poetry – Page 5

THE BEAUTIFUL PASTOR

She turns me on, the beautiful pastor
She makes wish it becomes Sunday everyday
How she tiptoes with her stilletos through the pulpit
I wish to sneak into the vestry and see her dress up.
I bet you have met not such an enticing holy at church.

When she opened a verse that day,
A verse that left me dazed and bemused
Her utterness said “Songs of Solomom 3 vs 4”
I had no bible but googled it out to see
It left me a smile and mouth agape.

She always preached love, love for Christ,
But I took it all literal and said, love for a pastor.
I looked forward for a time when we shake hands after,
Then I be the last one of the church;
Shake her hand, holding her palm to palm then smile at her
Then I would stumble before her
So she helps me up, saying countless ‘sorry’s’
And patting my cheeks, my blood blended.

Oh,such a beautiful lady pastor,
Who would dare put on her grey mini-
And wear lipsticks, shiny pink lipstick,
Beauteous queen, if she goes to heaven,
Then I won’t go to hell either.

Now I know the reason,
The reason no man misses church
Even Non-Anglican are Anglicans.

Duncan Kiplimo

TODAY AND TOMORROW

TODAY IS MINETODAY is mine. Tomorrow may not come. Next week, next year, I may not live to see;This hour I have. It is enough for meTo make by smiles, or mar by being glum.And so I strive to live this one day well,To tread the path of right as best I may,To speak the kind words that I have to say;Tomorrow I may be an empty shell.

Then I cling to another thought of saga,I can’t live well but I must perseive to make it my best lifetime story,Today’s echoes speaks to me,Yet you blame a rose that has pricked you know in default,Clout me!Clouds gonna change to no predictions,Waters gonna shed pricky cries,No solemn words gonna turn by my hearings;No new dawn gonna uncover same,So my TODAY needs the all I can now.

It holds a breathe to a thought of my afterlife,I think it a fail to heal my wounds for a worsening tomorrow, I walk to a present peculiar pathway towards the murky shadows of a deceitful tommorow,Yes!But this could be the perfect theme of my history,”And that’s how they lived”-a better today.
To do my share to cheer my fellow man is todayTo do today what I can do to aid,To let none pass whom words of mine might cheer,Tomorrow they may not be toiling here,Tomorrow in the ground I may be laid.

With a smile written on my face,I live for what today has offered, tomorrow’s an uncertaintyThey say,tomorrow ne’er existsWe know not the hour that our summons shall come;We know not the time that our voice shall be dumb,Yet even as they, to our ultimate sorrow,We leave much that’s fine for that doubtful to-morrow.

WHEN I SAID NOT TO LEAVE

Far in the eastern passage away a sudden light
I have kissed the summer dawn
The path gleaming already with a clear pale light
At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east
I hear the waves on the long shingle thrown
Against the sea, stillnesss lone
I feel so far and outcast from my own self
The breeze at the shores had secrets to say
The uneasy draught rises the roses are dun
I am tamed in her, but she leaves.

The sea in summer sunrise
Walled with desperate pines
The feuder love we used to see
In radiant hill and woodland dim
I am drawn cold, I must turn again
The sullen waters swell forward the sun
Waiting a sign in the deep heart of me
And by the tide alone, the water swayed
May silent thanks be given anyway to God
For it is better life than undue love.

Uncle D

Death’s Cruelty

WHEN HE DIED
When he died,it was the end of life for us-
Not by death is the body killed,though
Not by the ceasure to breathe
But by the dissipation of the legacy,and sire
But when he died,we cried ceaselessly
That no one held the other,drab faces,solemn hearts and long cheeks
If only God would give him more breath,just for a day
So I tell him what I now wish I said
Or did with him,what I now wish I had done with him
But when he died
If left us lessons,
That to be happy,we must stand side by side
We’re hurt,we fret,but no ocean of tears shall return them
It was hard to understand it! Oh, the dreary nights we’ve cried
But if by death,God punishes
He then has done it so well
For when I get to heaven,or when I finally see Him
I’ll ask him why,and he’ll answer
Spending time together,
I realized
Is what means more than all Earthly goodies could
When he died
They put a good man into the ground
They left a great man in there to stink
They said good things about son of man who’d sired us all
They put him in a wooden box and threw soil over him
When he died
I thought,
Not such a good and wise life should be taken
But when he died
We found the depth of loving since the day that he died
Duncan Kiplimo

To My Old Readers

You know,we all have congenial tastes for art
The MEDICINEMAN,one you knew not of
Gray he looks,his youthfulness dissipated
His eyes pale and his skin skinny and sags
Near him was his daft blonde and gorgeous mistress
One who owned a grocery store,who pulled a cart
One whom he taught;
‘No just a little’ ‘warm or cold?’ ‘Sugared?’
There she lies,herself lifeless underground
Next there was the DOORMAN and the doorman’s dog
His life spent summoning taxicabs,
He turned back a pizza delivery of me-own some day
Well,there he lives,his lips loose
Thick drools of saliva issuing from within them
He sits,as if to ask “Lord,a little bit more time,then I’ll come!”
Not be forgotten the youthful PROFESSOR
Waiting for his share,
Trying to make his speech exact
And his audience finding it overnice,
Well,he died.
Now, then,dear reader,fortune has decreed
That you, this evening, shall be first to read,
Oh,who would even consider reading a poem
But if ye must heed,know to act
Before you spread this page and begin.
Uncle D
Duncan Kiplimo

My Sister’s Daughter at 7

Don’t look at me with such blazing eyes
For if I look into them
I’ll have a fire in my soul.
Your eyes are red and hell like,
Your utterances are shrill and deafening.
Daughter of my sister, keep looking away
For you are full of war.

You are just seven
But when I touch you, you grin
Like you are seventy-two,
You have forgotten, that I am your uncle
The one you peed on his white jeans
Then gave a soft laughter.

I bend like a genie above you
But your nights with me are a poison
You relish stings, fed with hate,
You are like a daughter of a syphilitic fool
Heading hintings of death in your eyes
Your blood is moved,
Move to the underworld.

Your current looks and deeds
Make me need no daughter for a child
It’s good you were born while I was young,
So you be a forewarn to my future family.
These all I say not because I hate you
But because of how revolting you look,
Dark and omnious.