Few years ago Victoria Shem was my student at I.EC, She read one of my poems and i believe got inspired. Few weeks lator Vickie Shem wrote this poem!

THE UPROOT MISSION

To us a girl was introduced
Promised so much
She produced

Out of her beauty
We treated her
Like a deity

We would tend in morning
Yet in the evening
Yawns, and more yawns

Should we go with her keeping?
When we are reaping
Nothing!

Or should we end her persistence
And then risk our existence

To uproot her is a vision
But in real
A suicide mission.


Copyright © Victoria Wangari Shem 2003

This poem was written by one of my students, Victoria Shem, who had passion for performing arts.

Last week I posted a very interesting poem- Letter To My father, The response has been overwhilming. So is it in a Mans' Gene? Enjoy the Dying Hobo

A HAZY TOMORROW

Hoary hoary
Slave of vision
So much dreamt of
Today a total hokum
Brain arching with
Honet sting of regrets
Doom is inevitable

Outlandishly you lived
Mistresses haunch always your hassock
You were study and hoity toity
Today womby and despondent
You have no place for haven
Nor a shade for rest

Cirrhosis an enemy
Inextricable though
A cryptography too complex
you cant not decipher or stop either
Your youth totally wasted
leaving a lean future for you

Hoary and helpless
Waiting for cirrhosis throes
feasting on honeydew
your last option
and absolute resort

A would be successful pundit
is now reduced to a dying hobo!


All Rights Reserved. Last week i posted a poem titled Letter to My Father. I was very glad to read your responses. One reader asked me in my email inbox: fafdays@gmail.com What genes are men made of? Well i must admit it was a tough question.
This made me remember a poem i wrote sometimes in 2002. A Hazy Tomorrow that you have just read. So is it in a mans gene to drink, stray, smoke and all that women use to refer to 'a failed man?' Ok, that is a topic for another day.

I read todays daily nation and I felt the zeal to watch 43rd Tribe of Kenya. The talking point really moved me......! "A fat man has an ass! 2. My Daddy is fat...... Well for anyone who is having a kid in the lower primary, you must read the Talking Point on todays DN 30-08-09

DEATH HAS ALWAYS LEFT US WONDERING WHY.....! NOT UNTIL IT HAPPENS TO CLOSE FRIEND AND YOU JUST WISH IT WAS A DREAM. "WE LOVED YOU SHEM........R.I.P"

THAT HOUR







That fateful Wednesday
Is undeletable,
Sometimes, we may forget
But your memories remain.
We thought it was a bad dream
We hoped it was a dream after all
However it was neither of them
It happened, very fast.

That morning you cheered your
Lovely son
You joked with your charming wife
Not aware of the roaming danger
Jimmy- some of us saw you,
At least make your last movement
It never occurred to you or us
That we were bidding farewell to you

As early as the day started
The angle of death had been traveling
With each second tickling away
He neared
His wings flapping rhythmically
Each second tonating the flapping

Unaware of the impeding fate
You joked, smiled and laughed.
Unknowingly, time was flying out fast
We too, joked, laughed and smiled back
All this time
The angle of death was advancing
Now swiftly

A few meters from home
He finally caught up with you
And off he went
Holding you securely on his flap
Or else you slip back to us

In a short while Jimmy was gone
We watched the angle disappear with you
His face was not happy either
Guilt spread across it
“What have I done?”
He seemed to wonder.

At your young age you slipped
Past our fingers
Our minds are now numb and blank
Trying to restructure the jigsaw
But the pieces are still missing

Now that you are gone
In heart we got your memories
The joy you shared with us
Still oozes from your undeletable memory
We live your ambition- to be happy

Jimmy, our dear brother
We know you are in the next room
Laughing, smiling and giggling- you always did.
You may be locked behind that door
But we can peep thru and see you
We are more unified than ever
Because your memoirs are
Etched in the tablets of our innermost feelings
We love you our brother.


All Rights Reserved. Reproduction in part or full is strictly prohibited. Simon Mwangi Muthiora.
SHEM died in a grisly road accident that raised more questions than answers. His love for Art inspired me to write this poem. To Vickie- Though I never hardly enjoyed the luxury of holding you close to me, you always lite my heart whenever I entered that class to teach you literature or Geography. It was my dream that one day I would tell the world that I once loved you. This a special one for you and your family. I believe that Shem is smiling and wishing you all well

THIS IS THE UNKNOWN STORY.....SET IN ILLUSION

THIS IS THE STORY

The untold story
The story of the past
The story of today
The story of tomorrow
The story about a story- untold

This story has no plot
Neither does it has characters
Its characters have no characteristics
Their characters already dead
It’s a utopic story.

It’s a story about everything
The story tells us nothing
No one likes telling the story
But everybody listens to it.

