By Christian Mowarin

poetry playbook 9

“He saw the primary school field

Annoyingly sunny and green,

The cold post beside him,

The stand by the latrine wall,

The distant murmurs and the crowd

Between chanting his own name over all.

He saw the eton side wall and bamboo roof,

The long gone tables, and the red faces keen;

The School master and the prefect aloof,

The projected teachers crawling

Leaving their bodies behind”

The dark.It’s alreadyinside.

He watched their hands

Daintily ploughing the wet mud,

He felt a trembling smell

Black blood as bones stirred

He heard the voices talking of home,

Then he saw the sign at the village post

Welcoming him for his contributions to life

He saw himself waving,

His little sister without a face

He's home. He’s alive. Is he?

Come home brother

Am with you holding hands

“The open nights are never good

Even the perfumes of the day

Old sacrifices by the water soaked jetty

The fumes in a broken tie

Lay lifeless with all the lies

Come to sell their displeasure

The sounds of night scavengers

Hitting the crescendos all night long”

Christian Mowarin

an oxygen paperback

July 2010

“I do not know

What you are

Nor what you represent

But I will stay in your dreams

On the apex as time walls

Where all your thoughts hung

And the salvation you seek

So I can defend what's mine

And free our people from

The evil analytics that divides them

I will climb the hills and the cave

Our forefathers built to Umilidu

So as to protect us from your

Unholy point of no returns”

Christian Mowarin

For my mother, clara

Holy land

Daylight volumetricsFill the village watersideLike a million mist particleWith their feathers brokenSo they are trapped downThe upward thrust too heavyBut still streaming out for battleSinging Hale hale, hale haleNaked feet in a muster stampedeHitting the suffering earthSo bad it shakes the soil foundationSinging the holy holy last songHale hale ,hale haleHaleeeluyahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhDrench the receding horizonsAs a living beacon of hopeFor life in a second hand chance

Now the long lived elders sevenIn odd numbers came outDressed vividly in smilesTo speak in outward soliloquyIn so biblical a lingoA language so written In false cobalt inscriptionsAnd the gullible mists Fighting and gasping for breathAs the merciless sun whipsUnheavenly strokes at themEvaporating and ejaculatingSinging the holy holy last songHale hale ,hale haleHaleeeluyahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

the bay at takwa

A place in timeA time to healA heal so stillA still so steerlessA land of many soulsA soul of many laughtersThe bay echoes in its own sunshine

Never seen the water so pureNever seen so many water facesAll dancing to one electric trickA peace so lovingly pleasingNever seen so many magicAll in one place, not anywhere

The man made canoes playA beautiful rhythm for the waterThe waves dance again and againTrees with coconut soulsReady to take on the coldWho can take away this natureThis powerful nostalgiaEmbalmed in so much cocoon

The evening boatIs a great swell of characterAll race , all eyes and all movingThe bay at takwa is waitingThe bay says helloHow are you doingRunning so so aroundBathed in a midday suit

The people of the sea I

They come in large numbersTo please the gods and the touristsTheir foothprints as time patternsThey come to sell their dreamsIn a canoe full of waresBreathing the mist all day long

They come to marry the wavesTo hold them from angerThey come to repair their hopeIn a cup clasped aged handThey beg to bring the harvestAnd the calm to stay

Now they set out in the seaWith masts torn and blisteredBy the anger of the sea god ochonmaMust they be appeased all timeBut who dare ask but to strikeTheir ways of rethorics

The night falls with its shadeOver the length of the amber seaTime stands on as a guideThe spirits envelope the trenchesWhere the mosquitoes play their tunes loudAn epic fever to come

The people of the sea II

The open nights are never goodEven the smells of the dayOld sacrifice by the water soaked jettyThe fumes in a broken tieLay lifeless with all the liesCome to sell their displeasureThe sounds of night scavengers Hitting the crescendos all night long

The rippled poetry drains the sandTime and time againSpilling its unholy philosophySpitting rage in a tide taleSometimes taking a touristAmidst wails from the seaside For a vast dinner in its dark belle

