Poetry with an african shakara

Page 1

shakara people Christian Mowarin

poetry playbook

16


Poetry with an African eye

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Hitting the closed side walk Splashing ache and aces of cakes Aromantics flowing through the hood With arrant boo from even toddlers Keeping track of peddlers Sweeping the men toads off their feet Testing their souls with soaked cold So old they only puke

an oxygen paperback July 2010


for my mother, clara


Another maiden edition Two halfs of a yellow sun


Stay away. play away For life stays here, and the lights The beautiful red ones too The alluring perspective Of not a district but street So set in your camera’s cinematics Ready, edgy, earthly too



Open your cinematography Plainly projecting skywards So the angle perpendicular To the inevitable heart matics See that beauty that speaks That sings when she swings That talk when she walks And play when you fail



Make a killer move And you just rekindle Another maiden edition An action Of half a yellow sun Old enough to be a mother Or preferably your mother though devoid of guns and pellets And atomic reactions or burrette Its best you stay egged and dead Not to be bullied by a psychedelic



The city cites them Cats without catering They move like the movies In rhythmic and calculated orchestra In greens or turquoise of shades And maroons and golden brown With their wild waist swinging to Waiting needs and neat meals Imaginary beats that makes the eye pop



The whistling ring The whispering hairdo The braid frond sway And the indigenes of thoughts From the ethos of tomorrow To the egos of a borrow With girlie and shades and spades And foundations only from mabeliine Turned alkaline in alignment From the bush bars and shrubs The shutters keep spreading



And shredding in afternoon lullaby Open opportunities beckons In the wake of perfumery Made in the wind and wings of no guilt They smile but then mesmerize Then pressurize their victims To the cosmic malady of cruelty With the real wives pulling And tossing and tugging



The daylight dunes in pale morning The beautiful grounders slow mo along Spreading sweet disease all along What would you do, what will you say Nothing brothers, nothing only stare As the evening bows solemnly In awe in the wake of away Only night coughs huskily A raised feeling of adrenalin



Hitting the closed side walk Splashing ache and aces of cakes Aromantics flowing through the hood With arrant boo from even toddlers Keeping track of peddlers Sweeping the men toads off their feet Testing their souls with soaked cold So old they only puke



Their lips pictorially red with a pink tint You could see your self drunk inside And the grin as green as an album of Greenday Bathed as an ostentatious afternoon meal In a roasted toaster flunked alive By the baked wisdom of sodom With a black Gomorrah standing by Urging a comeback connection



Sounds run away Sands marched away Fly with the times The enriched energy spies Openly graduating like a sound Distillation palings away Sweating as the colours of light Hits the golden elements on body



Glittering away in calm and compositional anomaly Believing it can capture everything Beautiful in the salient inside And anything across the flow Believe me they do Made to capture things Made to kill, kill the man in you



Colorful umbrella swinging in the wind Spraying tendencies and miracles In the whole sophistication Building suspensive tornadoes



And obsessive phenomenon Only expiring in mid air Taking all the bubble thoughts Of course with it surprisingly Wow..what a spence of new space To battle together and then forget


Christian Mowarin

shakara people poetry playbook

16


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