Poems to sit on: In the East African Savannah(An esquire's poetic footprints)

Rivers of blood

2011-10-29T10:05:00.002+01:00

Oh captain! my captain!
We smoked hemp and cannabis and all forms of grass,
We drifted off to nether lands and grass lands,
But still the pain in our bellies remained,
the angry rumblings of our no longer satiate bellies woke our now hazy galaxies.
We walk through death's valley,
We behold hades gates,
Behind it the fat of our cattle,
The richness of our soils.

They far off people whisper;
"And why can they not revolt and spill their blood one more time,
Revolt until they eat the spoils of revolution
and their bellies burst open in the pleasure of gluttony,
Savages they always are after all."

Hardly had they spoken than,
Out of the book of Words,
The pale rider burst forth;
I heard a voice booming behind;
"Do not harm the wine and oil."

Darkness.

And then we picked up sticks,
And then returned to the forests,
And swung from the trees.

Judgment.

We were merciless,
they were buried where they fell,
we slew the zombies,
our lights shone upon the vampires,
the Banshees fled,
the minotaurs begged for mercy.
We were merciless.

New beginnings.

The blood filled rivers are clean,
The barren ground quenched,
The gods of our fathers assuaged,
We returned to build Rome.
We planted the vine yards,
The lamb walks with the lion,
We are the children of the revolution.

D e Wasake
29 October 2011

Manjeri: persistence of memory

2011-08-24T17:50:00.002+01:00

When silence breathes her sorrow
and still winds carry men's sad sorrows,
I pull the singing bird to my bosom
and weep into her bosom.

When we love so deep
and then miss so deep
I pull the naive girl to my self,
we love a moment or two
and then cuddle till the break of dawn.

memories fade,
sorrows fade,
time blunts everything,
time blunts nothing.
I didn't ever forget you,
but i carry the cross always,
the cross of changes,
the persistence of memory.

Do you remember, do you?
Manjeri Manjeri, I wear you like a tattoo.

When silence breathes her unholy breath
and minstrels and muses skip along distant paths,
sadness fades, time fades,
I plant upon your neck a million kisses.

D E Wasake
9 May 2011

Blinding lights

2011-03-06T10:04:00.003Z

In the city of blinding lights;
all the black guys with the white girls,
colour blind, love blind....

there too goes my baby,
and also into the leaking roof church,
where they go down to the river to pray,
singing negro spiritual songs,
after their fat bellies are satiate with rice and peas,
or was it peas and rice?

Down to the river to pray,
to lay down their burdens upon invisible Lord,
after burdening visible poor,
with offertory for church fund, prayer fund and rapture fund.

In the city of blinding lights;
all the black people, devoid of the culture of who they are,
all the white people, devoid of the memory of where they are....

there too goes my baby,
and also into the reality television screen,
where they sacrifice the dignity of their childhood,
and onto Jersey's shore,
they gyrate and player hate,
or perhaps did they play upon hate,
while gyrating upon the beautiful stranger?

Into the reality television screen,
where the parents become the children,
and the children the parents,
and we are no longer sure which is which or who begat who.

In the city of blinding(not blinging) lights,
I was a man, walking into the light, crow perched upon shoulder.
We were fully alive and yet fully dead,
we went down to the river to pray;
with our white women(there too goes my baby),
singing negro spiritual songs,
but in the white man's language,
our fat bellies satiate,
from the rapture fund and the prayer fund and the church fund.

Down by the river,
water turned into wine,
sister light gone, brother darkness here,
and we too became devoid;
not only of the memory of who we were
but also of the memory of where we were.

Colour oh colour,
where is your difference now?

Dickson E Wasake
5 March 2011

Deep end of the ocean(part III)

2011-01-15T09:08:00.001Z

Boogie nights swiftly go by me,
As quickly as the man friday welcomed to crusoe island,
The bearded man awaits little miss mermaid,
Who with a pout and a swish of her fin
comes and goes,
As shyly as this island's tidal waters
So far in and just as soon so far out!

The silence of this unholy night
Broken by the shrill scream of the device,
The cautious voice on the other end
Tiptoes around the boogie night blues,
And clutches upon the life buoy;
They have afterall made it to 8 moons,
(And not a penny more I daresay)
Only more footprints
In the sands of time
In the sands of this desert island's shores.

