My Poetry Diary

At the patriarchate side I woo; The cemetery in silence and at lone; Where the European ancestors lay in frozen wool; As they mellow darkly in their medieval bone; Long gone lost are their sonorous cord; Whisper of sounds only comes from shattering jaws; From their sockets they stared at an African god; Me’ an erstwhile slave at their door; Only here to have a chat; With the masters we served in temperate blood; My slave master that fettered mother to iron cart; I ruffled their soil now as an African god, Bring now out thy smoking whip of teeth, Those with blades that ate so deep; It drips even to thy bottomless pit, And this will haunt them as they sleep. But to the spirits that once walked with love, To them I will play my poetry song; As they make stories at their gravely doors, Still, their beings bow to an African God; Their internment gowns askew on holy bricks, On their beds, their bones quake at its legendary; With incense and beads, I bid a requ

In my silence a soul traverse; In a cavern at manna la rossa; The gods and deities on its walls converse; I saw Tallinn ancestors and medieval la rossa; An African Manhood on its wall it glares; So dark and thick like the one I bear; O’ black and sumptuous; my companion stares; Adam and Eve stood bare chested in pair; From vana-viru a goddess walks; Her body moves with the seas and the snow, Like the waves of the Jägala waterfall ; A beau with the sun thou wantonly glow; I have seen her before in seasons past; Wildest of shape and beastly heart; Our countenance has never for once a minute last; Thrice I asked for a memory pact; O’ my chronicle of Lady Anca; A beauty I behold from afar; An affection mixed with anger; A rare time traveler I refer ... Thy shadow trails the snowy wild; Like a doe shadows her feeble fawn; Thy footprint rides the tempest tides; For seasons, am thy greatest fan. In this historical apothecary I quaver; From thy mysterious gleami

On the eastern shore I perceive the Baltic wind, Elevated with thy touch, thou made my earthly body skinned; Beneath the snow, thy shoals and reefs beckons,  Thou a pure magic my soul wantonly reckons; Wantonly I traverse thine sea on thy butterfly wings; From Saaremaa to Hiiumaa thy magical wand swings; The herring, sprat, cod and flounder wanders in thy shallow; Pure magic thou art in this snowy hallow; On kalamaja’s coast, the fauna sings; The flora blossoms as the butterfly swings; Pure magic thou art, on the fairy anni’s wand; On thy pure spell, thine beauty with an African god wantonly bond; There I was at the sea only few can see, Surrounded by mists and frosty me; At each shutter, a kindhearted made me beamed, On this pure magic the nature humbly streamed. (“At the sea only few can see” … while Kai Kuusik-Greenbaum; a very kindhearted and heart warming woman; took me around Tallinn in Estonia to visit some amazing places; then she took a photo of me b