Spring Love

I gave My Love the Summer's Day

the Autumn Moon 

the Winter's Night

yet never was she happier 

than when she drank of Spring 

My Love I gave the precious Dill

the fragrant Campernelle Jonquil

yet still he yearned for that he knew that only Spring could bring.

Gave to My Love the aqua sea

warm golden sands

the sway of peace

but Spring thereof implored My Love to want no other thing.

Of time and place My Love I gave 

Antiquity 

and all to see

and there My Love 

in toil and deed

in birth and death 

in want and need

rejoiced for liberation 

from that Spring
to which in adulation
oft My Love
would cling.

If It's Poetry

If it's poetry I should feel it,
not have to wait for you to reveal it.

You can't waggle your finger and say you're dancing.
You don't purse your lips then say you're kissing.
Run to catch a bus and call that sprinting?
If that's correct please tell me what I'm missing.

If it's poetry it needs motion.
To understand it we shouldn't need a magic potion.

You can't say "I'm awake" if you're sleeping,
Or steal from a high street store and call that 'shopping'.
You couldn't strip to your socks and call that naked.
If that's the deal we'd best kneel down and pray kid.

Maybe it's because I love poetry in motion more than I really love poetry itself?
Watching you breathing keeps me believing;
so much of you that I see in myself.

Drawn to the motion and movement of poetry like that which you see as a heron takes flight.
A gazelle as it glides on its hooves cross the land.
See if that isn't poetry I don't understand.

Arrested Development

Front door slam.

Bam!!!

Silent intermission.



Cyan do nuttin drastic.
Life don't bend like plastic
cos when life bend it cyan ben' back.

A letter arrive.
Two hours before.

'If yu a read dis
yu alive.'

Life sometimes put yu inna strange position.
Yu don't always choose your opposition.
And seeing as rent haffi pay
and yu cyan jus' live day to day,
sometimes
seems like
yu have to do certain tings yu own way.

An mi never really check fi gun as a yout
cos that is what you call Brute
Force.
An dem time deh
Dat
I could not endorse.

Di clock cyan stop tic.
Cyan get a perfect silence.
Between each second
di sound of chaos
enough to fill up your imagination.
Yu know like when yu feel like yu head waan buss?
A dat a fill up di room.

'From yu a read dis
yu ave a chance.'

So I hol' like a ninja stance
neat
inna di shadows
placid
humble
no stumble
nah tremble.
Inna di darkness
where only certain walks of life
can truly
exist
like is desso
dem belong.

'Dem a come fi yu. Yu betta know dat.
All yesterdeh, even den
yu get a near miss
an yu never even know it.'

I would raada have a friend
be a friend
than a enemy.

But business and friendship
Dem is like two stranger.
Cyan get to know dem one anedda
And when dem inna di same room
dem quick fi fall out.

Next ting,
I hear a voice.



"POLICE...!!"

Felicity's Revenge

Felicity in song
Particularly grim
Falsetto on a whim
Spectacularly wrong

Felicity in voice
Habitually crude
Perpetually eschewed
Not suited for rejoice

Felicity alone
Dejected and aghast
Imprisoned by her past
Uncultured semi tone

Felicity arrived
Untypically late
Unusually irate
And not a soul survived.

Felicity's forlorn
A fallen house of cards
Amongst the glacial shards
Felicity reborn

Civilisation

Abreast green hills which clothed with lush,
the prospered bloom,
where thrice each morn
replenished
'songs of dew' its stock,
the rampant edge
to testify of this divide,
where Beauty and The Beast hold to each other's gaze,
and each reflects the same
the spoils
upon themselves.

Behold the mighty windmill breathes and firms its place
whilst formed in shades of jade
meadows afar and vast,
which thus remains alive in dreams
born years gone past
and whilst the battle rages
hence the residues
this gratitude for that which I have found in you.

And Shine.

"Since when do you eat meat?"

Scanned.

Cranium to feet.

My scuffed shoes spoke for me.

Against my will.

"Veggie.

Veggie sausages.

Buy one get one free."

Cigarette smoke.

A thing of the past.

But somehow.