The little miss mermaid,
With a pout and a swish of her fin,
Dives,
And in her place,
What angelic creature is this!
Could it be as the phoenix of old,
Rising on twillight moon,
From the ashes of her tears?
What angelic creature is this,
With a pout and a swish of her fin,
Luring me into cravens and crags,
To the deep end of the ocean,
Still waters running deep,
Deep emotions to stir, for which to weep,
And to the bottom of the sea,
We drink sea teas and shell sea peas,
We tell sea tales and ride upon sea snails,
(Of course we dreamed sea dreams).

The little miss mermaid,
With a pout and a swish of her fin,
Whispers;
Love me forever.
The bearded man,
With a growl in his voice,
With the pearl of her heart in his palm,
Whispered(in a growl of course),
Always, love always.

At the deep end of the ocean,
At the two ends of the hearing device,
deep emotions stir,
for these we weep,
For these we hope to keep,
Another 8 moons

D E Wasake
14 January 2011
"Twilight; phoenix"

Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

The vulture mourns(at the death of love, part 2)

2010-10-06T08:04:00.004+01:00

It was the best of times,it was the worst of times;
we loved with all our hearts,
we loved with all our best parts,
but foe(and perhaps friend too),
outside looking in,
albeit through smoky windows,
through stained glass of reputation past,
cast the stones of judgement,
and sung the chorus of old;
the chorus of lovers gone, lovers forlorn,
the ones handed over to the dark side,
but not before being worn out with twist and lie.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times;
who shall sing our praises?
Send the vulture.
The vulture is afterall a patient bird;
he will mourn for us,
and then feast,
at the death of love.

Dickson E Wasake
6 October 2010

Snuggles flies home(an insomniac poet dreams)

2010-07-27T21:30:00.001+01:00

3:30 am, an insomniac poet muses: "daylight is already coming, birds already stirring, the wind blowing gently;on the road to Zion we now gird ourselves for the thief lurks close, oh ye fellow travellers asleep: arise and shine! The glory of the Great Shepherd is already shining upon you, upon the earth, the cross of changes, here already, the sheep of change, already home!"

3.42 am; a sleepy thought stirs; "who or what is constantly unwound when we wind? who or what knows of this connection when we clasp and snuggle? Who or what can decipher the distressful unconnection when you fly away with snuggles? A once sleepy thought now sits wide awake, on the edge of daylight now emerging; the crossroad of changes, is already here, the track of our dreams already home!"

3.55 am a sleepy poet bemoans; "oh you sea gulls of this quaint little town, what nocturnals are you? what strange mutation are you made of that you forage and scream and fight for our trash, a leftover chip here, a leftover slice there? What strange times you live in that you hunt at hours unknown, at hours that your unknown ancestors ancient were still in the sea cliff's crags and crevices minding little gulls or loving mother gulls at nest home. Surely the sea of changes is here, our dreams no longer home!"

4:07 am; an insomniac poet dreams; "when snuggles flew home, a lonely heart beat, a sleepy head dreamed of airplanes becoming horses, of knights dark charging across kisumu's heaths(or perhaps riding an elephant), of dawn's break swimming across victoria lake. When daylight came, we boarded the "MV KAAWA" we joined the african secret society and quietly slipped into our lover's dream, no longer wishing for airplane horses or knights lances or elephant rides but across the sea of changes, across the uganda railway, huffing and puffing, merrily carrying snuggles across the border, the now fat controller not left behind, we loved them both, until the Shepherd took the sheep of change home!"

D e wasake
27 July 2010
"When snuggles flew home"
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

Book launch for Manjeri a century of love!

2010-07-06T18:39:00.003+01:00

At a tea party

2010-07-03T11:49:00.001+01:00

Ring the alarm,
another love is dying,
another one is crying.

Cupid is weeping,
none with the strength to hold his tears,
so we just sit in the lea,
eating eats and drinking teas,
Alice and I,
and our furry hatted fiend,
after tumbling down down down.

When a distant clock ticks and tocks,
when near clocks chime their chimes,
and silence sighs in this unholiest of times,
mens hearts fail them fast,
mens hearts give in to this lust.

