Spirit Of Age

I want to be faithful
But I must first learn fidelity
I want to be obedient
And I must practice obedience
I want to be peace-loving
But also courageous
And I must therefore be peace-loving
And at the same time courageous
I do not want to grow soft
I want to be hard so that I am able to withstand the hardships of life
And for this I have to harden myself in my youth
I must learn to be hard, to stand privations without breaking down
I want to love honor
I have already in the days of my youth
Live up to this concept of honor
So you my friends should live to it.

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My Night Rose (drugs and the angel)

This part of town that l lay my bones to rest in is of no greater good, girls hanging around in skimpy dresses can be seen in every night corner, I have come for an adventure but its a pitiful site, do their parents know where they are? Am attempted to ask this question as I tip-toe slowly from one night corner to another.

“Hiss hiss!
Kasitoma wama jangu (a polite way of calling a customer)
Muzei Jangu”(Old man come)

I peep into her heavenly saucepan stained with the sent of death, for the banana that I carry along is a lot row and ready to be used as a staffing rod “In-zei(Me)?” I answer not aware of the consequence to which she replied yee!(yes)
I reach for her bargain, she pulling her skimpy dress even more, “oyagala chii?(what do you want)” She question me.

“Muherbatiii…
Shorti…
Oba longu…?”

She continues with the interrogation.
Her hands reaching for my banana and another a blunder already terrorizing my back patch
Kasitoma?
she questions me to which I replied “Muhabati” and in no time she pulls sticks of marijuana. “Kasa na budo muzei.” She answers more skimpy dresses approaches
Calling me kasitoma, Kasitoma…

I reach for my shoes pull a coin and there we go
Now I ask for a shorti
“Genda mu lodgi masikini”
Another reply
Pointing towards a lodge
I see no exit and venture into a lodge
Well I book a room
Its a hassol
Used condoms welcomes me
Vampires blood angry bedbugs and mosquitoes welcomes me and the night girl who sold to me marijuana walks in freely with a glass pipe
“Kasitoma?” She calls
Ngu? I respond, now speaking in British English accent undresses before me
“My name is meg, what brings you to this part of town?
To which I answer drugs.
Come on lover boi, you are at the right place here I have three types
Which way is home, where is my manhood gone and high way.
Which of the three are you interested in?”
She continues
Mind rep rooflin I reply
“Ooh I will get you that immediately, its call date rape here, you will have a wonderful time in my part of town.

Well am a poet
A creative writer who also has a sweet test for women with large breast, brown skin and sometime I cannot stand the sight of black skinned girls with naturally untreated hair, those coal like skin makes my blood pressure rise, my head stops working and all that I can visualize is a bucket of KFC served with heavenly delights, well that’s me.

In no time Meg pops back with a brass like tea pot, a small tray, a stove and water, “these will be five dollars are you still interested?” She questions me to which I replied yes with an attitude, I immediately reach for my tour pocket pull five dollars and before long I was already having the time of my life smoking mind rape or what ever the name was.

Meg on the other hand was totally nood, her white teeth dazzled in the night, her breast stunted and as she puffed from the tubes the smoke made her even looked more like an angel and there was no way I was gonna let go of this heavenly beauty, should I just ask for it, nail her on the coach or let her go? Lots of thoughs peer into…

And as though kept a stady floor she knew my intention, buckets of thought came into my mind and just then she moved even closer and as she reached for my manhood which was no more than a dot or should I say a pimple swollen on my bosom, her lifeless hands gave me no comfort and just then I remembered the name of the drug was date Rape.

As the saying goes it’s said tha with date rape tobbacco everything will look ok but you are a total failure and yes its true every thing looked pritty cool but I was a total failure. Even my manhood failed me, that is why I know drugs are not to be messed with, lackey I can read. and write the exact warning says ” cigarette smoking can be harmful to your health, mind rape cured tobacco reduces sexual libido” well that’s what was on the army green packet.