Against the torn, decrepit backdrop.

In black and white.

It would have suited her nicely.

In whisps

Her lips caress the black blossom tone.

And shine.

"We have all morning."

"To ourselves."

One Bed.

by Mkuu Amani

One bed.

Two people.

Playing out

another sequel.

Different words.

Same story.

She's sorry.

He's wary.

He's weary.

She's scary.

Only the night for company.

Only through dreams are they set free.

Johnny Humble

I'm not as good at standing still as horses seem to be,
or balancing on a wire like that bird above I see.
I'm pretty good at leaping but that frog seems so much better.
I like to think my legs impress but there's the real jet setter.

I'm not so hot at doing what that Sparrow Hawk can do.
I'd like to fly but gravity has a different point of view.
No matter how I flap my arms they just won't keep me up,
whilst Sparrow Hawk just floats there seeking out its daily sup.

I like to sing but check this
there's a few birds I could name
that can in just one second
put my every song
to shame.

I'm really not as great
as I perhaps pretend
I am.
This dominance, this petulance,
this opulence is
spam.

I think it might be helpful if I were a bit more humble.
and moved away from trying to build
this Mega
Concrete Jungle.

It think it might be helpful if I heeded Nature's call.
The key to our survival?
'All for One and
One for All.'

A Simple Take on Humankind

Of humankind you find there are two species that you've got.

The one who'd splat the spider flat, the other who would not.

How Fragile Is Life

How fragile is life
That shines so bright
Yet flutters like a butterfly’s wings in flight
So pleasant to the sight
Yet still so deft 
so light.

How fragile is life
That echoes aloud
Yet drifts beyond one’s touch 
like mists and clouds.

How fragile is life
More so than snow
Immeasurable weight so slight
Each flake, a thousand crystals bond as one
but gone before you know.

How fragile is life
A whisper only souls can hear
Its warmth - a candle’s glow draws near
Then fades amidst the morning-light
Before it disappears.

Let’s treat this fragile life with more revere
Neglect it not while it is here
In goodness let our hearts be steered
Away from ignorance and fears
For smiles and tears 
can mesh like glacial shards
newborn of shattered chandeliers.

Have You Ever?

by Mkuu Amani

You ever heard the sound of an half-end-ukka
as it hits the wall having just missed a scutter?
Seen a dog pack walking slow past the offie?
Had a snotty faced kiss from a mouth full of toffee?

 You ever had a real urge for 10 Number 6?
Adding cut banana to your cold Weetabix?
Sticky lips cos a dat Cow Foot Soup?
Finger by finger we ate Hoola Hoops.

You ever heard the sound of a fart on purpose
that made you feel calmed down instead of nervous?
Seen dogs shag til they get stuck together?
That's the kind of tug of war you definitely remember.

You ever seen a dead dog floating in the cut,
face down with the maggots chewing at its butt?
You ever been convinced that you'll never get solace
until you play true, dare, double dare, love, kiss or promise?

The Fallen Pride

by Mkuu Amani

The Lion stood before the Court, appeared not as a Lion should; past golden glory well maligned. Custodial life is Bad, not Good. "You realise why you're here today," the voice of justice spoke aloud. The Lion barely raised his head. No longer was he bold and proud. "I understand", the Lion spoke, "and yet I don't...", he whispered then recalling sunlit days he'd stood a King within the Lion's den. "You killed a calf...." the voice replied, "there was no need, you were not starved. What need to bear those awesome claws before the flesh through which you carved?" "It is my trait. I did not teach this to the world but born I was and it unfurled, passed on to me and so therefore my destiny."  " But there is choice and always room for sacrifice." justice replied and silence came upon the beast as he recalled his fallen pride.

This Broken Bridge

This broken bridge
creates a space
between us.

This pain I feel
has more than life.
I'm broken.

And yet I wish
creation
born
from blessing.

A bridge renewed.
A path.
An intertwining.

This broken bridge
creates a false
impression.

What's left is desolate,
devoid
of meaning.

This pain I feel
tears though me
like
bolt lightning.

There are times that
it's even
truly frightening.