It’s not written anywhere
It has no narrator
Nobody knows its origin
The only story that makes one laugh
And cry at the same time

Its prologue is unending
Just like its epilogue
It’s a story about many stories
Stories about other stories

It talks about birth
It talks about death too
It’s the story about the righteous
It’s a story about the wicked

The only story about the
Past, today and tomorrow
It’s the story that compares men to beasts

This is the story about the unknown
It talks about America, China, and North Korea
The story is strange
It even mentions Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran and Israel
It idolizes Wall Street



However, the story is shy
It is the only story that misses the word Dafur
The story does not talk about Zimbambwe
Nor does it mention DRC

It’s about rape- fathers raping their daughters
Mothers fornicating with their sons
It’s a strange story
Where characters abuse human dignity
It’s the story that compares the incomparable

The story is set in unknown country
A wonder country
Where true stories are told in whispers
They are not written
Nor sang or narrated- only in whispers
It’s a story of sorrow
A story of bewilderment
Set in illusion


All Rights Reserved. Reproduction in part or full is strictly prohibited. Simon Mwangi Muthiora.

SEVERAL YEARS AGO MARTIN LUTHER KING HAD A "DREAM" ITS A DREAM THAT CAME TRUE,BUT LAST NIGHTS' DREAM WAS DIFFERENT......!

THE DREAM

A mystery unknown
Unknown and not solved
Whether a thriller or not
Still a complex experience

Last night I traveled
The country very new to me
A place I have never been to
I recall the food
Very new to me
I was somewhere in Monaco
The streets glittering with neon lights
Or this is Holly Wood?
The swings and pods
All resembling the ones in Navada Ranch
I was there last night.

The limo was striking
Life has never been this beautiful
The chauffer always smiling
Pouring their hearts out
Innocently I smiled back

A few days before
I was languishing in poverty
I knew nothing beyond
That kiosk next door
Despondent but hoping for the best
I never thought my dream
Would come this fast.

A few days ago,
I was running away from a vicious
Animal- a very big predicament
Indeed, I tried to rise and run
Walking away was
Too risky business
Flying a way was an option

My will too strong
My limbs too weak
To rise and walk,
Run,
Fly or
Swim away.

Some fresh I lost,
When the animal
Caught up with me!
All in my dream
Last nights’ dream.
My wails were even weaker
They were mere whispers
No ear could hear
Its roar was not bare
Ready to snarf and devour

It was no ordinary night
It’s the night I had a dream
The dream that lied to me,
That I was in Monaco

It’s the dream that lied to me
It told me a story
A story about my home far away
About the new chief in our area
It also lied to me about the
Former chief who was now ‘dead’
The ‘cancer’ had finally taken toll on him
I now missed home without him

He too was a liar
“I will repair the roads,
I will build a clinic, I will
Revive the water taps…..”
He had severally promised

Last nights’ dream lied to me,
That he was now gone.
We now had a new chief
The new chief had finally
Agreed to listen and reason.


All Rights Reserved. This an original poem by Simon Mwangi Muthiora. Reproduction in print or any other media is strictly Prohibited. AURTHOR: MWANGI S. MUTHIORA

EVEN AT THE DARKEST HOUR THERE THIS THIS RARE STAR THAT WILL STILL SHOW UP! BUT IF YOUR EYES REMAIN SHUT, YOU ARE LIKELY TO MISS THE SPLENDID SHINE *

THE MORNING *STAR*

In this part of Africa
It’s a rare gem
Illuminating the golden yellow horizon
The morning star
Shinning with splendor

Eyes as clear as ice
Revealing untold beauty
Pupil as black as coal
Hanging in precariously
In a ball of wool
The morning star

Curvaceous nostrils
Rare in this part of Africa
Breathing life to
The morning breeze
With every beat,
Warm sweet breath escapes
Nagging though
To leave such a haven

The morning star
Has a smile too
A smile of all times
Too sweet to describe
A mother of all smiles
The morning star
Smiling with style
A shy smile

The morning star
Have two dimples
Deep as they are
The secret of the smile
The two cute dimples,
Tonates the plains of the star
Giving it a feeling

The morning star
Have two full lips
Upper pouting lip
Full as a balloon
Giving the morning breeze
Wrenching osculates

Trapped inside
Two set of grinders
White as wool
The morning star
Has a sweet bite

The morning star
Has a voice
Its whispers are so sweet
That you dance to them
This morning star
Smiles
Laughs
Sighs and cares
The morning star
The morning blossom
Shine shine shine
The morning star


Author: Simon Mwangi Muthiora- All rights reserved, Picture: Julia Polly- A special friend who regardless the human suffering i ever faced in life still showed up when very few. appeared. I may not have the right words for you Julia, but you are one in a million and i treasure your company even thou we may never live to realize a lifetime together. This a special one for you and my mother.

HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU INSPIRED TODAY? I MEET THIS PUPPY WHO REALLY GAVE ME A REAL TOUCH.... IT MADE ME THINK HOWMUCH BETTER I CAN TOUCH AND INSPIRE

A TOUCH OF FORMALITY

Where is the touch
To console a suffering soul
Where is the touch
To end, endless conflicts
Where is the touch
To expose unspeakable clandestine
Where is the touch
To touch the untouchables

A real touch of formality