I put the glass to my mouth,
and pulled her to my mouth,
the waves of gin came strong,
the woman's heart was neither that strong.
A distant bell is sounded,
ancient warning sounded,
still sea of passion to ride
another shameful sin to forever hide.

The bells toll already,
the bells know and so they mourn,
my heart is dead already,
the undertaker knows but he don't mourn.
The undertaker is late,
his chimy clock a second late,
his grim grin too, a second late.

Alice and I,
and our furry hatted fiend,
sitting in the lea,
the sound was clear,
the sky was clear,
then the sinful arrow flew over,
then the clouds darkened,
the winged child may not survive,
so I raise the cup to my lips
and so does love's fiend.

A clink, a toast to another one dying.
Alice tumbling down and down.

Dickson wasake
27 june 2010
"Saturday night blues"
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

Sailing to the airport

2010-07-03T11:47:00.001+01:00

Who shall we tell;
our fat bellies are satiate at last,
at least for a while,
and not one piece left for the big fat cat.
Tonight we feast again,
run sea gulls,
run you albatrosses with your insatiate needs.

Across the horizon of fire,
the lighthouse was sighted,
the nets hauled in,
we caught only one fish,
the fish with a deep sea smile.

The captain turns the final lane,
black bird flies over,
black bird's white guano drops,
rain pours,
but not one drop on captain's black beard.
We have not a moment to spare,
gods must feast,
we have not a moment to spare,
the beloved to soon be beheld,
I close my bloodshot eyes and smile,
I close my bloodshot eyes and sigh.

One drop down my black beard,
one salty tear drops into the sea,
the sea's fat belly,
satiate, at least for a while,
let's us through.
Upon horizon of fire,
the airport now sighted,
the nets cast,
we caught only one fish;
the beloved with a deep sea smile.

D e wasake
29 may 2010
"Atis"
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

Manjeri: A Century of Love Published

2010-05-19T18:36:00.006+01:00

D E Wasake
19 May 2010

"Manjeri, Who or what is Manjeri you ask? If I told you, I would be spoiling the beauty of the story for you, I can however tell you this:
In the year that I wanted to love Manjeri, I died.
In the year that I wanted to tell her the truth, she had a bullet proof soul."

It's been a while since i wrote a poem(or perhaps a sonnet) but it's because I have been busy, busy publishing my book and I am pleased to announce that I have finalised it.

You are most welcome to preview and/or buy my 3rd book(£9.99):

Manjeri: A Century of Love(Poems to sit upon, to die to).

The link for that is here:

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/manjeri-a-century-of-love/11027168

Alternatively you can click on the "Dickson Wasake Store front" icon to the right of this page and go right to Lulu. com

If you like my works, then you can click on the Facebook "Like" Icon. This will let your friends know about this website. Go on be a sport, spread the word.

My last book, "Poetic Footprints" was reviewed by Uganda's leading newspaper, The New Vision.You can read the review here:
http://www.newvision.co.ug/D/9/44/652627

Several of the poems in "Poetic Footprints" have been included within this collection.

Here are a few other comments on Manjeri: A Century of Love.

“This is truly beautiful. Yours is poetry I would read again and again, and believe me, this applies to a few sacred poets.” On Archaeology(Blackberry Man)

“Breathtakingly simple and best of all painfully forlorn- everything a poem should be.”

On Returning Home (Lamentations)

“Okay, only poetry can take a person's breath away, like looking at the photograph of an old lover, or a picture of a thousand words. That's what your does to me.”

On A Haiku journey around the world(selected poems).

“Beautiful! Who is Manjeri?” On A letter to Manjeri of the mountain

“The silent revolutionary is back and this time he is taking no prisoners!” On Dinner people

Some of the poems in this

On the christian way

2010-02-26T00:04:00.001Z

Some are going one way,
trudging on the road less travelled,
while billions more at the opposite end, Speeding(and overtaking),
on a highway to hell.
I wonder if there will be an intersection, a "pre purgatory" meet,
or shall it all be one heady rush,
Fast as the blink of the eye,
The sheep, silent as if being led to the slaughter house,
Instead to crowns of gold and eternal mansions,
While the goats, bleating and stampeding, onwards to tongues of fire and never cooling thirst.
Or perhaps shall it all be a surprise,
To be welcomed by Shiva and Vishnu,
And by chants of om shanti om shanti
led to the ornate banquet table,
at whose head shall be buddha,
and not Jesus of Nazareth.
But please do leave out the Prophet P.B.U.H
poet Infidels dare not risk the wrath of fatwa,
If in doubt, ask Rushdie,
He won't even wipe his ass,
Without Scotland Yard saying aye.

