When the cost is daily on the rise In the City by Joseph G. Mutiga While incomes remain static And the higher brackets are daily filled You rub shoulders with robbers, By youths that will not retire You halt to let grandmas pass, Within this century; You look back to indecent dresses, The child laughs gaily, Mobs push you zigzag, Displays its only four teeth All moving the Lord knows where, That show it grows to eat, Dressed in suits and tatters, Unaware of all that shapes her decade. (54-5) Bowties, tights, ochred sheets and earrings, All thinking of things to come. Africa is in a state of opportunity, All look for easy chances Of self-upliftment or undeserved promotion That often mirage further and further One More Poem: Making frustrate I wanted to include a poem that is not political in nature (or at least not overtly so). Minds that should be content The following poem presents us with a universal idea or experience, and I think it Without the dreams of splendid days, could have come from any writer on any continent. Read the poem and see what you Talking promotion in place of business. think. And those with pounds Booze off with the willing Their unexpected earnings And cause social chaos The Bond At home and in the streets, by Charles Owuor Or invest in big estates That arouse the envy he hands with loneliness Of the less endowed. Who invited him to sit beside a fire It is a time of opportunity,— and warm his hands When one line makes a poet together they recounted tales And a little acquaintance or chance of a love left behind Rockets one to the highest office. exchanged cups of tears and sadly smiled at each other’s faces But the peasant, the pillar of the nation, as the flames linked them Has only to cope with prices that shift each to each (120) Like the that rock the ship Carrying yellow maize to the City. The employed call out strikes That only deplete the little funds That may relieve the peasant— The elder brother keeps the younger in hunger. At home, if there’s any, The child plays with an empty bottle, Cries for more milk,
In the City by Joseph G. Mutiga You rub shoulders with robbers, You halt to let grandmas pass, You look back to indecent dresses, Mobs push you zigzag, All moving the Lord knows where, Dressed in suits and tatters, Bowties, tights, ochred sheets and earrings, All thinking of things to come. Africa is in a state of opportunity, All look for easy chances Of self-upliftment or undeserved promotion That often mirage further and further Making frustrate Minds that should be content Without the dreams of splendid days, Talking promotion in place of business. And those with pounds Booze off with the willing Their unexpected earnings And cause social chaos At home and in the streets, Or invest in big estates That arouse the envy Of the less endowed. It is a time of opportunity,— When one line makes a poet And a little acquaintance or chance Rockets one to the highest office. But the peasant, the pillar of the nation, Has only to cope with prices that shift Like the that rock the ship Carrying yellow maize to the City. The employed call out strikes That only deplete the little funds That may relieve the peasant— The elder brother keeps the younger in hunger. At home, if there’s any, The child plays with an empty bottle, Cries for more milk, When the cost is daily on the rise While incomes remain static And the higher brackets are daily filled By youths that will not retire Within this century; The child laughs gaily, Displays its only four teeth That show it grows to eat, Unaware of all that shapes her decade. (54-5) One More Poem: I wanted to include a poem that is not political in nature (or at least not overtly so). The following poem presents us with a universal idea or experience, and I think it could have come from any writer on any continent. Read the poem and see what you think. The Bond by Charles Owuor he hands with loneliness Who invited him to sit beside a fire and warm his hands together they recounted tales of a love left behind exchanged cups of tears and sadly smiled at each other’s faces as the flames linked them each to each (120)
a_sample_of_african_poetry.docx