Notes

Kasitoma – customer
Muhabati – Marijuana
Shorti – xxx for a short duration
Longu – Explicit of a long duration
Genda – Go
Lodgi – Lodge
Kasa – a thousand
Budo – five hundred

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Carry On

Chorus

Carry on
Carry on
Carry on my brother
Life is a journey
Carry on
Carry on
Carry on carry on ho sister
A big storm is waiting

Carry on
Never loose hope
Carry on n just hack the pain away

Refrain

Livelihood wretched hanger is striving
Rainfall late would you blame it on faith
Onsets n drought is no easy way to go
Jobless and starving is a clear road to fate

Don’t tell me more…

A big storm is waiting

Hack the pain away

And just hack the pain away

Don’t tell me more

Unusual weather pattern is locking us up
The door of salvation is locking it on us
Success knocks knocks
No easy response
Don’t you count on
Empty dreams

Just carry on

Chorus

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Confession of A Heroin Addict

Hooked to the look of wild being I am
I live in the land of the un forgiven
My Habits turn good ones bad
Poison a rituals
Have got to have it
I have it, a habit
Welcome your traces
Of an addict
God forgive me
For the bad deeds
That I have done

Drug addict I am
Steel iron tubes pricks my veins
Worm poisons spills my blood
Quivering is my body without it
I got to have it
To kill the pain
Blurry is my vision
Eye lead heavy
I feel it

I see sound floating in the air
How wonderful heroin is
Today I plant a rose on my grave yard
Let me curve a stone for a coffin
I dig a hole under the sun
Hidden is my cynical ritual
Have got to have it now
For the watery pellets heats like bullets
Automated pressure kills me quick
God forgive the son of man
For I am mortal and helpless
Under the sun

I give some act-rite juices
To feel it high
Is my bad
Now everything is all right
The eye of the needle cries out to the darker side
Am looking inside through the outdoor knocking
But my society won’t let me in
So I grab my stocking
Put over my head and get the dough
These needles are my gods
Smack is my soul
My domain brings conclusion
That I’m using but the question is, am I abusing
Infested in the residence of union
Drug intrusion, color fusion
Invasion! of your senses maintain relapse
Dilate eye lenses
My dependence on these chemical artificial dreams
Is what makes my habit obscene
God forgive my sins for I am no man without your protections

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How to become a better writer

How to become a better writer is a must read for every passionate writer out there burning to excellent in his or her art.

1. Read great writers. This may sound obvious, but it has to be said. This is the place to start. If you don’t read great writing, you won’t know how to do it. Everyone starts by learning from the masters, by emulating them, and then through them, you find your own voice. Read a lot. As much as possible. Pay close attention to style and mechanics in addition to content.

2. Write a lot. Try to write every day, or multiple times a day if possible. The more you write, the better you’ll get. Writing is a skill, and like any other skill, you have to practice it to get better. Write stuff for yourself, write for a blog, write for other publications. Write just to write, and have a blast doing it. It gets easier after awhile if you practice a lot.

3. Write down ideas, all the time. Keep a little notebook handy (Nabokov carried around index cards) and write down ideas for stories or articles or novels or characters. Write down snippets of conversation that you hear. Write down plot twists and visual details and fragments of song lyrics or poems that move you. Having these ideas written down helps, because they can inspire you or actually go directly into your writing. I like to keep a list of post ideas for my blog, and I continually add to it.

4. Create a writing ritual. Find a certain time of day when you can write without interruptions, and make it a routine. For me, mornings work best, but others might find lunch or evenings or midnight hours the best. Whatever works for you, make it a must-do thing every single day. Write for at least 30 minutes, but an hour is even better. If you’re a full-time writer, you’ll need to write for several hours a day, as I do. But don’t worry! It helps you get better.

5. Just write. If you’ve got blank paper or a blank screen staring at you, it can be intimidating. You might be tempted to go check your email or get a snack. Well, don’t even think about it, mister. Just start writing. Start typing away — it doesn’t matter what you write — and get the fingers moving. Once you get going, you get in the flow of things, and it gets easier. I like to start out by typing things like my name or a headline or something easy like that, and then the juices start flowing and stuff just pours out of me. But the key is to just get going.