D e wasake
26 feb 2010
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

All along a watch tower(valentines day reprise)

2010-02-14T12:19:00.000Z

Perhaps in another lifetime,
we would sail the seven seas,
We would only feed on love's juices and neptune the sea god would send his daughters,
to sing for us, the raft lovers.

I would perhaps die in your arms,
that's not such a bad way to go.

Cupid! Still the notorious traitor,
stringing her and I,
sweetest taboo, mon amour cherry. cherish for only a second and then we have to tiptoe back.
Back across the border line,
the one that dictates who should love.and how. and how much.
Back across the border,
where this heart beats,longingly,incessantly.

I string my bow, and shoot.
Cupid is not dead, simply smiles,and waits, I too wait, perhaps for the next lifetime.
we won't tiptoe across borderlines,
to sweetest taboos,
to the only taboo that matters, we will simply be, places to see,
jewels of life,
to steal and run off with,
like bonnie and clyde,
and no one else loving my baby.

D E Wasake
14 Feb 2010
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

When we were kings

2009-09-19T19:59:00.001+01:00

When we were kings,
The minstrels, wiped our asses,
And honey dripped from vipers' tongues.
It wasn't the greatest of times,
But who is to tell it was the worst.
Then the man came.
Then the belching snake came.
Then the fire spitting stick came.
The elephants were lost first,
The lion king became a coward,
The waganda were subdued,
And the people of the ganyi country afraid.
When we were kings;
Awich the courageous,
Andereya the christian,
Kasagama the wise,
Chwa the young,
The man came,
Cross in right,
Gun in left.
We called him sir
but who was to tell,
he couldn't even have been fit,
to wipe our asses.

Seize the cannons,
Sail the Nile,
and cross the oceans,
their women will kiss our feet,
but not the lips.
bring me a pound of flesh,
but not one drop of blood.
There is a revolution,
But we can only whisper.
Hide the women and children,
Destroy cow and goat,
But Spare the beads,
Our women shall mourn with those.
Our women shall rejoice with those.

There is a revolution,
That we can only speak of in parable,
For when the man came,
He too speaks our language,
He too knows the whisper of the wind,
But the stories of old he knows not,
For those he burnt at the great fire,
The fire of his mistaken kingship.
He has the stick of fire,
and we don't,
But we have the stories,
And our mouths as yet intact,
He has the belching snake,
But we have the graves of the ancestors,
And they won't let us forget.

There is a revolution,
But we still whisper,
We shout yet not,
Its still afar off,
Or perhaps near,
As their messiah's return,
You never know,
It too comes as a thief in the night,
And when it does,
And when it does,
then the drums shall echo through the night,
And we shall be kings again;
Awich will rise, no longer afraid,
Andereya will carry cross and gun too,
Kasagama will see into the future,
And Chwa, a man; with a lion heart.

D e Wasake
19 september 2009

Going places

2009-08-29T12:08:00.001+01:00

Men,
Going places,
From places,
I too go,
And come,
As the tide of this quaint little island rock,
Too far out,
And then a little closer than wished.

Men,
Going places,
From places,
I too go,
And come,
From seeing my little daughter,
From seeing my little known,
Into the abyss of the unknown,
A few hours too few,
Kisses too few, too far in between.
Babybliss now waiting for daddy,
Watching them pass by;
Old man, blind man, black man, bad man,
Old man, yellow man, laughing man but no daddy man.

Babybliss now waiting for daddy man,
As forlorn lover at harbour
Awaiting a longed for ship to dock
Day in day out,
Year in year out,
Without end?
And I old man of the sea
Going places
Some places,
Many places.

I will be home again,
Some day,
Perhaps a good summer day
To babybliss,
And her rug doll,
I got that from timbuktu,
From an old man by the sea,
Going places,
Many places.

