truths told and entire lies
My conscience echoes thunder.
In a time when kingdoms come
Joy is brief as summer's fun
Happiness its race has run
Then pain stalks in to plunder.”

Excerpt From: Maya Angelou. “The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou.”

       A lecturer and an acclaimed African poetess,her poetry speaks of the Ugandan  political struggle and the challenges of growing up as a woman in Uganda.Her work is factual and emotional at the same time.She paints the Amin era and the terrors of the time,the Museveni rule and all is challenges in an honest voice.
Eloquently written most of her poems resound with words most writers would rather hide in metaphors.

      I am Tired Of Talking In Metaphors

I will talk plainly
Because I am moved to abandon riddles.
I will tell you of how we held our heads
In our hands
Because the owl hooted all night
And the dogs howled as if in mourning:
We awaited bad news
We received it
Our mother blinded in one eye
Crippled in the right leg
Because she did not vote
Her husband's candidate.

I will remind you
Of the time the peeled plantains
Stood upright in the cooking pot
We slaughtered a cock
Anticipating an important visitor
We got her:
Our daughter - pieces of flesh in a sack -
Our present from her husband.

No, I will not use images
I will just talk to you:
I do not fight to take your place
Or constantly wave my fist in your face.

I refuse to argue about
Your "manly pact"
With my father -
Buying me for a bag of potatoes and pepper.

All I want
Is to stop denying Me
My presence needs no metaphors,
I am here
Just as you are.
I am not a machine
For you to dismantle whenever you whim
I demand for my human dignity.

Description: мнөх бүлэг рүү

Excerpt From: Susan Kiguli. “The African Saga”

  4.  Rupi Kaur

An activist and artist, Rupi stays her self in her words. Her poetry is no bakery  so you cant expect any sugar coating. In an age of mimicry her poetry  is fresh breath to a reader.

“the next time he
points out the
hair on your legs is
growing back remind
that boy your body
is not his home
he is a guest
warn him to
never out step
his welcome

Excerpt From: Rupi Kaur. “Milk and Honey.”