Monthly Archives: June 2009

WHERE MY ROSE WAS

roses-roses[1]
I set searching
The depth of forest hill
In bracken and thorn bushes
Bruises and wounds
Heat brought thirst
Sweat brought hunger
Cold brought cough
Wounds brought pain
Alone in the deep maze
Searching my love
Searching where my rose was
The lilies saw me
In the morning blue sky
As dew taps the earth
Dropping from fresh leaf
Though I wasn’t searching
Them, I praised their beauty
And went on searching
Where my rose was

The birds and squirrels
heard my footsteps

Startled, they took of
heading to their own search
Fresh berries for the poor
Squirrel, holding a branch
for a reach
Good luck for him I hoped
and carried on searching
where my rose was

A good catch of a worm
for the little fledgling to fly
Dove, still with the nest smell
but wakes earlier
grow well and strong, I wished
and went on searching
where my rose was

The stream sloshes along the bank
as the rock erodes away to sandy

I heard and saw

Reeds shivered like soldiers
trembling against volcano eruption

And witnessed

The colour of clouds yawning slowly
the mountain mist drifting, a phantom
rising to swallow the whole earth

Searching where my rose was
I weathered all that’s fair and not
patiently with a gentle heart beat
and hopeful determination
searching and searching
where my rose was

Where my rose was, was a cave
there she was, beside a fall’s basin
where the water poured gently from
a rock crack

I saw her sweet petals bloom
her long yellow filaments beauty
her sepal cupping her around
and I loved her more than more
plucked her with her wet roots
and favourite soil and planted her
where my heart was, was where
My rose was

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My stupid bookish life

books[1]
One suny promising day, I waked up to be welcomed with the unusual orange sunshine gleaming through my window, I yawned as i waked up to embrace the light. Haven’t set the alarm yesterday, it was all good, sunday was my off day, they don’t expect me today, no and never, a man needs a little time to gather up his healthy and carry on, for God’s sake he’s not a machine, like the typewriter i owned and whacked time and over during my spare time.
I worked as a librarian, Haven jointer avenue, just opposite a small canteen that have two entrance, the one on the front and the other on the back, it was a good strategy, never to miss any customer travelling on any of the two streets. I walked there, every work’s day, got myself a meatloaf, with a cream soda to go with and few gums to chew through the day.
The library was the oldest grotesque of all the town’s building, though we the library workers tried our best to keep the inside clean and neat as far as we could, the odd strange reflection of the outside was enough of humour mingled with a legacy of excitting history, that many school teens often charm and haunt one another with, every time and then you could hear that Spencer the town nurse’s son has got a degree or that Monica the farmers daughter has gone abroad with a diploma in philosophy.Partly most of these achievements came from hard studying. The library could be closed at ten nigh to midnight and for sure it could be busy to ten, some of these teens you could have to wake with cold water pouring on their faces from a glass or slap, just a bit and teasingly.
‘Up–up–up, you’ve got classes to attend tomorrow!’ That’s how i often waked them up and i enjoyed them as a part time writer myself, the library had it all that i required to be succesful.
It was named Shakespeare memorial library, as the former founder folks have called it, the roof was occupied with endless nests, ravens, doves, spiders and squirrels that jumps on the roof from cypress trees overshadowing a great portion of the building, on the back of it, there was a huge crack that the foreman had hired builders three times to try to fix, but the crack was somewhat stuborn, it cracked again and again still.
Ruin or ran it over with a bulldozer and build a new one, the city council minister had ordered before and his article went top on that day’s newspaper and i asked myself, what’s wrong with keeping something that preserves a magnificent history like this building, yep i’ve said that to myself and perhaps it was out of the will that i loved this building so much, or how much it had inspired and gave me the potential of becoming a published writer over the past two years.
Another reason why i was so much attached to this library were the regulary visit of my girlfriend, Rebekah, a plump sleaky beautful of a girl, still studying law at New york university. The first time i fall in love with this girl, i pronounced myself the luckiest chap in the entire world, she was good, liked cadbury–yes she smoked too less than i do. I would’ve regarded her as the perfect woman if it wasn’t the natural routene of people insisting that there’s no one who’s perfect. She loved me and there wasn’t no way i could fail to admit that, i loved her too, we were like a belt and a trousers–tight and shining together.
Rebekah loved the way i expressed my love for her in my poems, like the way i had wrote her, My magnificent Moni–she had quotted the words pretty well and every time and then could recite it all to me and what should an ordinary loved man like me do, just grin and took her in my arms for a while, yes especially on my half day’s work, Suturday, the two of us had spend a great time seated at the library garden just on the back talking our lives out. The air was lovely there, from the tree shadows that covers almost all the back’s ground, though we weren’t the only lovebirds there, it was all good, we could share the glamourous moments together in respectful distances, each minding own bussiness with his or her lover.
I had two latest thrillers on the market, there were doing well, i couldn’t complain much of it as a man who was capable of paying my flat and smoothly keeping up with my life’s schedules. The only thing that was left of me to do, was to marry Moni, she had agreed

To be continued