D wasake
27th august 2009

Muse

2009-08-03T09:10:00.000+01:00

For "obi"

What beauty
To witness muse and human
Consider one another from afar
As if in preparation
For the wrestling bout of the century;
digital eyes interlocked
Upon one another
E'en through this gigabitic maze.
Perhaps ours is a most platonic of loves,
Perhaps we are uncertain what to make of one another;
Genius or mad as a hatter.
I too was a man,
And he my muse.

I shall write an ode to earth spinners
Even muses spin on this axis

We nurture this friendship
As if new lovers
Afraid to let go
when dawn breaks
the taxi man ringing the bell,
And the kisses more passionate
More lingering
More desperate.
Just as urgent when I write to him,
My wordsmith friend,
As the old man by the sea
Sitting at nassau's docks
By the sea of conch and pirates
Of columbus and his 3 ships
Of loves labours come and gone
The sea where he fishes;
Basket upon basket of poems;
Some to chew upon
Some to look upon
Others to throw back
Yet Others like gems
To be preserved for generations henceforth
Until the rebirth of rake n scrape
Perhaps even the return of Christ himself.

I shall write him a sonnet tomorrow
We are never too old for that.

Who or what is being undone, unraveled
Who or what is being unwound
When we wind?
Today I saw a poem
become a thesis in physics
Today I saw a poet
Describe newton's laws of motion
Today I saw my muse
Become as starry eyed
As van gogh or dali
As joyce or v.s naipur
As galileo or einstein.

I shall write him a letter
To tell him what goats can chew
My muse and I
We are never too distant for that.

D E Wasake
28 July 2009

Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

The past, the future, the greatest of times

2009-07-19T23:58:00.000+01:00

The past is deep.
By the river manafwa we wash and weep;
The men upstream, the animals lower, the women lowest.
We weep for our dear departed,
We weep for the glory we never had,
Or even smelt.
It was but only a dream,
And we prostrated for this dream,
We could even have killed for it,
because we were blind,
we had bulletproof hearts,
And it was the greatest of all times.

Look to the shadows,
The man of perdition comes,
The enemy we have not seen yet,
He comes charging,
Wearing a green balaclava,
Chanting; freedom for all pigs,
And still we wave a white flag,
Fools!
You have eyes but cannot see,
Come down to the river to pray,
Come down to buy some eye salve,
Come down to wash and weep,
To wash and sip.

On the day of our Lords,
The books were opened,
And the judgement begun;
How shall we judge them my Lords?
First the illuminati, the gladiators lower, the women lowest.

Why my Lords, why?
because We now make all things new.

In the year of our Lords,
the river begun to flow upstream,
And the glory of glories shining,
First to the sons of God, the sons of men lower, the women no more lowest.

In that last year of sorrow;
The past no longer deep,
The future here,
The pigs now eternally wailing.

I too walked upon those shores;
I was a man like you,
I was a man like no other,
We had bulletproof hearts,
And those were the greatest times ever,
The greatest times ever.

D e wasake
8 july 2009

P.s "the past is deep"
Adopted from b wordsworth that most eccentric of poets in v. s naipaul's classic "miguel street"
Sent from my BlackBerry® device from Cable & Wireless

Bay of pigs (Swine flu retro mix)

2009-04-30T14:42:00.002+01:00

This little piggy,
thinks she's cute
(cute my foot)
This little piggy,
wants my flute,
(and what will be left for honey boo?)
This little piggy
heart black as soot
(i would only have her if i had no loot)
but then,
that little piggy,
with her oinky oinky smiles,
with her twinky winky wiles,
that little piggy,
with her cute eyes blue,
wanted me too
(why did i do it oh noo)
that little piggy
she gave me swine flu!

D E Wasake
30 April 2009

The sadness about you and I

2009-03-20T00:47:00.002Z

Aha, I have your heart now!
does it hurt when i squeeze?
does it really really hurt?
as it did when you were younger,
and faced that first cut?
Why did you come back?
Did you think you would find me,
as i was then;
young and fragile
and just as stupid?

We were younger,
when we loved shamelessly,
we were younger,
when we kissed carelessly,
but that was a long time ago,
until through my heart weak,
you drove a most iron stake.

