BLOATED sunset
another day is getting going,...gone.
Smoke and thunder fill the absence of the air
as the boy with a stick rolls a tire into the dawn.
...he's out of view, but worthy of a polaroid.
DISTENDED bellies
look for their next meal; only sand & stone.
While roosters argue under crimson skies,
a mother looks tired, says she's worked to the bone...
I'd lend u a hand, but I've only 2.
...and SWOLLEN egos
debate solutions, they wanna' make a big change.
4th of July, ten-fifteen;
it's a shitty world, this life is strange.
...here's some fireworks,...clothes and toys.
UNsponsered HOPE*
springs eternally--like a long drawn-out procession.
A dirty child sits alone in line,
says she's waiting her turn @ confession.
"...if the sun comes up again, I swear I'll do anything I can,
just to see the Dusk in Gulu-town again."
(*...yesterday I woke up in a dirty heap,
spent the rest of it...only 1/2 asleep.
I dreamt I didn't leave the truth alone,
but gave in, and instead looked forward to coming home.)
Hoping you all can forgive my vagueness, I just needed to switch things up a bit. Sometimes a bottle of red wine tends to have that blurring effect, so thanks in advance if you've read and managed to discern any meaning from this.
ReplyDeleteBest,
Mike
If I can offer any meaning to this, it would be that the poem is attempting to convey both the contrasts involved with life in Africa, and the sheer absurdity of many of the attempts to change them. It's also a narrative of the somewhat futility of changing the world...we never will in entirety, but we try nonetheless...we are after all, only human, much as we try to be otherwise greater than that unfortunate reality.
ReplyDeleteVery interesting! I really enjoyed reading this piece! Unique looking too. Well-done!
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