6. Eliminate distractions. Writing does not work well with multi-tasking or background noise. It’s best done in quiet, or with some mellow music playing. Do your writing with a minimal writer like WriteRoom or DarkRoom or Writer, and do it in full-screen. Turn off email or IM notifications, turn off the phone and your cell phone, turn off the TV, and clear off your desk … you can stuff everything in a drawer for now until you have time to sort everything out later … but don’t get into sorting mode now, because it’s writing time! Clear away distractions so you can work without interruption.

7. Plan, then write. This may sound contradictory to the above “just write” tip, but it’s not really. I find it useful to do my planning or pre-writing thinking before I sit down to write. I’ll think about it during my daily run, or walk around for a bit to brainstorm, then write things down and do an outline if necessary. Then, when I’m ready, I can sit down and just crank out the text. The thinking’s already been done. For a great method for planning out a novel, see the Snowflake Method.

8. Experiment. Just because you want to emulate the great writers doesn’t mean you have to be exactly like them. Try out new things. Steal bits from other people. Experiment with your style, your voice, your mechanics, your themes. Try out new words. Invent new words. Experimentalize everything. And see what works, and toss out what doesn’t.

9. Revise. If you really crank out the text, and experiment, and just let things flow, you’ll need to go back over it. Yes, that means you. Many writers hate revising, because it seems like so much work when they’ve already done the writing. But if you want to be a good writer, you need to learn to revise. Because revision is where good writing really is. It separates the mediocre from the great. Go back over everything, looking not only for grammar and spelling mistakes, but for unnecessary words and awkward structures and confusing sentences. Aim for clarity, for strength, for freshness.

10. Be concise. This is best done during the revision process, but you need to edit every sentence and paragraph and remove everything but the essential. A short sentence is preferred over a longer one, and a clear word is preferred over two in jargonese. Compact is powerful.

11. Use powerful sentences. Aim for shorter sentences with strong verbs. Of course, not every sentence should be the same — you need variation — but try to create sentences with oomph. You might find this easier to do in the revision stage, as it might not be something you’re thinking about when you’re pumping out that first draft.

12. Get feedback. You can’t get better in a vacuum. Get someone to read over your stuff — preferably a good writer or editor. Someone who reads a lot, and can give you honest and intelligent feedback. And then listen. Really try to understand the criticism and accept it and use it to improve. Instead of being hurt, thank your editor for helping you get better.

13. Put yourself out there. At some point, you’ll need to let others read your writing. Not just the person who you’re allowing to read it, but the general public. You’ll need to publish your book or short story or poem, or write for a publication. If you’re already doing a blog, that’s good, but if no one reads it, then you need to find a bigger blog and try to submit a guest post. Putting your writing out in the public can be nerve-wracking, but it is a crucial (if painful) part of every writer’s growth. Just do it.

14. Learn to be conversational. Many people write too stiffly. I find that it’s so much better to write like you talk (without all the umms and uhhs). People relate to it better. It’s not an easy task at first, but it’s something to strive for. And that brings up another point — it’s better to break the rules of grammar in order to sound conversational (as I did in the last sentence) than to sound stilted just so you can follow the proper rules. But don’t break the rules of grammar without good reason — know that you’re doing it, and why.

15. Start and end strong. The most important parts of your writing are the beginning and end. Especially the beginning. If you don’t hook your reader in the beginning, they won’t read the rest of your writing. So when you’ve written your first draft, spend some extra time crafting a good beginning. Get them interested and wanting to know more. And when you’re done with that, write a good ending … that will leave them wanting more of your writing.

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streetwise

I beg O…
In the name of this almighty!
Is the underlying disguise
I see all day O…
In the city or town streets
I walk ho…

See them crippled our society
submit to lazy individuals
Allow them take along,
Every sweat earned
You being run over

The song of a hawker-city council attendants stampede,
The noise from the law enforcers step our thread bare buttocks
And the cold gun barrel rest on our naked necks
While we are nothing more than sits
To the low high officers of the peoples

A meal a day
We stay focused of being rained on dirty politics
Have you heard?
Sweet melodies from a blind street bagger
Leaves us all opened mouthed
The disabled is always our hero
Making us feel safe on the naked streets

I wish you knew my fate
I don’t but the street herbalist does
He is a god on the street
For a near Wesley brown or silvery coins
His tongue sees my future

Am more alert at the law enforcers
The low high officers of the law.
Whose rubber boots massages our buttocks
His gun barrel threaten our souls
And we kindly curry him on our backs

Of the street acrobats
Have you seen how beautiful they are
How aggressive they live
How patient they can be
They are the accommodating souls
Help them or not!