The calm however returnsIn unspoken benevolenceAs clean as a beach floorIn a hot african afternoonThe wild celebrations fill the airThe tambourin and hollow drumsBeats the noon far far away

Now a new dream speaksIn a day full of life rhythmThe tourists in their bright apparel Wondering how perfect nature rulesSea anemones and weedsTake the salty sun day offThe aroma drifting up to warmthSure a beauty the sea brings

October Sky

Dry and dusty The wind speaks to usIt's words in dented basinsIn a language so uncannyThe dusty ambient Sahara In so far away date palm covenantnever a bossom friendItchy and soundful as foolsTearful and creaky it comes callingBurning as burn bitesNot a knock before it strikes

The rain tree brothersThe agbarotor forest twinSuddenly aged by daysStruggle to stay not amputatedTheir backs torn with swornsTheir sap soured with soresDriven by badluck to backBegging all day for a vein refundSo the Sullen days moves onEveryday lookup at the skyFor hope made in nimbus

But october knows usLived and grew with usIt's skyline and horizonGave us wisdom and conscienceAnd the powerful freedom to fightIt's night time made us corn mealA cover we can imbibeA unison in cold bloodA true hero and my friendTo salute, hold and to shareThe days mama never talked about

The moon greets us

The well was dryAnd lives amongst the doorsFar off beyond the fieldTo seek a reflectionWith an excuse to go

The rain fever here againWith it's chilly willy wingsWe will meet the moonOn our way to UgbekuThat of which is behind the trees

The barren barks mamaThe sways to the eastTo pray for a new dayWith laughter in daylightEach laying on a staying hand

To listen before we lookIn the hush before the tarantula strikesA note from a single placeWith drops that floatsSo heavenly beautiful

April noon in Bako Village

He saw the April noon in his booksThe whistle trailing in at the window wide;He heard his father's voice from the mud hut belowCalling him down to ride.He saw the distant little church acrossWith mounds that hide the honoured dead;His father's name roughly scriptedThe Hurriedly tied cross toothe grass graciously dark,

He saw the primary School Field Annoyingly sunny and green,The cold post beside him, the stand by the latrine wall,The distant murmurs and the crowd between His own name over all.He saw the eton side wall and bamboo roof,The long gone tables, and the red faces keen;The School master and the prefect aloof,The projected teachers crawlingLeaving their bodies behind He watched their hands daintily ploughing the wet mud,He felt a trembling smell black blood as bones stirredHe heard the voices talking of home,Then he saw the sign at the village postWelcoming him for his contributions to lifeHe saw himself waving,his little sister without a faceHe's home. He’s alive. Is he?

Death hands of love

His love bears no strength

His hands holds no veins

Not a single sign of gladness

In a heart full of cold love

Delivered in a plate full of tropics

The hands of love he holds

In a basket full of native chalk

In a season full of blue natives

And a promise not to keep at all

The coarse hands that true love built

But the rain flowers are falling,

In a circle full of analytical lies

And mother birds are calling

wailing and Crying and calling

For the love that has leaked away

His love knows not the morning chillness,

Nor Noon flavored brilliance and wings

His love lives with evening illness

And a jar full of bad smoked fish

The dusk continues to fall

And He went the long shadowy way,

Soon his cries were heard by deities

they grouped and decided to help him die

And calls for heart stoppers all day

Wailing and Crying and calling

For the hands of love that would not stay.

Waiting

I drive waiting

For the storm to come

To wash me away

Into the inclinations of the village

But it didn't

The place, the haze, the space

It still look exactly the same

I dont know what will happen next

But I know one thing for sure

l will always be alone

I kill every time

The only soul I have ever got

Though I try to mend it

A few times

But it never works

The time, the spine, the spline

It wouldn't move me

I know my time has come

But what I do not know

Is the reason for my ascent ion

It was you II

It was youYou who stole our heartsRubbed our face with palm glowSo we won't comprehend anymoreSo the mystics will stay still

It was youYou who stole our mindsAnd our beautiful soulMade us suffer to dieWho made us cry a river

It was you who turned Us men into omenPasted pastel on our local pastaSo wont feel traces of pacesYou built terror as a home for usInside of us and won't leaveThe cries echo goes on in nine villages

