The Desperate Woman
She stands there, dripping saliva
She is sick and going wirry
She reampts slowly like a tortoise
Leading down to the loo
And back into the thatched house
She was, and has anew born
On the mat, striped palm leaves mat
But why is she
not in the medicine house
She has delivered yesterday
On the river of life,
she counts her life
and desperate she is of knife
So life is dying in her eyes
With a need of help
Coming from the new home
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Double Eyeing
Unsatisfied, eyeing at two courses or so
A usual sitting on the fence
Prickle inside for the next prodding of dilemma
Pro digging in oneself
Awaiting more of the other
And grabbing silently,
The double eyes!
If I would have such colours, blue, red.....
Three of the more sets, and think deeply of how to win these nodal appartment
Crumbling facades in them buit
Next flip in the corner
If I had that!
The double eyeing's dilemma song
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Mama Africa
A supper star burns from the least
It quakes venerable hope for the haste,
beckoning the best greenage storey
In the deemed mama Africa unfold stories
that bake excellent bread till gay
It slides pretty well to fill the days
'just forget about what you are
take my words for it uh! Uh! '
That laughter dwells within mama
That clear smile smells foktales
Its fore going size stamps foretells,
Tickling souls all over beauty
Mama Africa, apromise on the dock
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Natural Mirror
That is a mirror, anatural mirror
That stands ahead of ahuman rear
Displaying such miraculous versions
If a human being sees on it
Amazements are followers
Is that a how question?
As it intervenes with
atmost gusto
Like a blue colour
In the ear of athing
Stinging very hard
Mmm...hah! Why?
Discouragement bends down
Disfloating that dazzling look
And eyes.. mmmh... Piercing through
Now it turns a white
The other side of a page
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Do I Need The Pen
Do I need the pen to write
Deep is a dropp of a story inside
Like water that waters the garden
so then green is restored
Do I need the pen to sell
By going around and come back
With overhead are the pumpkins
that makes my day run go
Do I need the pen to relux
That fills my hope of moments
That files my days of the youth
On the timeline it goes
Do I need the pen to say
the little calabash with
a cool well behind the cup
That soothes inward the soul
And stops in a big full stop
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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From Motherland
From motherland, lands a spring of rivers that gushes out radio waves ontop; and descends down stream with cool water; That feeds our motherland. Look at her meanders, she sneaks into the green land; And sniffes Canaan of today. The head of all lands in her and stands firm in deep sea as a rock. She is an eagle but alioness, that roars on the feet of Mount Zion; and drives our hospitality, our land. As she dives out of the best African pot; from motherland she lies in her greenage.
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Nyagondwe The Grandma
Nyagondwe the grandma
Far from the out of reach
She brings offsprings
on the carpet
Generated from the coastal verge
The land of blessings
Unpacked
Seven! She says
But two are friends
of the earth
Without acall and vanish
Born of wealth, with her
husband leaving
Down stares, waving
Going to reassure friends
of the earth
Solute encounters her way
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Beauty In The Woman
Perched, dropped, flipped
Sounds of the day
Sounds of the woman in colors
In beauty she crops
In beauty she counts
While beauty in her eye
Is blonde, scorch, gloomy
Drunkard in spots hit
Is a woman with beauty
Her face, agolden facet
Beauty in the woman
Craves no murmurs, calm she comes
Head on the valley of green
of saltless
Speechless and never smiling
Like adog
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poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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My Head
Revolves across the world
As aspinning word
In its orbit
With adiscovery at large
Like around about
Until it completes
All its seasons of the year
Odd ideas are stored
with aremarkable storeroom,
The computer of my focus
Which focuses ahead
like allay of lights
glaring bright
Odd brain waves are stored
In aliving room
Which stimulates
aremembrance
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poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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A glorious Focal Point
Little by little it goes
Like a titi bird in the sky
Flying with open wings
yes, they say
In a deep and soft voice
Is an angel
Where is it going?
Now they open their eyes
In a wonderful smile
really awanderful grin
with their lips inside agape
Noses nearly pointing to each other
What? They say
Prescription rescues
The matter of change
and the open window
with some drizzles
on it
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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