They won’t mark your face
Let you pass without calling u ‘sister’ or ‘brother’
A day later with the same plight.
They simply need a savior
A savior to lead them to classroom doors,
Studios and Art galleries
Or fashion shows
They need someone to hold their hand to the right direction

Hear them play in an appropriate stage
Play the drum sets with the right band
Dance for the right artist
They need a library to borrow books from
Not a bowl with two desperately tired coins waiting for a good Samaritan to pass by!

A beggar, yes a beggar on the street
You need stop playing foul
Someone needs not pity in the name of able physiques.
What a lazy lad you are!
Pessimistic opportunist!
We need laws to punish such,
Not for being lazy
But for the injustice they do…
Harmlessly needy souls of the community
disabled members of our states.

They don’t need beggars to lead them to the streets
When they don’t want to be there in the first place.
When all they need is for the beggar to leave them alone!
To walk in the streets of towns and cities
As they head to their places of work!

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History in Bin

How wonderful, the great grand son of Koba- Omac(PAKUBA) now lives on cheap beer for lunch and supper.

Those it make any sense that the he who once ate the top of the Palm tree now sleeps by the roadside?
Where is our Mukele li bomba?
Have we no sense respecting our once fallen heroes

Where is the church Missionary society
The white Fathers
The Mill Hill Missionaries
Where is the Verona Fathers?
Those who thought you ha, he, he, ho, hu
Where are they

Before my birth
History has it that
Saulo Musoke
Polycarp Nyamuchoncho
And Joel Hunter Wacha-Olwol
Ruled my state jointly

Hoo! What a fallen hero
We don’t remember them no more

Joel Hunter Wacha-Olwol
Was once a president of the republic of. Uganda
How comes history has forgotten him
How comes history has forgotten Saulo Musoke
Where is the name of POLYCARP Nyamuchoncho
Did they not sow good gavanence?

My heart beats of a failed nation
Where capitalism is a God
Men who once ruled with brain power
Now dwell in a hip of garbage bin
Worshiping money and wondering how fur
HOW FUR…

I too the great grand son
Of the great Omara Atala
Wipes in admirations
Of the fallen hero
For they volunteered to write a nation
But the evils ones loves no good of their glories
The catholic fathers founded civilizations from the primitives
But the capitalist founded greed and avarice of the wise ones.

Bucket O Bones

Dear friends o earth,
Am no pagan
Neither am I faithful enough
To live a bucket of meat unattended to?

A bucket of vegetable
Makes no sense to me
Religion is corruption
Just like tax men

A bucket of bones is all that’s left
I wish I knew what they were celebrating
I wish I was dogmatic enough to understand SANTA
For Christ’s coming meant mass madder to chicken

I a rasta ferian fight for love of all that breath
My rasta fidelity of three leaves, fight for freedom
And a plate of veggies
Leaves me in a state of quagmire…

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Cry Blood

Today we fight for freedom
Tomorrow we suffer from our own ignorance
When the free will is no more
And brothers eats up each other life
(For a political cause)

Let the sent of burnt blood
pinch their nostrils while the world turns a blind eye
Upon the foreseen beauty
Of the dying…
(For a sin they pay in regret)

Audible to their ears
Is nothing more than fate
Echoes of death screams of a failed figure head
As fetal brutality lights their future
(We hear in regret)

Let’s not take laws in our hands
In retaliation
They have dictated upon our fate
And we dance to their tunes…
(Day… by night…)

Of the socialist attributes
We strive regardless
But lies and propaganda is sweeter than honey
And they know it
(For we sing free will to humanity)

Poverty is strife like a bees stink
Nobility is unjust and dangerous
Propaganda is sweet to the capitalist
And success strives on lies
(While everything else withers with lies.)