Upya Fresh

  By the tree that was shrine to our love I reminisce of what was another life I miss your lips – yellow mangoes, drenching with sweet Eyes, balls of simsim, lazy – submitting me to still Hair, curly, coal, brushed to stern The feel of your skin, silky and tan. By the tree that long hid our secret There we would whisper, kiss, create Sunny morns in winter, moments of tender Butterflies in our palms, away let fly, banter Lighting and fury, the emotion Trembling, heartbeats, matched in motion. By the tree, felled, no longer there A stranger come, still I care Love rooted, spreads thick in my mind The power of love, dragging me behind My eyes, they fly with the shooting star A million I wonder – are you there yonder? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mfq2XDo1n-c

  Mr. Steven Akumu was a man of many talents. In another life, he had occasionally caressed the guitar to submission. Then, comely ladies clamoured for his attention. Ever generous, he had reciprocated accordingly. This, then, is one of the stories he strummed to life. Listening to the journey he took his audience to with his guitar skills, you could tell that it was partly gossip and partly experience. He was that good. “The man flirts with the guitar, persuading it to accompany him to Mombasa. The story in the song is about a man. And Fatuma. The ocean breeze… the man, tired of the city, seeks refuge in a dream sold by a mysterious traveller in a moment of serendipity… The song is in snatches, glimpses of a memory that is the tune, the lyrics different in the heads of the listeners. Perhaps, haphazard – for men long differently. Fatuma, role plays. In the dream, she is a school girl. She has that dangerous look of innocence, of naivety, even. Young girls are like that, luring men

  One, two, a step Three, four, a leap A-lovin’ deep, steep A dance for them not limp. Hue, the sky, grey the way A splash and a wave Dancers, they surf Five, six, they take leave. Spell-bound, wanderers, they tease A thrust, a dip, they flirt In the steal, pink, the kiss Stills, beats, weak – the heart. Orange is come, to the sky – the dive Quick, the beats; always there – life Dancing higher and higher – paced Lovers in another dimension – space. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuPIDntz08I Kindly support my art by buying my books: ''A Funeral Dress for Nyasuguta' and 'Love Told, Poetry Souled, Family Bold' by following these links: https://shorturl.at/giAIL   https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/

  Song and goodwill, is the morning Luck and cheer, with the dawning A touch of sun, the crowning There is faith and a-hopin’. Mid-morning, visits, the realisation Witless actors, in another’s production An amoral system, the organisation Heavy for the mind, this rumination. Eve comes, the melancholy Tears stream – no longer jolly The soul – empty; hungry – the belly A day’s progress, there is no joy. https://studio.youtube.com/video/mu_MOrONlpQ/edit Kindly support my art by buying my books: ''A Funeral Dress for Nyasuguta' and 'Love Told, Poetry Souled, Family Bold' by following these links: https://shorturl.at/giAIL   https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/

 I come, I go, I went I pick, I pack, I sent I drive, I crash, I dent Money – I borrow, I lent. I plant, I weed, I till I buy, I seal, I deal I gather, I thrash, I mill Hungry – I cook, eat, my meal. I work, I tire, I sleep I imagine, I create, my dream In the morn, I smile, the sun – my beam The weekend – I gather and play, my team. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvn3myDuYLA Kindly support my art by buying my books: ''A Funeral Dress for Nyasuguta' and 'Love Told, Poetry Souled, Family Bold' by following these links: https://shorturl.at/giAIL     https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/

  Friday is for dancing – light and night Friday is for melody – oh boy, the joy Friday is all yellow – a day to get mellow Friday is for dance – the weekend, entrance. Friday is for freshening - the longing Friday is for escape – we are game Friday is for loving – to get us moving Friday is for dance – the weekend, entrance. Friday is for laughter – no time for haters Friday is for kisses – picking up the pieces Friday is books, hooks, looks –glam, no need for alarm Friday is for dance – the weekend, entrance. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Avcq_Qz3VEQ Kindly support my art by buying my books: ''A Funeral Dress for Nyasuguta' and 'Love Told, Poetry Souled, Family Bold' by following these links: https://shorturl.at/giAIL   https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/

