Silence

It is the music of the trees

In the drone of the balmy breeze

It is the stretching of the hills

And the tears the sky sadly spills

Thunderclap in breaking hearts

The unseen tail of poison darts

It is the picture of the sea

The still before the storm we see

It is the depth of the deep black hole

The massive ice caps in each Pole

It is the cosmic dance of stars

And the sounds of life on Mars

The great allure of muted minds

The need to see behind the blinds

The presence of stark loneliness

The blank before each ‘I confess’.

Finis

It rose and then it glowed

Was hot and enragé

Turned cold and blazed again

It grew and flew away

It struck a light and shone

Was swept up in a swirl

Tailspinning in a trice

It mellowed and refined

It set and gave a sigh

Was far from growing old

The time had come to go

It crept away to die.

PatrOItic

Rubbish teacher. How can a person luring kids to a TV programme say "patroitic" and expect me to let my child watch? I've seen too many kindergarten teachers destroy our kids' speech and pronunciation with 2 decades of undoing to correct. Are teachers at that level not probably the most important? Patroitic? Idiotic!

Do You Know Certiorari?

Three lawyers and I found ourselves in a suite with building engineers. For a spell we forged ahead swimmingly, while jousting over fair laws and shear walls. Then, the convener careened into construction clichés about ‘fixes’. To tease us, mystified advocates, one engineer made a grand old show of explaining ‘fixes’ to us. What did I do? I fixed him with a fast-fetched question: Do you know Certiorari? He waved his hands in his pride-peeling pickle and did not veer my way again.

Struggling for Sovereignty with God

One virtuous man of the cloth, who sees some of his peers jaunting downtown with a raised skirt, has chided them to put their skirt down, walk with cultivated control, and stop struggling for sovereignty with God. I like him. See the report here.

Delivery Boy

Go embalm your still-born face in a cadaver fridge. When I showered you with a healthy tip, your fetid face fluoresced to life. I spoilt you just to prove to you that you are a slave.

Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone

Street Sweeping in the Harmattan

I’d only assayed the third layer of dust cemented on their skins when the traffic lay on me. As we moved on, we huffed extra soot to thicken the puff swirling around them. Their eyes did not look down. They looked bright and straight ahead, maybe a little irritated. They still had to take their brooms out there in the hard-nosed Harmattan.