Epitaph

Even such is Time, which takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days:
And from which earth, and grave, and dust,
The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.
.........................................................Sir Walter Raleigh

Aurora

The loving night is spent
Arms tight around the pillow; lingering scent
Here comes the light, shadows away to dispel
Visions and dreams to dissipate

Hold the night
Hold me tight
Heart fraught with care and strife
Would know more of sweet delight

Night is fled
Dawn kisses face
Morning dew on lips, tender touch, soft caress
Open mouth, open heart; gentle sigh, lost in space

Dawn is broken, 

Darkness is fled
Heart that was broken

To the lights seeks to bend

------------------------------------------RCK

Introspection

If you can help it, don’t visit your skeletons too often.
--------------------------------------------ScotchBiscuits

Becomingness

Every one ought to hold fast, not his faults, but his peculiarities, so as to retain more easily the becomingness which is the subject of our inquiry. We ought, indeed, to act in such a way as shall be in no respect repugnant to our common human nature; yet, holding this sacred, let us follow our individual nature, so that, if there are other pursuits in themselves more important and excellent, we yet may measure our own pursuits by the standard of our own nature.
-------------------------------------------------Marcus Tullius Cicero

The King and I

Back in the early 90s, when I was in primary school, I was required to watch the 9’oclock news and give my mother a report when she got back home. Bbale Francis was the king of night-time news and invariably he started the bulleting with “President Yoweri Museveni…”  There was the one TV station back then, so there wasn’t much choice in the matter and I had to sit through Sevo opening this hospital, cutting ribbons at that ground-breaking and generally dispensing advice to his fellow Ugandans to engage in small scale industry before I could catch a glimpse of Shaka Zulu, Riviera or Herr Derrick. I was aware of a couple of things back then; that my mother’s generation had seen some dark times and that Yoweri ‘son of Kaguta’ Museveni was the greatest man in all the lands of Uganda.

Several lustres later, and I have come to learn a couple more things.

Rosemary makes the news seem so delicious; I'm sorry Mr. Bbale Francis but we be moving on, you should be proud to have a more than able successor.

The religion of father and mother is not gospel truth. If there is one thing our parents have tried to make us understand and appreciate, it is that the peace and security we have enjoyed thus far was bought at a great price and we should never take it for granted. In this spirit, they have had us believe that there is no other Ugandan who can lead this nation but the great ‘son of Kaguta’ because, well, he’s the only one who can control the military, oh and look, we have peace.

All violence is borne of fear. The so called revolutionaries who started the ‘liberation war’ of the 80’s were moved to such actions out of nothing less than fear. Afraid that a corrupt and murderous regime would consume all they had built, all they were, they took up arms to answer that violence with, well, violence and when affected in your cause, it can have many rosy names; cue freedom fighters, security operatives, revolutionaries, sons of liberty and the many coats, caps and flags it has donned in the service of man. Fear is natural, it helps the species survive but when it grows to the point of phobia it becomes the worst of man. Our parents’ society was characterized by fear to the point of eroding the ordinary senses of virtue, pride and dignity; survival was the order of the day and man became beast, base and violent. Yet in all this, as in all the histories of mankind, there were people who still held sense good enough to know and show that, complete surrender was not and never is an option. Their names are forever lost to us and all we have left are second rate heroes who extoll their valiant yet violent feats louder than the village fool. ‘Twatera emundu.”

We are the unfortunate children of a weak society. Our fathers were never strong enough to stand on their own two feet and if we should follow them, we will hobble into our graves to be mocked and forgotten as the sons and daughters of Kaguta. No people should be beholden to their heroes as to sit by and watch the very thing they fought for soiled and destroyed for their want of wisdom. Any leader must know that his primary duty is to guide and inspire the next generation and his greatest triumph to see a stronger, wiser and better leader succeed him, and thus is the lack of a suitable ‘heir’ the greatest failing of the king.

Poet's Heart

I wrote to you somewhere in south Australia
a poet's heart in the eye of a hurricane
I struggle with finding words to sing these days i said
as if my thoughts are waiting in the wings
for the stage to clear

and you in your elegance and humour fill the room
your love and your concern
your anger at the injustice of man's narrowness and fear
I thank you for being here.

You wrote of love from the coast of Mendocino
a poet's heart crying a fighter's tears
the children of your body spread out across this earth
like messages written across time,
measuring the years.

And you in your elegance and humour fill the room
your love and your concern
your anger at the injustice of man's narrowness and fear
I thank you for being here.

I heard your songs reach out to California
a poet's heart locked in the Coeur d’Alene
of the old men and the booze singing out the truth in lives
of forgiveness and loyalties to friends,
constant as the endless railroad ties

and you in your elegance and humour fill the room
your love and your concern
your anger at the injustice of man's narrowness and fear
I thank you for being here.

