his hands flutter over and on the kebero
a world constructed in the moments of sound
a world razed in the moments of silence
a rhythm of birth and rebirth
of heartbeat and life-blood
he’d gone to Africa, this young man
to chase down his roots
to buy exotic drums
to make rhythms with his brothers
to sing with his sisters
to learn, to grow, to come home and teach
he was full of grace, brimming with jazz
just rocking his universe, rolling with spirit
alight with green and gold,
the breath of wild savannas and
wilder cheetahs, monkey pranks
and elephantine tuskedness
what, i had to ask, was the take-away
after the safaris and the drumming
after the injera, the wat, the niter kibby
and berbere spices, the many fine meals
downed with ambo wuhteh
I met a sister as i was driving a forlorn road. She was walking alongside, carrying a bundle of wood and I stopped, offered her a lift. No, she said, NO! If I ride today, I’ll want to ride tomorrow. It’s a recipe for unhappiness. She’s right, you know, he said, from wanting comes despair …
and so i drum, just drum, he said
his hands fluttering over and on the kebero
a world constructed in the moments of sound
a world razed in the moments of silence
a rhythm of birth and rebirth and peace of heart
Tell us in poem about the most important take-aways you experienced from a vacation or other travel. Leave your poem/s or a link to it in the comments section below. All poems shared on theme will be published next Tuesday. The deadline for response is Monday evening, 8:30 p.m. PDT. All are welcome – encouraged – to join in: novice, emerging or pro. It’s about getting to connecting with other poets, showcasing your talent and having your say. If it’s your first time sharing a poem for Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a brief bio and photograph to thepoetbyday@gmail.com. These are posted with the work of first participants by way of introduction.
pillow of night and blanket of stars,
a mermaid swims and the spittle of the sea
pickles REM images in gray-green brine,
a coral complex of hallucination dissolves
in an ocean of unrelenting wakefulness
the mind tossed on waves, rides a
maverick of lost memories, spirit bobbing,
holding on through the night, aching
to do little but consort with dreams
garden speaks through its flowers,
a dharma talk on cosmic truth, its syntax
is the rush of joy in different hues
written on the harmony of loam,
on sturdy leaves and gray rock, …..an elemental symphony
webbed raiment as transient as foam, a
feral scent flirting with a lilting breeze,
sleepy stepping-stones along the path
and then the budding, the blooming, the
falling into decay, undisturbed by worldly
cares, a lively nirvana of prickly branches
and cherry trees, the wildish thorned
rose and the innocent daisy, palm fronds
and color spectrums, no burdens, just the
isness of small beings embracing the earth,
dancing in the sun, sleeping with the moon
the ghosts of our parents search vainly for wildflowers near the beach at Big Sur
they were deaf to the threat in thunder,
but we were struck by lightning,
heaved in the rain and waves and
the overflow from the melting ice
the computers went down
their screens black as the wicked water,
in whirling chaos they morphed into drums
every fetus turned in the womb,
the men went to the mountain tops
and the women sheltered in caves
the souls of saints and sinners
were run through a cosmic wash cycle
after the spin dry, a new wisdom
but the shades of our parents remain,
they wait in vain for us at Big Sur,
in vain by the Santa Lucia Mountains
“We tell our children they’re trapped like rats on a doomed, bankrupt, gangster-haunted planet with dwindling resources, with nothing to look forward to but rising sea levels and imminent mass extinctions, then raise a disapproving eyebrow when, in response, they dress in black, cut themselves with razors, starve themselves, gorge themselves, or kill one another.” Scottish comic book writer and playwright Grant Morrison, MBE (b. 1960)
Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine 