Tuesday, October 29, 2013

attention bait

"an animal of love. smelling urine. organs of prisms. orgasms. information unloaded through the waters that lie inside. truth-marks of an existence of a previous solution. unheard questions answered. 'i was here'. magnets trapped. defecating living organisms unforced. fluids measuring the moods of every one of my moments. how often its spewed. i study rhythm. instincts caught. silent words. the labor of making a Mother. the keeper of sound. crunching barbs. point taken. recipient of garb. undressing a herd. my work extends beyond tasting what's Hers. food and loving are a sequence. just as naming children. being a man constitutes assembling all of two cents, and make Her one. testis making sound akin hands brought together to clap. frugal taps.  traveling lengths deep inside Her mind to find a heart. a Woman knows the origin, a man transports. if the journey is retrospective, salt. why look back at what a name is, when already that path has been dubbed. door shut. validity of individuals living on concrete unable to also build dug huts. a name; the enclosed hatch. a Mother's idea of multiplications solving a sum. so i acknowledge mine, and move forward to write. some sum slums scum, mine mines minds. love. loving. deep strokes of my identity coming. smelling urine. offering all of my senses to Her worth. i, mitishamba, do solemnly swear. on solomon's wear, i will dress in the presence of Her mental virgins unafraid of his indecision on a mare. my Woman eternally aware of what a caged bird bears. a kingdom of love released through a canal cultivated with care. mitishamba, in Woman i trust and as proof, Her roots still walk bare."


"clothed in green"

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

black, anew

"i'm not black. i'm a man of the soil. identity intact. ribs caging a heart free of toil. last name comes first. Mother, i know you are following. watching every tread on these words. footsteps threading the needles of grass. on; Your mark. death sets off as the presence of a living tree's path. so as You read this, know that these scribbles of mitishamba have always been for You to clear and grub. as a farmer of storied dirt, i plow nouns. so Your harvest will for ever be spoken in verb. the fullness of Your land speaks loud. timely actions make Your speed sound. light on Your feet, You bear a bounce. first name heart. You saw me in your strides and identified Your sturdiest in print, thumb. the last to attend to grabbing because balance is its thirst. listening hand. the axis of centering thought similar to what an ear does. hearing cut, so my being is filled with ideas stuck. frozen time akin money utilized to mirror articles of seance psalms. my Mother at work, facing kilns with a confident strut. protecting me, the one and only Ishmael,with Miti in my Shamba so as the blind only see the gorilla and not farm."

mitishamba ~ the conscious canal
"birthed green"

Thursday, October 17, 2013

family economics

"the present societal nucleus being a dollar, those that do not abide are force-fed one-a-day. an overdose of synthetic vitamins ensues. a solution intended to saturate creativity and in turn diffuse any progress that keeps generations in tune. social rhythms placed on bars where every note must have its identity struck with prints as marks of what an individual must infuse. put their soul in a queue. in line to forcefully accept nature's art as cotton kilned rather than letting one digest its hue. its the fear of green as the occupier of a dominant pew. the real farmer seated in a shade with animals as cues. a complete family that can live off its stool. dung huts full of wisdom on prudence. frugal. feudal. or the open hearts of closed minds. aware of the limitation hyenas at a fork on a road find. porcupines?! not quite. a thorny border of roses letting concrete unwind. its the heavy load that cements greed as spine. finally held back by protective flowery plants that poke fun at how rocks bind. broken cisterns with poor numerical retention in a house built of walls, but missing thatch. the shade that keeps count of what nature wants. opaqueness from the nucleus and nothing as porous as sand. a cell lacking an organic nucleus remains parched. predicaments of pillars built with a disconnect from dirt. all the while, this prudent soul writes. self preserved in art as complicated as a dollar yet openly taking swipes. these are backhand compliments towards those that regurgitate where their words have already been wiped. they are weeds, removed from the blueprints of a meticulous farmer migrating earth's scribes. missions openly aired, none scary. missionary pairs turned pulmonary. only allowing Her garden to exhale impurities through the fastest exhaust system while digestion remains mandatory. constantly absorbing light. as poised as a tree's hide. it accepts the challenge of the sun to keep its secrets as it reaches out. a plant traveling with its treasure intact. family matters of what it means to have each member with self reliant tact."

"from the green tribe"

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

a grave

"no choice, thought, emotion, or action can prevent one from a grave. tranquil state. scepter, an anvil spate. its where every seed planted prequels shrine. markings of the work of a woman's advice. an accumulation of memory in one piece. i consider it where the waters in Her plants meet the presence of gravity in peace."

mitishamba ~ what precedes thought?!
"breathe, a green idea"

Friday, October 11, 2013

a mitishamba tongue

"a language employed to hire those dispersed and robbed of tongues as though their Mother's speaks in voids. to myself, She is the tree of thought, the fruits of words spoken echoing inside every painful groin. an abyss of many a men, this production line of everything diverse oddly cultivates inversely with one loin. as though its the white man's soil. but really, all the trees in the farm are of Her children's toils. the levers of playground exploits. beams from truncated trunks kilned inside the pivot of a see saw; a pyramid She deploys. using the friction of water to streamline sound as eager loggers seek out the planter of what enslavement truly means to boys. curious is to their george. a child king?! a mere translation of what a nomad can't seed. one name for fowls. studious herders without a flock, taking bows. faint paintings of people who refuse to openly accept the conquered conscious of weak grounds. forced to mirror everything outdoor yet fear the night so force it light as though it fears a dawn. one drops. they pose fear as a place where darkness must appear in order for the sequence of repetitive ambiguity to gain form. i write. molding the hole where the roots take the lead in venturing into earth, as leaves fold. yes. dirt still mocks the weak imitation of a hard working plant. its ceiling reflected from the foundation up. moving as far as the tip of its branch. water collected to reach highest heights. further than a cloud doubting its weight on nine so number ten bites. a tree letting air digest how powerful one can be, once given three parts to divide. let that snow melt. mitishamba is a language of belts. my green cultivation is done on Her water's bed. liquid congregating to reach the furthest distance on one leg. thought defined as emotions pegged. a turtle without a shell. bravery encased. the base of my protective sword curved out of Her tongue."

mitishamba ~ mdomo mmoja ni mtofaa, tatu, ulimi wa duara.
"air rests on green"