So here we are joined finally by our words
all poets’ hearts close though far apart
i remember how you said that language is a knife
that spreads what we feel across the dry crust
of someone's heart.

And you in your elegance and humour fill the room
your love and your concern
your anger at the injustice of man's narrowness and fear
I thank you for being here.
-------------------------------Kate Wolf

Suit Up!

Once upon a time

I wanted to love. I wanted to be love. I wanted to know all there was in the world of man. I wanted to know your name, the one you whispered to the night and gave your dreams flight. I wanted to worship, to believe in god and bow in awe of all that I beheld.

To My Brother George

Full many a dreary hour have I past,
My brain bewildered, and my mind o'ercast
With heaviness; in seasons when I've thought
No spherey strains by me could e'er be caught
From the blue dome, though I to dimness gaze
On the far depth where sheeted lightning plays;
Or, on the wavy grass outstretched supinely,
Pry 'mong the stars, to strive to think divinely:
That I should never hear Apollo's song,
Though feathery clouds were floating all along
The purple west, and, two bright streaks between,
The golden lyre itself were dimly seen:
That the still murmur of the honey bee
Would never teach a rural song to me:
That the bright glance from beauty's eyelids slanting
Would never make a lay of mine enchanting,
Or warm my breast with ardour to unfold
Some tale of love and arms in time of old.

But there are times, when those that love the bay,
Fly from all sorrowing far, far away;
A sudden glow comes on them, nought they see
In water, earth, or air, but poesy.
It has been said, dear George, and true I hold it,
(For knightly Spenser to Libertas told it,)
That when a Poet is in such a trance,
In air her sees white coursers paw, and prance,
Bestridden of gay knights, in gay apparel,
Who at each other tilt in playful quarrel,
And what we, ignorantly, sheet-lightning call,
Is the swift opening of their wide portal,
When the bright warder blows his trumpet clear,
Whose tones reach nought on earth but Poet's ear.
When these enchanted portals open wide,
And through the light the horsemen swiftly glide,
The Poet's eye can reach those golden halls,
And view the glory of their festivals:
Their ladies fair, that in the distance seem
Fit for the silv'ring of a seraph's dream;
Their rich brimmed goblets, that incessant run
Like the bright spots that move about the sun;
And, when upheld, the wine from each bright jar
Pours with the lustre of a falling star.
Yet further off, are dimly seen their bowers,
Of which, no mortal eye can reach the flowers;
And 'tis right just, for well Apollo knows
'Twould make the Poet quarrel with the rose.
All that's revealed from that far seat of blisses
Is the clear fountains' interchanging kisses,
As gracefully descending, light and thin,
Like silver streaks across a dolphin's fin,
When he upswimmeth from the coral caves,
And sports with half his tail above the waves.

These wonders strange he sees, and many more,
Whose head is pregnant with poetic lore.
Should he upon an evening ramble fare
With forehead to the soothing breezes bare,
Would he nought see but the dark, silent blue
With all its diamonds trembling through and through?
Or the coy moon, when in the waviness
Of whitest clouds she does her beauty dress,
And staidly paces higher up, and higher,
Like a sweet nun in holy-day attire?
Ah, yes! much more would start into his sight—
The revelries and mysteries of night:
And should I ever see them, I will tell you
Such tales as needs must with amazement spell you.

