Poetry

November Leaves: Poems by Chris Msosa

Fallen

Photo: Magnus Rosendahl

NOD TO A FALLING TREE

I ran into a skanking daffodil drunk on something
Screaming and surely saying something
Important to sober up my indisposed mind
A leftover from burning embers a pile of ash

Redeeming itself to rekindle its scalded flowers
From ever getting stuck on this grey
From ever becoming what is left of this grey
And the freedom which gives it good time

Also gives me good rhyme and these eyes and mind
Of mine are no strangers to such a landfill weathering
Or this rude animated dance pulsating before this
Gathering of grey owls

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COLORFUL PETALS (OF GLOW AND OF SHADING SNOW)

Colorful Petals of glow and of shading snow
Know and show where to let go

One step at a time
One step at a time

One person, one breath
At a time
One lesson, one test
At a time
Everything done
At a time
Everything done
In its own time

Even you and I we must find time
For every kiss and exorcised bliss
Done at its own time

Colorful Petals of glow and of shading snow
Know and show where to let go

Of a love done one step at a time
One step at its own time

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US FOR A SHORT TIME

And if we close our eyes
Turn away and stop caring
Just this one time
For just a minute
If we forget them and drop
This bad habit of being
A hungry dog
Expecting an easy bone
If we truly become ourselves
And we turn a blind eye
Will we ever need to be free?

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YOU MEAN YOU HAD TO HECKLE.
THERE WAS NO OTHER WAY TO DO THIS

No one likes a heckler shouting down quiet voices and
hanging onto old grudges. A rude. Ranting
empty thunderstorms. Directed at whom?
My mother always said “do not criticize the dead
They have no chance whatsoever to defend themselves
Especially when none of their good deeds are a memory you own”
You mean you summoned us here to become more than witness
to your impolite enchantment. You mean you did not know that
we would eventually hand you a similar exercise?
You mean this is new to you like you are new to us?
You mean you had to heckle. There was no other way to do this?
You mean you couldn’t just be a nob you had to become virile too?
You mean you have forgotten what contraptions lead you to this sweet chair?
You mean you have become the woman behind this successful man?
You mean you had to heckle. And there was no other way to do this?

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THE CUT

So all we have is;
Viphya,
Ausi,
Sister! Sister!
Reminiscence,
Python! Python! To take home
And the rest of them gather dust
Stored away from our literary hearts
We will not become prisoner
To their occupation
We will not get lost in their
Literary pages
Just admirers always looking
And wondering
What it could have been like
Taking more than just the usual Alfred & Steve home

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Poems (c) Chris Msosa

– Photo: Magnus Rosendahl

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