The sadness about you and I is this;
that we no longer care,
that we no longer love,
and that hurts,
and that is new.

20 March 2009
D E Wasake

Goodbye lavender road to nowhere

2009-03-05T18:45:00.003Z

Lavenders blue,
lavenders green,
Lavenders pink,
All along lavender road of somewhere.

They said if I walked there,
I would see you,
as I saw the lavenders;
the scent of magic in the air,
the sight of beauty all around,
stretching without end,
as far as my lovelorn eye could see.

They said If I walked there,
I would pick you,
as one of the lavenders,
and the smell of your life's aura,
would be as an elixir,
to give me a hundred more years;
a hundred years of solitude;
to love you,
to need you,
to see you,
to see you as you are;
fragile and kind,
fragile and sincere,
fragile and in love.

They said If i ever walked there,
I would behold you,
growing amongst the lavenders,
blossoming as they did,
beautiful and bright;
lavenders blue,
lavenders green,
lavenders everywhere,
with me as King
and you as queen.

And so I walked,
One wintry day I walked,
and all I found was;
lavenders red,
lavenders dead,
lavenders of no colour,
lavenders of a colour unknown.
All along the lavender road of nowhere,
where I was not king,
and you no queen.

So I said goodbye,
goodbye, road of nowhere,
goodbye lavender road to nowhere,
Perhaps I shall return,
They say summer love is better.

Dickson E Wasake
5 March 2009
"All along a watch tower"

Dreams

2009-02-22T12:26:00.002Z

I had the kind of dream,
where moonlight fades into daytime,
and still we sit and hold and love,
I had the kind of dream,
where desert blooms with flower,
just so i pick one for you.
How does a man love you?

It was the kind of dream,
where we slipped hands,
and drank lemon tea,
we walked along dark paths,
and screamed at our own shadows.
Can I love you?

She was the kind of dream,
to live for,
to long for,
to look for.
She is the kind of dream,
i saw while awake.
"I cannot love you" she said.

She was the kind of girl,
that I wanted to love always.
She flew off to Aussie,
to find the sun,
To find some fun,
My Little miss sunshine,
My little miss evil.

D E Wasake
12 November 2008

To Zion

2009-01-18T12:03:00.002Z

How can I ever return to Zion?
Even while these Babylonian waters run so deep,
Even taste so sweet I dare say.
I weep for Zion,
but only for the lost children,
but only for the never lasting peace,
not for the Psalms to the Lord,
that I sang day and night,
In her chapels and her streets.

How can I then return to Zion,
When I remember not,
the paths, I walked as a child.
When I was a boy,
How I loved thee!
But now I am a man,
Worshipping at the altar
Of Apsu and Anu and Ea after him,
And I don’t see Hand which writes on the wall,
The wall of this stone cold heart,
as clear as in Nebuchadnezzar’s temple,
I don’t even understand the text,
For I am blinded by these Babylonian lusts.
But now Deep calls from Deep,
And asks that I return to you;
Oh Zion, to you who I have betrayed?
Oh Zion, you who I have betrayed?
With tongue, wickeder than many,
With eyes that have beheld the un beholdable,
With body, engaged in all forms of ungodliness?
How can I now re-sing the Lord’s song?

Deep still calls from Deep,
And asks that I return to you;
And to the Great Forgiver,
He, the Saviour of his people,
How shall I come back I ask,
When my left leg wants to stay,
And my right leg to return,
but only a short while?

Now a third time,
Deep calls from Deep,
And asks that I return to Zion,
And so now for Zion,
Together with uncountable host; heavenly and earthly we sing;
“The builder of Jerusalem is God,
the outcast of Israel he will gather in,
Praise God O Jerusalem,
laud your God O Zion.”