These are the living pleasures of the bard:
But richer far posterity's reward.
What does he murmur with his latest breath,
While his proud eye looks though the film of death?
"What though I leave this dull and earthly mould,
Yet shall my spirit lofty converse hold
With after times.—The patriot shall feel
My stern alarum, and unsheath his steel;
Or, in the senate thunder out my numbers
To startle princes from their easy slumbers.
The sage will mingle with each moral theme
My happy thoughts sententious; he will teem
With lofty periods when my verses fire him,
And then I'll stoop from heaven to inspire him.
Lays have I left of such a dear delight
That maids will sing them on their bridal night.
Gay villagers, upon a morn of May,
When they have tired their gentle limbs with play
And formed a snowy circle on the grass,
And placed in midst of all that lovely lass
Who chosen is their queen,—with her fine head
Crowned with flowers purple, white, and red:
For there the lily, and the musk-rose, sighing,
Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying:
Between her breasts, that never yet felt trouble,
A bunch of violets full blown, and double,
Serenely sleep:—she from a casket takes
A little book,—and then a joy awakes
About each youthful heart,—with stifled cries,
And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes:
For she's to read a tale of hopes, and fears;
One that I fostered in my youthful years:
The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep,
Must ever and anon with silent creep,
Lured by the innocent dimples. To sweet rest
Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast,
Be lulled with songs of mine. Fair world, adieu!
Thy dales, and hills, are fading from my view:
Swiftly I mount, upon wide spreading pinions,
Far from the narrow bound of thy dominions.
Full joy I feel, while thus I cleave the air,
That my soft verse will charm thy daughters fair,
And warm thy sons!" Ah, my dear friend and brother,
Could I, at once, my mad ambition smother,
For tasting joys like these, sure I should be
Happier, and dearer to society.
At times, 'tis true, I've felt relief from pain
When some bright thought has darted through my brain:
Through all that day I've felt a greater pleasure
Than if I'd brought to light a hidden treasure.
As to my sonnets, though none else should heed them,
I feel delighted, still, that you should read them.
Of late, too, I have had much calm enjoyment,
Stretched on the grass at my best loved employment
Of scribbling lines for you. These things I thought
While, in my face, the freshest breeze I caught.
E'en now I'm pillowed on a bed of flowers
That crowns a lofty clift, which proudly towers
Above the ocean-waves, The stalks, and blades,
Chequer my tablet with their quivering shades.
On one side is a field of drooping oats,
Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats;
So pert and useless, that they bring to mind
The scarlet coats that pester human-kind.
And on the other side, outspread, is seen
Ocean's blue mantle streaked with purple, and green.
Now 'tis I see a canvassed ship, and now
Mark the bright silver curling round her prow.
I see the lark dowm-dropping to his nest,
And the broad winged sea-gull never at rest;
For when no more he spreads his feathers free,
His breast is dancing on the restless sea.
Now I direct my eyes into the west,
Which at this moment is in sunbeams drest:
Why westward turn? 'Twas but to say adieu!
'Twas but to kiss my hand, dear George, to you!
-------------------------------------------------John Keats

Raptured!

Greetings earthlings! If you're reading this, you're probably still stuck on earth! The rapture went fine and heaven is okay so far; we're all lining up to enter this tall white tower where sounds of praise can be heard. I've noticed some really excited people walking in the opposite direction; MJ, Marvin Gaye and I think I saw Pac and Biggie share some chronic and overheard Pac say "Thugz mansion is in the other direction" I think I'm in the wrong line!

If the world should pass away tomorrow

I want you to know that you're the best thing that has ever happened to me.

There was a time when I didn't know what it was all for. Life it seemed was stacked against me by an unseen force that paid no heed to my cries. I would have unraveled the string that tied me to everything if I had found the will to tug at it.

I knew you from the beginning; before the flesh, before the eye of mind could paint your face. You were in my heart, calling me forth. I heard your voice, in the still silent moment before the plunge, I heard you will it to live and let nothing within die.

I want you to know that I trust you with the nakedness of a newborn babe; that in this facade I cannot hide from you.

I want you to know that I have hope in you; that tomorrow will be better for two and the skies oh so sunny and blue.

I want you to know that I love you.

Test Emails

In the spring of 1643, Jacob travelled down to the shores of the Mediterranean and set sail for the dark continent of Africa. At first, he couldn't find any captain willing to go that far out to sea. "There be monsters there" said George "Skinny" McPhallon, who had sailed farthest of any known man. He was a legend in the sailors' club, talked about as far as the northern tip of Galicia. Captain Skinny first went out to sea when he was nine years old. His father, a well known sailor from the isles of Albion had taken him out on his birthday, to teach him the ropes, so he said.
*
This is not a drill. In the 5th year of the 23rd vertical lunar shift, Kashar left the aqua colony of Aegrat for the southern system of Klom. He was accompanied by the 3rd guard of her royal highness, queen Pax.
*
I am all alone. This empty place weighs on my soul. I cannot leave for there is nothing anywhere else. There is no anywhere else only here and I. All alone.
*
The World is mine....mwahahahahahaha!
*

Someone Like You

I heard that you're settled down,
That you found a girl and you're married now,
I heard that your dreams came true,
Guess she gave you things I didn't give to you,
Old friend, why are you so shy?
Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light,

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it,
I had hoped you'd see my face,
And that you'd be reminded that for me it isn't over,

Nevermind, I'll find someone like you,
I wish nothing but the best for you, too,
Don't forget me, I beg,
I remember you said,
"Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead,"
Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead, yeah,

You know how the time flies,
Only yesterday was the time of our lives,
We were born and raised in a summer haze,
Bound by the surprise of our glory days,

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it,
I had hoped you'd see my face,
And that you'd be reminded that for me it isn't over,


Nevermind, I'll find someone like you,
I wish nothing but the best for you, too,
Don't forget me, I beg,
I remember you said,
"Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead,"

Nothing compares,
No worries or cares,
Regrets and mistakes, they're memories made,
Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?