This broken bridge.
I wish you were
a rainbow
upon which
we could travel where the wind blows.

This vision
I have seen before.
In childhood.

When dandelions and daisies
were our
livelihood.

Edmond de Couitier

Our host, Edmond de Couitier,
lived in a castle miles away,
a seven hour journey.
Thus began this tale of woe.

Our coach,
of people,
was quite full,
was cold and barely comfortable;
so spoke we to the driver
but he didn't want to know.

So in his charge were carried forth
the passengers whom headed north
towards the lands
where folk like us
were rarely seen to go.

And filled thé hours
reading, writing,
chatting, nothing near exciting.
Anything to distract
from a trip painfully slow.

Midway we stopped to taste thé air
and give some time to bladder care
and whilst we did
a quirky looking fellow caught my eye.

Hé wore à feather in his hat,
a waist coat and à créam cravate
which if à question prompted
thèn my question would be, 'Why?'

My friend,
known to me as Pierre,
A rasta man whose dreadlocked haïr
was always courting compliments
from ladies passing by,

took pleasure in reminding me that, 
to embrace diversity
makes moral sense,
so simply something
everyone should try.

Whilst moving on we noticed how the sun had gone
behind thé clouds and how so many fields were filled
With horses, cows and sheep.

Soft pastures laced with buttercups,
vast golden âcres,
farmer's crops,
sat bold against the backdrop
of the mountains grand and steep.

At 9pm we reached our desination
and with sheer elation
dragged our aching bodies
from their angst of
'woken sleep'.

Then gathered our possessions
and with no further digressions
Travelled east along à pathway
packed with gravel
dense and deep.

With painful feet,
emerging then into à street
that finally would lead us to the castle grounds
And to De Couitier's door.

Our baggage
now akin to boulders
weighing heavily on our shoulders
which in turn screamed loudly
'Tell us why we feel so sore'

With bâcks now arced
against thé since prevailing winds
we clamboured forth
towards thé entrance doorway
that would end this acrid tour,

When suddenly in spoken word
a voice from high we clearly heard
yelled, 'Friends, havé you not heard the news?
De Couitier is no more'.

The Birth of Paradise

by Mkuu Amani

I can see the coming of the dawn.
The new day greets you with a smile,
with all the gusto of the virile
heartbeat of a new born child. 

The new day smiles,
unfurls its wings.
The sunshine sings
as morning brings
a new beginning,
bursting open
like the petals of a flower;
glorious in this new born hour.

In song it's like the Nightingale
or Blackbird
whose melodious word
can now be heard amidst the silver clouds. 

Oh heavenly enchantment reigns
and through our veins
new zest for life;
a universal empathy;
what's best for you is best for me,
what brings you down
I won't allow. 

 
No hunger will you ever feel
unless mine is the same for real.

And so we live and die together.

Birds of the same feather.

Yet still a magnificent, diverse parade
of sound and colour. 

 
A new dawn rises
and with it brings new enterprises.

The Maze

There are no easy paths today it seems
No simple way to realise our dreams
It's hoola hoops
Or spinning plates
Or tightrope walks
Or twists of fate
Which permeate and punctuate life's themes.

I'll be no Saint no matter how I try
There'll be no pound nor penny for the guy.
No Spiderman
No Tonka Toy
No Duracell
No Rover's Roy
My closet skeleton filled till I die.

There are no simple answers take my word,
No master plan to make life less absurd.
It's bullet holes
banana skins,
Reporting stolen wheelie bins,
The arctic melt,
The fiscal freeze
There's fighting wars
more than disease
Mad millions spent on football stars
And even more on reaching Mars
When all around confusion rules
From Parliament to Primary Schools
The Rubic Cube that we call life
Like beef under the butcher's knife
Like Jack and Jill without a hill
I'll stop
But I could go on still
I'll make this point
Oh yes I will.
There are no simple answers and
I've had my fill.

