THE EASTAFRICANPOET

I’m having trouble sleeping A painless throb is drumming in my mind. Like all the world’s worst drummers Have been paid to make sure I suffer. They keep drumming... Drumming out her name In a rhythm only I can comprehend As it’s only I they drum for If only she could hear this And tell the drummers to stop To stop making me suffer so If only she could stop them.

This piece of conscious poetry is for Kenya and Zimbabwe, whose definition of democracy is not different as they claim; just African. -HOT AIR BALOON- I'd like you to walk this line with me Think about this flawless being we call democracy… Consider it first as a big balloon Filled with gas or better still, A tonne of hot air. Then it's sent up to the hazy yet beautiful eyes. So that we'll be kept busy looking at it While a bunch of other fellows relentlessly pick our pockets, Funny. Funny that you might crack a smile yet there's nothing funny. So our impregnated-with-hot-air balloon won't always be aloft; It comes down to earth every 5 years or so And you and I are invited to get into its passenger basket. But there's a catch to this invitation though... That’s if you can throw out one of the people who sit tightly in it, So tightly that one feels they're nailed to the basket. But because you and I can afford neither the time nor the finances And there'...

This classical black poetry piece is one of the foundations of SPOKEN WORD POETRY, the revolution that failed to be televised but was always bubbling under. This is a masterpiece with its origins in the south of the USA. I hope ‘Shine’ touches a special part of you as he has done mine It was 1912 when the awful news got around That the great Titanic was sinking down. Shine came running upon deck, told the captain, ‘Please, The water in the boiler room is up to my knees.’ Captain said; ‘Take your black self on back down there! I got a hundred and fifty pumps to keep the boiler room clear.’ Shine went back in the whole, started shoveling coal, Singing, ‘Lord have mercy, Lord, on my soul!’ Just then half the ocean jumped across the boiler room deck. Shine yelled to the captain, ‘The water’s around my neck!’ Captain said, ‘Go back! Neither fear nor doubt! I got a hundred more pumps to keep the water out.’ ‘Your words sound happy and your words sound true, But this one time Cap, your words ...

This classic piece is one that you read and go like; ’enough said’ no word ought to be ejected or added to this masterpiece. I hope you enjoy it. Psalms 23 part II The state is my shepherd, I shall not want; it makes me to Lie down in a subsidized house It leads me to political tranquility; it restores my faith in a lucrative future. It leads me into paths of loans and pensions, For its international reputation’s sake. Yea, even though the valley of the shadow Of Kivvulu I will fear no Kondos; For the state is with me, its tanks and guns comfort me. It preserves for me a bank account, in the presence of devaluation; It fills my pockets with allowances, my salary overflows. Surely increments and promotion follow me all the days of my life; And I shall dwell in senior staff quarters forever.

This sort of poetry is the type that just puts a smile on your face, its well written and so raw that you get addicted to it… read and see what really happens in a brother’s mind when he is rejected.This poem is from the THONGA tribe in the southern tip of our lovely continent of Africa. 1.very well girl: All right then, girl, refuse me. The grains of maize from which you eat in your village Are human eyes! The tumblers from which you eat Are human skulls! The cassava roots you eat Are human leg bones! The sweet potatoes Are human fingers! Very well then girl, refuse me

Its a Friday and yours truly is on a bodaboda snaking through a traffic jam in the thick Kintante road.Im making my way to Lugogo showground where I think Afriart gallery is hosting an open-mic night which I was humbly told is going to ’happen’. .and happen it truly did, only at another venue. I get to U M A showground and my Swahili is in; I ask the askari if there is anything happening at the gallery and he tells me nothing, and true to his word I can see the place isn’t lit up. I insist on seeing for myself and at the front I meet a couple of other poetry lovers who have ‘bounced’ like me. A few phone calls later truly confirm that the event would not take place. ‘So what should we do?’ the ladies ask, and one says the rugby club is always jumping on Fridays; of course I know, my blood is saturated with that thing that we go hungrily there for..It’s just that I’m trying so badly to quit... I had been pumping this little frame of mine with bitter since 4 pm and I thought I had had e...

An eastafricanpoet’s go at him: The first time I was lucky enough to witness this poetry addict performing was at his premier performance at the British council, I loved the piece he did on originality and an African having a definition even before the painting was repainted using white hues, if you know what I mean. Mwaura’s poetry is strong; any witness will attest to this and his flow is so liquid, he drowns you into it without much fuss... But on his debut performance at WAPI that Sep 2007,I think stage fright or just plain excitement got the best of him and he was like,’Damn;I’ve forgotten my lines…can I have the rough copy?’ well he did not fall back to the rough copy, he just dismissed the whole performance and left the podium with a 5 star applause all over the air around him. The next time I see him, we are at a symposium run by Imani and in attendance are poetry geniuses like Njeri Wangare.but Mwaura looked so cool unlike the fine poetry maestro that he is... Next time I hear...