Nevermind, I'll find someone like you,
I wish nothing but the best for you,
Don't forget me, I beg,
I remember you said,
"Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead,"

Nevermind, I'll find someone like you,
I wish nothing but the best for you, too,
Don't forget me, I beg,
I remember you said,
"Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead,"
Sometimes it lasts in love,
But sometimes it hurts instead.
---------------------------------Adele

Turning Pink

I'm starting to dislike my government very much, it shows so much fear, infantile logic and an alarming willingness to resort to violence. That is not what I want from it. I want it to be just, to inspire me to be a better person and to help me create a better place for my kin and I to live in. I don't want it to threaten me with death should I choose to differ in opinion and practice, if that is the society it wishes to create, then I would rather not be party to it.

Tomato Sandwich

The only person you have to fight with is yourself, when all the anger is done, when the flame has burned out, and the people say that it was all your fault, that the sin was borne in the circumstance, dead and decaying, what they taught was wrong from the beginning, if I was to be the unfortunate one to tell you of how it is to be the bastard son of a dead ideaology, I would say you rather give me death than pent up animosity.

I have learned, somehow, through the years, that anger destroys first and foremost he who wields it, for then it leads him to violence. The lessons to be learned from an act of violence are without number for he can never truly know what he could have done to stop it from happening in the first place. Yet there is what you know, in the myriad happenstances of life, you are here.

You must know how to save a life, first and foremost your own. If you should find yourself on the edge of destruction, and in the passions of strife choose to fight against the world, know well how to save thy soul, for it is only you at the beginning and the end.

I have been angry, at many things. {Okaay, I just made the best sandwich in the whole world! Its a brown bread, tomato sandwich with mayo and a sprinkling of salt. Right now, I'm going to take a big bite and get lost in some other world, only for a moment.}

I got angry at life a long time ago, I was told once that life was meant to be harsh to me, that did i not know that I was an orphan? Are you God's son, that you would utter these words and decree a life of servitude for a man? When I was younger, the only father I had was God and then I walked out of his house.

When the anger is done, there must be peace, for the soul must find rest in its understanding of the world. To be otherwise is to long for another state, of being, dead perhaps but you are here so you must find some sense, in all of it.

May it make you a better person, and may you leave by the wayside all that is between us sown with a bitterness of heart.

Beef

I want to tell you that I am angry, that I hate you but its not true. I hate myself, for letting you make me feel this blue. Why am I so weak? Why do I believe? That when I speak, you will see everything in me?

I want to say that I am sorry, for making you believe that I wouldn't break but I am a fool. I thought it was brave to parade myself before you, bleeding and broken, but these words you've spoken burn through.

I want to say goodbye, to break the bonds and burn the bridges to that place called you. I am through, tis true, you broke me and now I shall forget you.

Rukurubana

I can feel the words tumbling in a distant place in my head. Whispers, echoes, engine revving up up up the hill. It carries, the sound across the valleys, mingled with the birds, the wind it brings delight in the promise of a sight.

Why I haven't written in a long while

"So I made up my mind not to come to you again to make you sad. For if I were to make you sad, who would be left to cheer me up? Only the very persons I had made sad. That is why I wrote that letter to you. I did not want to come to you and be made sad by the very people who should make me glad. For I am convinced that when I am happy, then all of you are happy too. I wrote you with a greatly troubled and distressed heart and with many tears; my purpose was not to make you sad, but to make you realize how much I love you all."
-------------------------------------------------------2 Corinthians 2:2

When I made up my mind to write, I decided that I would simply do it for myself and those that love words. I told myself it would not matter if I never made a cent off my writing (even though that is my dream) and that I would do it for the love of it. Then I became so sad and I didn't have the heart to tell you how much, though I probably did :-) somewhere somehow. I stopped writing, but never in my head, in the ether, screaming words and more often making unintelligible sounds.  I could not come to you, I could not tell you, I could not move myself to show you. There was nothing, no trust and no hope.

You shall never truly know me nor I you. We are but two specks of dust blown by the eternal wind and I must go across the desert, all alone, for that is my path, home.

I am okay, I am happy, I am here.

World Poetry Day

It doesn't have to be this way

Sometimes I wonder where you’re coming from
when you roll in like thunder just to turn around and run…
it’s a good thing I don’t need you to stay

You smell like moonlight in early morning rain
Pray tell a fool might surrender to your pain
Or find a cure for your decay

You’re at your best with an ache in your chest
and that worn out old song that you play
Only Jesus and you who long to teach us
should no one be left to betray

I don’t know the answer but I know who to blame
You can choose the dancer and you can choose the flame
I think you’ll find they’re one in the same
It doesn’t have to be this way

You’re at your best with an ache in your chest
and that worn out old song that you play
Only Jesus and you who long to teach us
should no one be left to betray

I don’t know the answer but I know who to blame
Pray til a fool but surrender to your pain
It’s a good thing I don’t need you to stay

Sometimes I wonder where you’re coming from
when you roll in like thunder just to turn around and run
It’s a good thing I don’t need you to stay
It doesn’t have to be this way

---------------------Alison Krauss