By Christian Mowarin
poetry playbook
4
Open your dream in sleep
And you will find gold patterns Shilver in pure imagination You will see bright lights
Run faster in your heart
You can win a race to freedom Your mind is your rotring Rotate with it always.. Christian Mowarin
an oxygen paperback July 2010
For my mother, clara
Save afrika now
Listen to her Open her windows Laugh her sorrows off Make her a butterfly Read her a book Paint her a bright color Connect with her Hug her really close Dust the speckle off her tan Put her in every driveway Drop her a note Show her a new world Dream with her Change her handwriting Tell her to look again Start a life with her now Tell her Its not over Smile with her Play her a new song Give her poverty a large kick Buy her a red rose Make your inspiration hers Make her your best friend
Dance of terror
I watch the light as the evil passes Fumes swell by a dark black color Life flash convincingly before my eyes Made serious by a cutting edge Hurricane and deathlike blow My feelings begin to take A wild life of its own My heart turns drained yellow As the dainty sword strike magenta Crossed by slain courage Never before practiced by barbarism Not even our war raged civilization My soul begins to corrugate The sound drowning my heartbeat Lord i hate the trajectory terror But it wont just leave me alone The mad story told now and next The dead lies dead and stay dead Precious time means the world to us Our birthday begins not to be our death day Lord save us from this death in melancholy street
Ageless chant
Its native contour line passes underneath our feet Evil like the one which it radiates Everyone's nightmare for which its drawn Will it ever eats us or leave us to be Sometimes a little sticky with worn-out sap Sometimes when long time drawn stay put The witch doctors line art amidst overgrown weed Only he knows where to step to save the gods wrath Toothless and ageless he chants most nights Nigh along his badly dotted circle with leg akimbo Black magic for a black prize for a night Seldom truncated by knight knives in the wind The ogene too robust in its clangy clan cry Going far into the stills and monuments of the night Shivers and shrills torment us still as We made our tired journey to sleep land They say the chant scares the drought and breaks The flu from the mosquitoes, pinches iba from little ones His withered fingers claws tuberculosis from old geckos Only to sometimes resurface in another
Mind
kaleidoscope
Open your eyes in blackness And you will see vision in motion Shake in stillness You will hear a rustle Whisper in your mind And you will create an audience Your mind is your playground Play with it always Open your dream in sleep And you will find gold patterns Shilver in pure imagination You will see bright images Run faster in your heart You can win a race to freedom Your mind is your rotring Rotate with it always.
Paradise slave landscape
The setting sun slowly Glide past as the rays move The shadows in my room It's mappings corrugates my finger's Furrow as it's violet ray Punch holes in my reflection What is this paradise slave landscape? Been aging there a while Near the open yet closed shutters Dying slowly since the day Why do i have to remain unattended? What is it this fabulous land has turned? What is this paradise slave landscape? Could it be day have cast An irrevocable spell on my genre? Pulmonary thongs piecing through Hopes and beams who's now upturned Bold hearts in burnt dimensions? What is this paradise slave landscape?
This genocide
In the backyard of my mind I see an open landscape A landscape and a lampshade The wind has stopped cursing My mind window now open I see an open graveland With all the blackskinned bodies Lying flatfaced down and legs bent On top of the rectangular sand dunes I could see as fresh as yesterday This genocide of spotted dotmatrix What are they doing now Beckoning to me in their tired sleep Is this an open or broken invitation Is this a die-up call or Just a theatre of death play For my own mind and kind
This genocide
Lord this things that i see and feel This spreadsheet of murder Our mothers wont like it It will take away their heart or Is it mayfair hallucinations? Am looking at you now Am convinced you just made The whole saga up Its a novelty dream Set in a semi urban mindscape You know you must wake up now You have to go to work There's a jazz band coming late I mean 'you cant be serious' Its one of your picture galleries In the wake of a third dimension A moment in time A moment not to be Is it? I'll just close the window I'll be just fine.
What have they done to us?
What have they done to us? These merchants of human blood Demons of practical politics What sad tributries They have entrenched in us That leaves no path to freedomland Every act unites their wicked hive A clear show of bad photography Of a shapeless and derailed dream An entanglement we must wade Through like mutilated zombies What have they done to you? This neo-slavery proclamations maggot like political and economic plots All our once beautiful petals Fallen like slain heroes Withered to the naked skeleton Everystage, a cinematography of death A passion we carry like shackles And wounded scales permanently glued An abomination we must wear Through all facet of this lost land
A hole in the heart
Have you ever Feel a black hole Heavy in your heart So deep it plunges The inner chambers Of your consiousness So wide it stretches Miles and miles in the Texture of your mind walls Have you ever Touch an emptiness Deep in your heart So perilous it spawns the Cave walls of your imaginations So open it wages war With your naked soul Ever and ever in your Cracked model of your future life Have you ever Seen a lie so laid down Deep in your self So woven it twists Your marooned instincts So told it maketh truth With your aura All in all in your Spelled Devotion of real
an oxygen paperback July 2010
By Christian Mowarin all rights reserved @2013