what-are-whiskey-stonesHe tried the sandman’s stones and thought he’d conquer the world.

Like a short shot added,

But, unlike a whiskey stone,

He never took the tone.


She tried the love bird’s tone

But sounded like a  gloom trombone,

And unlike the ring of Victorian crystal,

She merely was the Boatswain’s call.


And when he took the whistle,

She was through her troubles and blew out the candle.

He looked up and could only see her window sill,

Then he knew the song been done to the thistles


Yet again unlike a whiskey stone,

He was not and she was not worth the whiskey,

And sad creatures like Un’s greatest missile,

Landed on an empty isle.




We wait for the sun to come out tomorrow before we head out into the field.

Today will end in anticipation of tomorrow,

For the sun or the rain or whichever way the world fancies.

Life is bitter,

Life is very bitter.

We are running a script with no end and

Hanging our heads in shame because of the past.

But tomorrow still comes and we might go out into the field.

Tomorrow we might plant the maize and weed the sugarcane.

Tomorrow too, we might take the cattle to the dip.

Tomorrow is the day that the Lord will make.


Poetry is all there is,

When the high heels fail,

And the Law edicts make no sense,

Poetry makes all sense,

When the rabid wolves come to the offense,

Poetry feels all sense.

For all one can make of life’s chances

In all failures, victories and suspense,

Poetry makes sense.


Thine and Mine,

Forever be it so,

Quiet and meek,

So shall our love Speak.


Thine and mine,

Forever be it so,

Swift and neat,

So shall our hearts beat.


Forever be it so,

Thine and mine,

Forever do the birds soar,

And our blossoms ever fain.


All things end,

All Sorrow, all happiness,

All things end,

All benevolence will end and so shall all malevolence.


I love the sun because it goes away,

I yearn for the moon because it shows me half her face,

Every time, love,  everyday adoration.

All love shall end, but so soon shall all indifference.


All the chicken will come to roost,

All the foxes will leave their holes,

The snakes and their rocks will not be one.

The snail will leave his shell.


All women will love,

All men will laugh,

Yonder the children of nature return,’

Behold the beauty, thee and me, behold our beauty.



A god on wings,

A god on wings,

Hither comes a god on silver wings.


Fear thee,

Fear thee,

The god on wings ariveth fear thee.


Run yonder the hills,

Run yonder the hills,

Flee thee the god on silver wings.



I always wondered at a man who had utter contempt of his mortality,

Until I met him that preached by the river.

He was ever in the company of his little goblins,

Kind creatures and slaves to his whim.

When I met him, he looked at me as if I was a burst of air,

Nothing more than a passing wind.

His eyes scraped at my skin,

Made me feel like unrefined Kapok straight from the rainforest.

He welcomed me into his arms,

I ran to him seeking meaning and a cause to be remembered by.

Long did I serve him, for a long time I fell in love with him;

He was everything a girl could want and everything a man could ever be.

I persisted in my obsession and took him like a drug every other time I felt sick.

I have seen on the telly many like me, mad, obsessed, in love and unaware,

I loathed them.

Soon I forgot about them,

Soon I felt no pity for them for they were the enemy.

With their foreign gods and foreign cultures and foreign filth.

The preacher assured me that they were all very necessary

He told me that I should not think of ways of getting rid of them.

Singularity is not natural, complacency is degeneration.

Focus on not being like them, focus on hating them, he urged.

I fought their spirit and out of my spirit became the spirit of hate.

Not to kill the ideal but to kill the poor souls attached to it.

To make them afraid.

To make them suffer and whimper at my sight with dread.

To make them die and wish for death more than the starved wish for food.

One day he had a meeting to attend that he said would change everything.

He left me in charge of the river and the goblins.

‘What is this meeting?’ I asked.

‘A conclave.’

‘Are they making you Pope?’

‘Sweet Child, no…not that kind of conclave, but do stay here. Things will be much different afterwards.’

I took care of the goblins and the lukewarm worshippers of the Preacher as they came in trickles.

Soon, they started coming in floods that I had to stand on a rock to address them.

‘Mend your ways,’ I pleaded with them

‘Can’t you see that you have been misled.’

Some listened and came back week after week. I parried on, spewing hate

At times I was overcome with emotion and,

Out of my little mouth came outbursts of affection for the damned souls not there with us.

At night I would roll back in my cave and wait for the Preacher.

I would pray to him for a miracle,

That he would be there in the morning when I woke up.

He was never there, ever, but I did not feel the slightest loss of faith in him.

I waited,

I grew up.

I wrote books and,

I made love to a few people.

I was getting used to be Lord and Master of my surrounding.

I was stepping into the shoes I once worshipped and kissed,

When one cloudy morning during the rainy season,

When the river banks had burst and,

The Goblins and I were sheltering in a cave together with a few of my followers,

The Preacher, fatter than before came back.

‘It has been too long.’ I cried when I ran to embrace him.


The Preacher stood there motionless as our Mother embraced him.

He looked around coldly that you could feel the warmth run out of your body.

He sighed loudly and wrapped his arms around Mother.

Mother feeling relieved, held him even tighter and we all sighed loudly.

The Preacher in return squeezed even harder,

But nothing could prepare us for the symphony of bones cracking and the escape of the soul.



We were once tall and proud,

We were once giants and kings,

We once lived in castles and rode on slaves,

We once ate where we had not sown,

We once drunk from the wells we did not drink.

Then the great famine came and along with it the desert locusts,

Our slaves died,

Our castles crumbled.

We survived but we became shorter,

Our noses hurt from the heat and we all shrank.

I look at my father now, once a gigantic king,

Reduced to a pile of ash for want.

We want, yet we were once kings.

We die, yet we ruled.

We barely survived our slaves,

We are now slaves to the dust daemon.

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