folklore lifestyle Nature Pastoral Poetry

Amuse: Pretty Tomatoes

Sometimes I smirk at myself,
They say I’m confused on what I feel,
But if I gave a tomato stalk a hug
Then maybe what they say is true
I laugh at myself…
When I arrest the kitchen
Searching for raw tomatoes
Which refused to grow in my garden
I’m angry, don’t ask why,
Not with myself, with those…
Oh pretty, lovely tomatoes,
Call it confusion if you may
But I know what I want
Just that my taste came at a time
My garden won’t let some grow

Africa culture/tradition folklore lifestyle Love and Christianity Nature Pastoral Poetry Series

I hear you whisper

I hear you whisper in the morning,
Waking to your tweet and joyful song,
Lonely morning, seeds spread to the rising sun,
Fields of tropical wheat sing with the mountain,
And with you, beautiful birds; choir made in Heaven


Loudest roar

You told me to go ahead and roar

But I must be careful where I roar

Though I am a Lion, I must be careful

The valley’s waters run to meet the hills

Her streams feeding the long distance

Of great wilderness,

Twigs dried on the wet atmosphere

Spread their tentacles and threaten

To hold back any one brave to walk

The dried sands of the desert

The night spent in dreams, dreaming away

With stray trances coming now and then

In the vast opens and African green fields

Sprouts a pain that grows with the setting sun

On the woods floor dried tree leaves crunch

When stepped upon,

Even, the airs, untamed, look about suspiciously

But the night won’t let us roar,

The night won’t let us grow

But it won’t consume us either

So what if,

What if we roared,

What if a root grew,

And pulled all Africa along?

We must roar, aloud

So the whole world may hear


Life in African tropics

In the beginning, life in the tropical forests made more sense without man’s interest

When man was afraid to bother the endless mass of green with fearful bugs and insects


Strange as it seem, but the green tropical forest is a wonderland

So much activity go on here, such that it is a distinct world,

In the heat of the morning, the meek insects burrow in the sand

While the loud ones cry out to their scattered beloved

When it rain, the soft waters collect at a point and run off tree leaves

Creating many pools for thirsty fauns and plants that live around

Snakes, boas, mambas, lay lazy, enjoying their free sun tan

One eye on the sky and one on the quiet green landscape

Monkeys play games, disturbing neighbors who hide from them

When a dangerous stranger passed by, they honk with all their strength

For it was their tradition to do so when they see a hog, Leopard or python

So the day grow humid, sharing the heat of the waking sun across the horizon


Below the trees’ branches many mouths forage hungrily

Ants run up trees with heavy loads they struggle to carry,

On the soft soil, the bugs and worms dig away, hurriedly

Waiting for the coming darkness which seemed carefree,

Crocodiles and hippos sit in the sun with birds feasting on their bugs

Rivers and streams flow quietly or when the waters fall, it beats drums

Dragon flies pursue stray insects as hornets buzz about seeking their prey

Out on the humid air, birds fly, hunt and display their beauty

Hawks and Kites are rampant, the forest provides all their needs

Insects with and without wings play in the open insufferable sun

Winged ones; beetles, butterflies and mantis surf the wind

Enjoying the freedom and happiness that comes with the flight

But then the evening came treacherously; steady and quiet


It is now that birds fly away to their home, calling to the setting sun

Noisy Partridges, Swans, Cranes love the evening home coming

The slow walkers association led by Snails and Tortoises crawl home

The sunset bring great joy to the worms and the timid albino ants

To others like the grasshoppers, wasps and bees it was time to retire

Termites disappear into their tunnels, but their softer relatives, the sugar ants

Troop out to find their food, savoring the feeling that their own day just began

Snakes and tarantulas hide in corners, waiting for rats and other small rodents

Bats surface with fiery looking hoods, as that of a masquerade’s mask

It was night and it was time for nocturnal animals of different clans


In the end, life in the tropical forests made more sense without man’s interest

But it grew sore, now man’s snares and tools abound below the quiet tree roots


The Palm Tree

I wonder why it is called a tree
Yet she is dressed like a masquerade
With thorny arms raised to deliver a blow
And fins to wade thru a turbulent storm

Dangerous as she looks,
She is quietly harmless
Swerving from one wind to another
She enjoy the attention of the airs

When there is a heavy storm
She guides the little shrubs
When the sun shine bright
She takes also much heat

She stand, tall and fixated…
Breaking the wind surge
Wearing a grim apparition
One of piety and grace

She possesses queer tentacles
Which come as green leaves
Growing a shade of shadows
For every thing which seek refuge

The tree is both benevolent to man and wild
Dancing to the tune of both commanders
She gives her fruits as food and snack
And the leaves and barks are vegetables

So this person called the Palm
Is more than a tree.
In parts of lands below the Tropics
We can say she is part of the culture

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