Except...
We're born
We die
We laugh
We cry
We work the day
We sleep the night
We bleed the same
We need the same
We share one Earth
In depth and girth
In all its heights
For all it's worth.
We cultivate
Enumerate
Articulate
And seperate
Depreciate
Then delegate
And finally we relegate
In an attempt to elevate
Enslaved by that which we create.
Then procreate to populate
the mass that we inebriate.
The map is lost
No buried treasure can be found
In any measure.
Can't be found in sensual pleasure
Not in richness nor in leisure.
Pieces missing from the jigsaw.
What we get we always want more.
Seeking that perpetual open door.

There are no easy paths
Of that I'm sure.

Freedom

by Mkuu Amani

Freedom
Freedom
Freedom

I'd like to feed myself
Freedom.
And clothe myself
Freedom.
And feed my child
Freedom.
And clothe my child
Freedom.
Shelter myself
Freedom.
Shelter my child
Freedom.
Live far away
Freedom.
Be here to stay
Freedom.
Sit on a wall
Freedom.
And if fall...
Freedom.
Release my soul
Freedom.
Enjoy my self
Freedom.
Swim 'cross the sea
Freedom.
Impunity
Freedom.
Rise in the night
Freedom.
Bed down at dawn
Freedom.
Be natural
Freedom.
An actual
Freedom.
No need to pay
Freedom.
Bills every day
Freedom.
Willing to give.
Freedom.
To how we live
Freedom.
As long as my
Freedom
don't compromise
Freedom.

Mechelle

She's open to suggestions.

Doesn't need directions.

Nurtured her perspective

as an urban native.

Has the darkest eyes

that let you know she's wise

and she's watching as time goes by.



Light coffee complexion,

some might say 'perfection'.

Hair dark, soft and flowing

on the warm breeze blowing.

Has the saddest eyes

that tell you that she cries

and she's watching as time goes by.



She's standing at her window,

sharing her within glow.

Words she says, not speaking,

whilst her heart goes seeking

sun in clear blue skies;

Peace

The Gift

The Prize,

and she's watching as time goes by.

The Emptiest

by Mkuu Amani


This evening,
as I quietly sit alone,
you dark ale,
my night black liquid friend,
are chosen to turn me from the day
and ease me into blissful mindlessness,
so that I may embrace this journey's end
with nothing, more than soft and weightless groan.

In solitude,
as the log fire warms me through.
Its flames spawn spectral figures black and wild
which dance across the walls with dark intent.
You silence,
scarce and formless entity,
consume me in your presence undefiled,
as all around slowly subsides from view.

In mourning,
sorrow feeds me from its breast,
the poison that is smooth and without taste.
Dark Angel,
you have seen my soul arrive
and with this have revealed the ancient path;
a journey I traverse now without haste
which sees me leave behind the emptiest.

The Kiss

I awoke

If sleep was where I’d been,
from a dream that was indeed my life.

As I spoke
to no-one but myself,
my intention was to hear my breath.

Where I lay
amidst the grass and leaves,
cold, so damp and silent was the night.

Turned my gaze
towards the hoary moon,
memories returning of my death.

“Strange” I thought,
when images recalled
dragged me through the scenes of my demise.

Yet I felt
no heartbeat in my chest
nor the warmth of liquid in my veins.

Never more
A tragic scene than this.
Cursed fortune ~ thus my future lies.

Raven black
and bloodstained was the kiss,
slave to which this soul is bound in chains.

'Emiline'
Or similar
the name
of the one who’d lured me to this fate.

Induced this now
imprisoned soul and mind
with so pure a beauty yet so rare.

Every word
SHE spoke I had to hear.
Every smile was meant for me alone.

And her touch
brought warmth without compare.
Hers, a world I deeply yearned to share.

Foolish heart.
No lessons from your past
taught that all is never as it seems?

Now I lie
forsaken.
As a child
Yet to learn the meaning of its birth.

Too late now
to steer the winds of time
from the place that sees me as I am.

But should I not
beget the mourner’s prayer?
Should I not be buried in the earth?

Tales there are,
permit me to indulge,
Witches, werewolves, warlocks and the like.

Anecdotes
of ghosts and poltergeist,
spirit-filled dimensions few can see.

I can now
relate this to my plight,
though I speak not of an evil spell.

Left to walk
into eternity.
This the vampire’s kiss has done to me.