  His looks taboo – they consume His steps playful – he is much practiced His voice, seduction – blueberries, a lick of gold, your dream told, poetry souled, your wild side sold, he makes you fold He is the man - The Total Man. His heart of steel, tempered His lovin’, urgent, maddening – the way it is delivered He seeks permission not – all the same, it is granted Him they loathe, they hate – yet, he is wanted This heartache that livens - them ladies – much desired. The man with the juice, he is cool In many ways, strong – he is a bull Ladies, he swings, he waltzes, he tangos To places dark, forbidden, his essence – he dangles He paints, colourful, with possibilities – he dazzles Dark, sweet, in his loving’ – always an angle No angel, The Total Man – in his presence, ladies crumble. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eg4tblXGWD8    Kindly support my art by buying my books: ''A Funeral Dress for Nyasuguta' and 'Love Told, Poetry Souled, Family Bold' b

 I heard this morning, that… The price of unga, is about to go up I heard this morning, that the price of unga, is coming down I heard this morning, that the government, it has banned, unga Perhaps, the speaker meant, burnt Either way, our bellies, they burn Some, of hunger Others, belly full. I heard mid-morning, that, oil, is scarce Or, for cars, the speaker, he mumbled about. I heard mid-morning, that, he has passed us Or, the pastor, is us The messiah, he plays games. I heard in the afternoon, the government, is broke The weather, out of order The war, just In my afternoon, there was no peace. In the evening, I held counsel My ears, blocked with wax My eyes, blinded in tears My tongues, stilled in fury These things, they are not for me Screams of - baby Isak Shrieks of - Fatuma Howls of – Abdi Bombs, play toys Up above, silver streaks The rain, violent For a Utopia, the soldier man.

  I am thinking of visiting Kitui. Or Mombasa. Or Tanga in Tanzania. Should I visit, it will not be a friendly visit. My landlord, he does not wish me well. These past few days, things have escalated quickly to my disadvantage. Monday. On Monday, he cut off electricity to my place. Normally, I incur power bills to the tune of 5000 shillings before he comes, in banter, to remind me to clear the bill. Not on Monday. He came with someone whom he said is from the utility company. He said the government had a shortfall, that teachers needed to be paid. And police. And soldiers. That roads needed to be built. The bill was only 600 shillings. Tuesday. On Tuesday, the landlord cut off my water. Again, he came with someone from the water company. Could have been the same person from the power utility – I was groggy, for they came in at early dawn. I normally operate at debts of 2000 shillings, water, before I clear. The excuse? The water company needs money to lay the new pipeline and dig t

Heartbreaks and heartaches The lover idolised turns monster The prince – a beast. Long days of mourning Less the company Her world ends – cuts deep, betrayal Trust turns mist. Song in her soul shredded The body slugs, the mind numb Questions without number But he to ask – a stranger Misdeeds of the night They can’t stand the light. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H6hrVGMVkDs

  He thinks of her, of his world Champagne and candlelight Mascara and cheap cologne. Travel to Budapest, Kiribati Skin dipping in places exotic Club – motel – shared rooms A quick shower – therapeutic. He seeks solace in the night In this Capital far from home Hers in the neon light Them dollars – to entice. Cigars, whiskey, his other poisons Mary and Jane, her companions Their eyes meet – in solitude The DJ scratches a tune. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obA5UPWbn2g

  Soon, I’ll fly, close to the sun Taste that which is forbidden Hold another man’s woman – in my arms Make love to her, dusk till it lights Soon, I’ll fly, close to the sun. Soon, I’ll fly, close, to the sun Take her on a tour – Jerusalema Geography lessons – wonderful curves, round the contours Lips strawberry – lick ‘em up good – graze Soon, I’ll fly, close to the sun. Soon, I’ll fly, close to the sun Taste that - forbidden Hold another man’s woman – in my arms Strum her, dusk till it lights Soon, I’ll fly, close to the sun. Soon, I’ll fly, close to the sun Deep, long, moist – the earth – I plant my flag I am Coloniser – Paradise, claimed Grinds, thrusts   - the Space Ship takes flight Soon, I’ll fly, close to the sun. Soon, I’ll fly, close to the sun Taste that - forbidden Hold another man’s woman – in my arms Pluck her, dusk till it lights Soon, I’ll fly, close to the sun. Today, we mourn a good man A man who flew – too close to the sun A man who sc