With the scars to scares the birdsIt was youWith your calculated nestsand tale traps in the villageWith Hundreds dead from a hundred nightSo we will chew the cries over and overLike bad mustard in our jaws

Dancing in still

Their white robesWaving in the windFlapping like bitter heartbeatsThe breeze battling to keep It's camera steadyIn the distanceThe huts keep a close eyeNot knowing how to behaveBut the rattle can't keep stillThe mood too ill to ignoreThe wild dance ushers in The seven drone sistersTheir hips hopping with the hype And yet they move notAn aura so perfectly playedIt's watched by mankindThey stay still but the motion Dances all around themThe seven all moving as oneThe spirits within and without. The near naked frame In a framework of frantic. The sands reverb echoing in the distance. The waves speak in out native tongue Calling and cursing the roles Played by the doctors of doom

A land with no returns

I do not know Where you seekNor where your consonance come But I will come with youI will thread your sand pathOn the river brinkWhere the uli treeMagically heals the gazette And cements the landscape the great dibia dwellsIn open moonlightsAt times of the lazy sunlightSo the spirits can transcend Adhering to grace gathersI will Let the mudskippers biteThe flesh of my toes And drink of the bloodI wear through my journeyAnd my travails in your landTill you lead me nowhereYour fringed destination youCall the point of no return

I do not know What you areNor what you representBut I will stay in your dreamsOn the apex as time wallsWhere all your thoughts hungAnd the salvation you seekSo I can defend what's mineAnd free our people fromThe evil analytics that divides themI will climb the hills and the caveOur forefathers built toProtect us from yourUnholy point of no returns

The man in my vision

We were born onto this landFar far back whenThe great wizard, my grandfather livedThis great land so it seemsAs we grew up time came upAnd took away our hopeOur dreams, our existenceFor every crumb many men

But a man came to us In my visionfar from the mortals we knowAnd he fought and died for usIn the great wars in ugali tribeAnd rode the giant aligatorsAs a wild beast in the great battlesWhen the war was overHe helped till the land of the midlandsHe Gave us soil and oil, Great wealth and tobaccoAnd open the borders of our dreams

He chased the great evil awayWe missed him, both in heart and spiritbut the oracle says one of usMust take his place, must leadOur lives our future hereHe truly knows Nndukani well.I know one day I will be able to thank himAnd you will be able to build more dreamsBecause you make my Nndukani and my earth shine

New moon

The near midnight storyWith all it's splendor and retrogresive character Pours down its native illuminationPiecing through the slitsIn our thatch in our hatch

It's brilliance like a sliceOf a market square butterBringing in a thousandShimmers in gold dust formOn reaching the groundScatters its effervescentIn a sporadic dance move

Outside the drumSounds has gone far asleepOnly music from grumpy frogsAs they lie motionlessIn the muddy kamanku slidesWaiting patiently for a preyOur prayers answered In the beautiful and open mindedRendition of the of the new moon

An African story 1 see

My story begins withA velvety drape of richAfrican idea bathed in silkAnd caramel lotion in blackan elderly meeting creatively set Well dressed in evening coal in a mid urban civilization, somewhere stuck between A blend of grey twilightAnd pale and colorful belief

I see several elders withRapid loin cloth around their groinsLooking at one another smilingSuddenly they morph intoElders from all part of A consonantNow dressed in flaming attiresGrowing gracefully in greyWhispering and agreeingGrinding tobacco with a grinThe grey matters in sublime synchronicity

I see a man walks in nowWith an enormous shadow He brings with him grace andThe atmosphere that sings hope Of readiness and welcome ness. Of a new future touched byThe power of age and experienceHe greets us with one cultureOne warmth, one peace and one lovePlaying our dialect as a tuneAnd demonstrates a testimony so trueOne village, one hope and one destiny

The rippled poetry drains the sand

Time and time again

Spilling its unholy philosophy

Spitting rage in a tide tale

Sometimes taking a tourist

Amidst wails from the seaside

For a vast dinner in its dark belle

Christian Mowarin

an oxygen paperback

July 2010

the author