D E Wasake
18 January 2009

Poem Adopted in part from Psalm 137 and 142

Goodbye old brick house

2009-01-11T15:42:00.002Z

How sad when we leave it all behind!
Fading as a flower in the afternoon heat,
or as a rain drop on a petal.
We say goodbye to the old brick house,
walls covered with charcoal drawn cars,
goodbye verandah upon which death came,
to thousands of ant men and children,
at hands of evil deity me.
Goodbye to hidden closets,
when hide and seek ruled the day's play.
Goodbye to the green colored ceiling,
under whose watch,
in the lamp or candle light,
we made shadows on the wall,
of grumpy old men
of cold mother hubbard,
How we laughed!
Sheila and Samson and I.
Now we are old,
we have to say goodbye again,
to tin roof house,
to old Mvule tree,
but this time we wont return,
to Tasha the cat,
or Nestar the dog,
Its a long long way from home,
many rivers to cross they say,
mountains higher than the Everest,
roads without end,
days without end,
Nights without beginning,
No 99 red baloons floating above,
no partying like its 1999,
no bells to ring,
only dreams,
and the red brick house,
and 3 little pigs,
to say goodbye to,
forever,
and ever.

D Wasake
10 January 2009.

When I am home

2008-11-21T19:57:00.001Z

"Yes suh",
"No maam",
or "Full English, no toast or egg?"
and too often; "Why, thank you for your custom!"
All day I chant,
speaking this people's talk,
and walking their walk,
but when I get home,
I shed off that mask,
of stiff upper lip
of stiff starched pants,
of stiff number badge job.
Soon as I am home,
out jumps mama's LP,
and after the pata pata dance,
the twist and the calypso,
on comes prince Nico,
belting out his ode to sweet mother,
I am then in my element,
dancing a jig,
as I shuffle to kitchen,
to knead a meal of ugali
with loads of chapati,
and nakati too!

When I am home,
I call Edward Lutakome,
and we chatter away in dialect strange,
Luganda today; eradde Ssebo,
Acholi tomorrow; Ike de pi
Lugisu always; Imbalu yarafua!
Soon as I am home,
I dream of plantain and ground nuts,
and a farm of cows and goats,
watching them file past me,
brand mark to show
"DW bududa farm ranch";
my own pie in the sky,
when I shall finally say;
out with the stiff upper lip,
in with the thick lower lip.

D E Wasake
7 November 2008

James Banda(License to kill)

2008-08-21T21:06:00.004+01:00

See Mary Lou again,
across crowded dance floor,
with another;
touching,
caressing,
groping,
expertly;
with those nimble fingers,
just like I remember.
Now kissing him,
must be warm wet kisses;
those wild wanting lips,
sending electric like currents,
down the man's spinal column,
not unlike the millions she gave me,
that wintry day last December,
on carpeted floor,
where we first made love,
after I struggled in vain to unpack,
following the long flight around the world.
Pour me another vodka,
2 ice cubes please,
yes shaken not stirred,
for tonight,
I see blood on the dance floor,
yes, tonight;
I got a license to kill.

D E Wasake
21 August 2008

Coffee house discourses*

2007-06-28T07:48:00.001+01:00

I
The dilemma of Mr. Smith of sunset valley

Fiery dawn, capricious dawn, let down dawn
What do I do with her?
What do I do about her?
Maybe I shall let her set out
Maybe I shall let her dawn on me.

II
At the shores of poetry

Yeats*, Joyce*, Plath*
Now trickling, now flowing, now flooding
This river runs deep, runs strong, runs fast along
Outpourings of Shakespearean* iambic pentameter to drown me,
These they flood into the river, to break down my dam of illiteracy.

III
Insomnia

At the coffee house,
Time escapes my watch,
Like sleep escapes my coffee drowned eyes

IV
The Caribbean express

On and on he goes,
Like the chook chook train
Trainloads of words, never broken, never derailed

Dickson E Wasake
28 June 2007
2.36 am

*The Coffee house discourses are written following what has now become a routine where together with Obie and Dawn (two of Nassau’s greatest artists) we often sit at Starbucks coffee(Crystal Palace Hotel, Nassau) on Wednesday night, and sail on the long winding rivers of literature until we reach the delta of time’s end and then we split off, to our homes, for a while.

*James Joyce, Irish writer and author of Ulysses, the modern library considers it the best English language novel of the 20th Century
*William Butler Yeats, Irish poet and won nobel prize for literature(1923)
*Sylvia Plath, American poet credited with advancing confessional poetry
*William Shakespeare, English poet wrote some of his sonnets in iambic pentameter a form of writing(predominantly neoclassical and renaissance) with rhythmic syllables that go from a stressed to an unstressed part.