  Fellow Kenyans, it has come to my attention That your bellies – are at full tension Hungry, angry – some have depression But it’s not my fault – the economy, at recession. Fellow Kenyans, let’s put our differences aside That way, we can change – the tide Build a more united, prosperous nation Thus strengthened, we achieve – transformation. Fellow Kenyans, it has come to my attention That your bellies – are at full tension Hungry, angry – some have depression But it’s not my fault – the economy, at recession. Fellow Kenyans, it’s true, taxes are high I sympathise, as you struggle, to get by The war in Russia-Ukraine, Israel-Hamas The price of oil to the sky – they’ve harmed us. Fellow Kenyans, it has come to my attention That your bellies – are at full tension Hungry, angry – some have depression But it’s not my fault – the economy, at recession. Fellow Kenyans, I promise – in six months’ time You’ll be matching to a different tune, a different rhyme The pla

  Take me places, where it ain’t shine Whisper, caress, tongue – your touch – spice I quiver, I tremble; your lips – morning dew I shake, I spasm; your looks – treasonous! Graze my lips – upper, lower – let them dance Heart, electric, it beats – Danger! Danger! Dangerous, the man with the dance of life I shake, I spasm; your looks – treasonous! Take me places, where it ain’t shine Whisper, caress, tongue – your touch – spice I quiver, I tremble; your lips – morning dew I shake, I spasm; your looks – treasonous! Your eyes, take me places – dark and light Your lips, tease me to places – I’d rather forget Your steel, sharp – cuts long and tall I shake, I spasm; your looks – treasonous! Take me places, where it ain’t shine Whisper, caress, tongue – your touch – spice I quiver, I tremble; your lips – morning dew I shake, I spasm; your looks – treasonous! You’ve broken me a thousand – the motif Your loving generous – we are legion Yet, the yearning wild – to posses

  Frail, are these shoulders, Lord Heavy and worn, I bear, this load I have stumbled, about to fall No longer, can I stand tall. Maimed, oh! The pain, the shame! They no longer call me – by my name They ridicule – lame, lame, lame! Lord, for me, their tongues – tame. Frail, are these shoulders, Lord Heavy and worn, I bear, this load I have stumbled, about to fall No longer, can I stand tall. My race – I tarry, no longer swift My face – no longer on the uplift My spirit, crushed, away – it drifts Cursed, they say, no more – a gift. Frail, are these shoulders, Lord Heavy and worn, I bear, this load I have stumbled, about to fall No longer, can I stand tall. Long, my days; nights – forlorn Lonely, bruised, I take – my sojourn Tears dry, I remember not – to cry Lord, I ask, one more time – to try. Frail, are these shoulders, Lord Heavy and worn, I bear, this load I have stumbled, about to fall No longer, can I stand tall. Frail, are these shoulders, Lord

  It’s been three-two-four weeks, Lord Here in my room, alone, I dial Your private line – but it ain’t going thru Lord, are you on holiday? On the media, that I no longer see Trouble brews - nay stirs - in paradise War rages – blood, fresh, is sea Are we in end times, cast – the dice? It’s been three-two-four weeks, Lord Here in my room, alone, I dial Your private line – but it ain’t going thru Lord, are you on holiday? They kill, maim – in your name Who is mighty, to them – a game Babies killed, too – no shame Lord, taking your name in vain? It’s been three-two-four weeks, Lord Here in my room, alone, I dial Your private line – but it ain’t going thru Lord, are you on holiday? Daily, life becomes harder Has become a friend – biting hunger Cruel, I have become – no longer, a neighbour Like many, I’ve forgot – to share. It’s been three-two-four weeks, Lord Here in my room, alone, I dial Your private line – but it ain’t going thru Lord, are you on holiday

  Dear Lord, for this day, full of promise, I thank Thee Dear Lord, for this my daily bread, I thank Thee Dear Lord, for all my friends, dear and true, I thank Thee Dear Lord, you’ve been good to me, time and time again, even when I deserved your mercy, your love, your grace, not… I thank Thee Dear Lord, for the shine and the dark, the breath that I draw, the beat of this heart, I thank Thee Dear Lord, let me not forget, that you are always there, in the hard and in the easy, in times troubled, when answers aren’t there, in times of joy when there is light in my eyes and a spring in my feet… I thank Thee Dear Lord, for a beautiful, wondrous earth, the music in the skies, the mysteries of the waters deep, a might without measure… that you let me be in all these, I thank Thee Dear Lord, for all that is beyond me, for you start and you end, I thank Thee Dear Lord, for days I lack, still, I find it in me to thank Thee. Amen. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jm4B6uB49so

