Skip to main content

My-Once Molly (a bit silly me),

 


Hello Molly. Hope you are good. I am thinking of Valentine, of Men’s Conference… seems distant now, Christmas holidays. Anyway, this week, I had the flu… plenty medication, lots of sleep (daytime), restless sleep at night… FYI: I read somewhere that most people die at night between 3am-4am (the devil’s hour) when the body is at its weakest… suffice to say, I listened to AFCON through the night, plus some music, past this hour. Anyway, life is never that serious, so, here goes some light stuff:

 

Tomato Sauce

Childhood sunny, play rainy
A tight brother, poverty
Him - uncle to the family
Our meals souped and soggy.

Reserved for Christmas – Chapati
Like the Americans  - their Turkey
Chips, soda, chicken – paradise
Would our bellies then be at peace.

In our dreaming, a turn and a toss
Our imaginations at a loss
We then knew Money the Boss
When we dreamt of tomato sauce.

In my room alone, out of luck
Wife ran away, for I am out of work
Full circle, supper - soup and duck
Tomato sauce, plenty - a belly pluck.

 

A Little Storm I Pray

A little storm I pray, to be sent my way
To clean and freshen, unruly my day
Some sun later, to dance the folk fairy
The afternoon breeze, lows the cow dairy.

A little earthquake, I earnestly inquire
My life shaken a bit, this I require
Sharp again – my arrows, I quiver
Persistent in labour, much I learn from the beaver.


The campaign for the launch of my books, ‘#20BobSanaa’ is still woefully inadequate. The launch budget is Kshs 100,000. So far, Kshs 300 has been raised… I still believe in miracles. To angels out there, we can still make the launch happen end February 2024 via:

Buy Goods Till Number: 9080911, Gatere Mwangi
Send Money: 0708 276 622, Mark Gatere

Plus, my anthology, ‘A Funeral Dress for Nyasuguta’ is available at the Nuria Bookstore and you can get it via this link: https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/

 

That’s all for now My Dearest Molly. Back to rest to fully recover from this bad flu and get back my full voice.

Best regards,
Sant Mark











Comments

Popular posts from this blog

#20BobSanaa

  With a heavy heart, having cried my heart out, I let go. Of these dear books with many a memory. This to support my book launches. Gladden, though, for they are on offer for as low as Kshs 20 – 20bob (exclusive of delivery costs): 1.        Betrayal in The City 320 2.        Paper Doll 320 3.        Royal Scandals 320 4.        Poems from East Africa 320 5.        Mimba Ingali Mimba 220 6.        Half a Day and Other Stories 120 7.        Kitumbua Kimeingia Mchanga 320 8.        Walenisi 420 9.        Horn of My Love 220 10.    Mayai Waziri wa Maradhi 120 11.    Brisinger 520 12.    Cabal 320 13.    The Patriot Game 320 14.    The Resurre...

Age, Dreams, Love, Death

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETIbcEdyVfk The sweet child, golden her smile Death of innocence, led to her being Love was had, made and shaped – furiously Age was come, the world and the home – to enrich. The sweet child, golden her smile Cuddly and warm is she, ‘cept when called to dine She would rather play, not away her dolls – file Tantrums she is, tantrums she does, this sweet child of mine. Age is catching up Dreams are drying up Love withers away Death rides on the highway. Dreams, the essence of all that is A business to start, a sweet one to kiss If killed, sharp is the cobra’s hiss The daring shoot the star, can’t – the moon – miss. The infant wonders, clear eyes wanders Age trickles, drips and drops to the sea There is still no dreaming of what could be Love, Death – each Being flounders. Age is catching up Dreams are drying up Love withers away Death rides on the highway. Love, some claim He and She - The First Words, deeds, faith, tr...

Remembrances

Soft faces in tender places, I remember Shy lips and high hips, cold, the embers Soft skin and what could have been Echoes of stillness, in my labour, I have seen. Dotted noses and eyes brows, I have kissed In the throes of passion, questions missed Loved etched, sketched and drenched Here now I stand, on the world’s edge. It is a warm, fuzzy August night, as some books say. Mice scurry about, fat cats on their tails’ ends. I guess this is still so in one of your many books. Anyway, them books have squeezed me out of your heart and mind. Surely strange, but to love you in one still world is impossible when you live in so many. I am sure, too, that there is a pretty poem that says what’s in my heart about our situation. Adios. Feverish nights, grey nights, my dreams are possessed Yet, come morning, the old hauntings are to be dispensed The day is come, revealing the world as it is – boring I long for dusk, then I can pirate to adventure – roaring. It is a holiday. I am in ...