Nothing is ever round, or flat, or plumb: I see now in trueness, that love is blind Whether two are joined together in a blossoming romance, Or merely just a fetish and immeasurable desire for pleasure. I cannot see or smell the freshness of the greenest leaf nor life’s earnest beauty Whether it is my inability to smell or see, I will fault it on love I have neither the heart to stop nor the intent My dreams and visions have become but a reverie all for an utterly made creature For oh, my love is born of one dream divine, Sandwiched in the beating amazement of my intellection. Last night I dreamed her face, and I almost saw it I know nothing else but her and the scent she wears The thing we share, is what the vast creation craves, the joining of our lives for eternity And only at the touch of my lips on her face, is when the trumpet shall sound. The only sounds I know are the sounds of her gasping as though asking for air, And of her groaning and squirming whilst honey flowed from the parted pot along my fing’rs And the sound of her heart beating faster and faster as I breathed on her triangle of hair And a feeling of peace in the warmth of the sea like transferring my life into her and taking over hers.
It is true, love is fire, and food and wine For I feel this surging billowing heat inside of me when I think of her And an insatiable hunger and unquenchable thirst and lust It is like, when I am alone, I want nothing less than her. It is like the world is on fire, and no one can save me but her Oh, this feeling.
Tell me how life can be prolonged Tell me how to become immortal, so I can spend eternity with my precious love Or assure me that there is life in death. If I must die, bury me then, with a painting of her, so I will not forget the love we shared I have walked, I have trusted with open eyes I have seen all there is to see, but I do no more All because of a simple word that was whispered to me by a daft musical voice I have plunged my head deep in the moving depths of desire and intimacy So, if I must die, let me die with her But if I must wake from this dream, Tell the room service I did not mean to.
Mirror mirror on the wall Not too light, not too dark Oh if I don’t have it all! In the shadows I’ve been known to lurk For the world was on fire And no one could save me, but her Had I not been such a crier And looked in the mirror with a blur Perhaps, I could have seen my all too lonely soul Burying myself deep in this forlorn hole.
Sinner man, where do I run to? All my hope is lost And now i am all but wrapped in this deep black hue I feel like I am becoming a ghost! Yet I look in the mirror, and I see myself Not too tall, not too short But tell me now, is this an elf, And all my life, is just a swart?
THE GOOD, GOOD OLD TIMES It was nice,whilst it lasted, The love I never dare confess,yet harder to repress The times I sat at the balcony, And you came into me with a wondrous kiss, I named it,’the kiss of life!’ For with the touch of your lips,I felt more and more alive again Your chest pressing,softly against mine, Your beautiful wine gourds chubby on my face, It was nice,really breathtaking,when I saw your yes Dazzling bright,and sapphire, I remember the good good ol’ times When we sat to watch the sunset,o’er the grey cloud I found everything extremely overnice! I remember the good good old times, When I thought you japed about my big big face and forehead I loved your witticism. I cannot forget to tell you,dear reader, That at this point,I did not loose my beloved I just lost something else to write about But before you turn another leaf,dear reader She is what is,and what was!
It is your voice,and novice,that I hate,my love When you up your hand cutting me mid-speech Just to hear you blabber, and your agitation Are you ever calm, or even a listener?I doubt! All my ears can hear,or eyes can see,till all be done Till you sit to listen, But ah! That time I might not live to see. I never cease to wonder when last I heard your silence Yet you don’t sleep in silence,but soundly Snoring and I recall my thought to kill you And probably lay you in the parquet flooring. My love,when last did you sit to hear me finish my word, Before you quickly interrupt to share your bitterness? I remember we did not share our vows the other day Nor finish my proposal at the foyer, Because you talk too much than think. Oh,my love, It’s not hate which I feel for you,I must say, But love and concern for your tongue But if I’m left to choose between you and death, For sure It wouldn’t be you I choose,
Yet I want to talk to you of the little things So fond, so frail, so foolish that one clings To keep them ours—who could but understand A joy in speaking them, thus hand in hand But I fear,I will be the one to listen,yet desire to talk! Uncle D
Dear old reader,yet another time to remind you; Under the drab and sad faces you saw at EDITH’S burial- I’m afraid,half were rejoicing my tying knots with AZRIEL the daughter of ANTOINE The enchanted hour,The magic bower, Where, crowned with roses,Love love discloses.
Dear reader,before you turn the next page, You probably forgot that my mortal Islam RAHMA ; He knelt on his right knee,and she said YES! While a lifeless life lay supine in a coffin right ahead. Whilst her lifelessness slowly belted six feet under, ELLEN wanted a wedding ground We all sat in congratulation of her, trampling over the fresh grave. Once and again the thought, ‘for ever gone,’ Come over us like a cloud; yet, My father finds his happily ever after crying,for the loss of her mama, His charm fails him not,and he woos her into marriage,
Dear reader, before you turn the next leaf, Think of her body’s loneliness. At night pacing the sheared field, its shadow buckled tightly around. Think of those September rains,or the blazing Junes and Mays I should never rest in peace! When I die,I want four weddings at my funeral! Duncan Kiplimo Uncle D
WHY NOT ME I wish I could ever awaken you- How wish I,that my name could trigger your adrenaline, But who am I,if not a lesser being; I mean,who even thinks me human,but just a living being. How I really wish,I’d be good enough; But I am not,regret I.
My love for you has grown in disguise, I’ve lived to hope a next day will give more, I’d put none above you,but often ask I myself, What is it worth? I love your firm possession, Your fiery,unflawed futurity, You are a misery I should venture; Daughter of a noble father.
But canst thou tell me why, Why should the lovely rose I sent you- Wither in the Vale,so pale, And why is it my heart of many, That thou forsaketh! Duncan Kiplimo Uncle D
When I sat among the rich At first,I felt lucky,and rich as well I felt,like I could woo all the dresses for my side But when I sat with them in their posh cars,I felt sad When I sat among the rich,I felt pitiable and hapless
I had friends who had wealth and confidence Women went and came at their call, Whilst I’m only a poet Fighting a bitter fight Fate will not grant me,even leisure with which to write
When I sat among the rich, They dressed in wealthy and classy robes and suits The joys of wooing,the could not know, For money is the refuge for their lasses My dear reader,their fathers own fortunes!
But when I sat among the rich, I realized this,that; No man stops at a rich man’s door to pass a day’s time No man shouts a “hello!” In the good. Uncle D Duncan Kiplimo
SO THAT I DON’T LOVE THEM MUCH THIS TIME Was love even for me? I think not; For the many times I’ve loved,I’ve also parted, Loving that which was never really going to stay, I’ve been taught to die alive, I need not love anymore. If by loving not I do myself a favor, Then it be, But man is man, And I am man,I want death again. I want to feel alive,to be touched I quite know the sensation that touchment* comes with So,someone’s daughter,don’t let me die again,come touch me. Tell my sister to tell her friend’s sister to touch me, Or my heart,for that matter- Or tell my mother to tell her friend to tell her daughter to come touching me, For I know what comes with love, But I also know what love brings along.
Give me my pen, I want to write to them to come touch me, So that I be alive again, So that I don’t love them much this time. Uncle D Duncan Kiplimo
Dunca9n 