  The king, prophesied, had returned. They were shape-shifters of death, of havoc. Their faces erased of emotions, of love, of life. Once upon a time, in the era of dragons and magick, was our tale told. The dragon breathed and the city burned. In vengeance was her city brought down. A mushroom of dust. Structure and bone. In the crackling of the hearth, a story is told. The throne long contested. The dragon, the custodian. The childe, all soft of her, butterflies fluttering by, lights twinkling, she had asked of a story. She had her stories. Now no longer simple. The sun was out, but men clashed. Her stories, once, of grass and clouds. Full granaries, thanksgiving, meditation…the breeze caressing the skin. The Mother ship was come. In her belly, ships of fury. Tamed. By her favourite tree, distant stars floating, leaves… she remembered mother’s and father’s tales of distant galaxies. Of planes, now grown into spaceships; man’s folly, hate, anger, grown – for fe

  Vocals practice for the songs/albums (NEWS Album - Noise, Echoes, Whispers, Stories/Silence) to come. Subscribe, share, like, comment, buy the book, get the Skiza Tune… to support this project. Thanks. https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/ Get my Skiza Tune 'A True Friend'. Send the Skiza Code 'Skiza 5438274' to 811 as a message. Thanks. Sunset in her eyes Your pain was so loud Your hurt, cut so deep All I could do was cry, cry, cry When my love, was unheard. Let me free, let me be Let me love, let me heal. Let me have, back my words Words of love, writ in the dark Let me have, back my heart A tender heart, the night was grey. Lord, give me hope, give me strength Let me rise, my face to the sun Heal my wounds, hold my hand Let me see, the sun rise in another’s eyes. Let me free, let me be Let me love, let me heal. Let me have, back my words Words of love, writ in the dark Let me have, back my heart A tender heart, the night was

  Vocals practice for the songs/albums (NEWS Album - Noise, Echoes, Whispers, Stories/Silence) to come. Subscribe, share, like, comment, buy the book, get the Skiza Tune… to support this project. Thanks. https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/ Get my Skiza Tune 'A True Friend'. Send the Skiza Code 'Skiza 5438274' to 811 as a message. Thanks. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bx1woN8ONlU&t=3s We travel light We travel light We travel on the light Our sins, He has shed Precious Lord, our King. We travel light We travel in the light Our sins, He has shed Precious Lord, our King. We travel with the light Temptations cast aside Once – weary souls Free – His sons. We travel unbound Wearers of His robes A crown of thorns For us - He won the throne. We travel light We travel on the light Our sins, He has shed Precious Lord, our King. We travel light We travel in the light Our sins, He has shed Precious Lord, our King. Jerusalema – beautif

  Random Pieces 2 I walk, I think, I dream I want, I need, I miss Love and butterflies Glow, sheen, contentment Talk of the mundane Urgent whispers The caress of the night The breeze of my lover’s eyes The graze of his scented-lemon lips The promise of smiles and sunny skies Of laughter and young ones Of remembrances and reminisces Of sons and those who dote on us Of living in the present Of judgement passed that’s yesterday Of the drumming of morrow’s promises Of higher possibilities. I tell stories Of yore Of the present Of days to come I craft ogres and gods I weave dwarfs and elves Of a people once mighty Of a culture once pervasive The clouds, puffy, white The sun, setting, lends it a hue A trail of dragon fire – the gentle kind The clouds – grey, angry Lightning bolts – bursts A dragon, enraged The inner child imagines Draws the world, marooned, blackened Of another dimension; a multiverse Of what is, of what is not, of what can be A sigh of

 24th Nairobi International Book Fair. Theme: Nurturing Talent through Publishing! All protocols observed, to some remembrances first. Many years back in the dark ages of the floppy disk (TikTok peeps, that would be the ‘Save’ icon on your gadget), as an aspiring author, I got to know of the Nairobi International Book Fair. Then, I had a handwritten manuscript of a Kiswahili play that would make me a billionaire as I jet-setted around the world, shock on poor me! Sarit Centre, a revered Nairobi icon and landmark, after Yaya Centre – then. Of course, Kenya’s symbol being the KICC (Kenyatta International Conference Centre, now Convention – rebranding and all that – nowadays, the fountains are working again). The venue.  All these big publishers whose books I had read as school course and set-books. ‘Go type’, then ‘send’ – which I did. Sent to over twenty publishers – ‘unsolicited manuscript’ – with only one having the decency to revert, with points on improvement, though they couldn’t p