It’s only earthens that heap into a pile of limbs and flesh
Hoping to find themselves in the graves under the skin of the other
dug by preceding seekers,
And it’s what you think I’m.
But what we are is
An amalgam of hope,faith and viscous beings in the bottomless of time
Tumbling through quantum foam,
Strife,brokenness and shame playing in the miniscule spectrum of eternity
Aided by kaleidoscope of earnest feelings and egos.

Do you realise how I sometimes sound
Like a broken accordion striving to gather love octaves from the air,
Trying to close the gulf between us with a web of heartstrings?
We might be drifting tectonics
and no engineering might save us for ourselves
It’s how we g(a)ive ourselves to others
That make us lose or find ourselves.
And we aren’t us in islandal names
But we are me and you
Soon,when the tides rise,you and me will be lost;submerged!

Listen once again how I sound like a broken accordion
Trying to justify our being

                © Kiambi

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A PHILOSOPHICAL APPROACH ON POETRY.

Poets want to be regarded as special, but that can not be collective, there are only a bunch of poets who are.

There is an intimate relationship existing between life, objects and thoughts.  (felt and seen at sacred level). Some creatives mostly by vice of omission overlook that and completely objectify  their subject.At this point inspiration is hijacked and ceases to be a natural process and the virtue of speciality is lost. Depth  becomes an illusionary reflection of ego and capacity of hype and praises by clique.

Every creative operates from three basic centres:

         – Instinctive centre
         – Emotional centre
         – Intellectual centre

Intellectual centre is the source of thought and primarily instigates philosophy,most effective especially when coupled with experience. These centres make everyone capable of making creative art. But at this level of creative approach, skepticism, cynicism and pragmatism are dominant because it’s the ordinary altitude of an individual of viewing and interpreting a subject. Restraint, caution, persistence and observation are the mechanics as is in the case of prose and academic writers.Well,that’s an ordinal approach particularly on substantial and raw art, but it’s where the crowd is.

Substantial poetry is sourced at an higher level. At this level, intense and refined centres;

            – Higher emotional centre and
            – Higher intellectual centre

are engines for higher perception. Idealism, spirituality and objectivity becomes the basic altitude aspects at this level and passion, power and dynamism which may comprise sophisticated simplicity is exhibited in the writing. Creativity ceases to be linear and orderly to nonlinear, intuitive, chaotic, raging or/and abstract and the same time maintaining a natural fluidity.

Think of it as an assimilation point, a point of oneness, a point of abundance and depth. At this point, the poet coalesces all knowledge and experience and dispenses it without fanaticism, prejudices, vanity, arrogance, aversions or malice to the highest exploitation of the subject. But what happens mostly is subjective poetry, poetry from lower level of perception,worst of all Riddim poetry (a public guillotine execution should be arranged for such poets) , urban spoken word poetry and other other junk thoughts and verbiage christened poetry!

Most poets can do better, but the desire for them wanting to be accommodated or superficially identifed with the current society as a way of making their ‘madness’  conventional ruins the prospect. Real Poetry is sacred and that should be it’s only source!The art to draw wisdom, the art of insight and not only the art of words is what makes one a poet and special .

               © Kiambi Mutembei 2015

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FALL

Fall
Fall soundless
Like a angels feather.
Fall,
Fall brilliantly
Like a dazzling star
To the bottomless of the universe.
Fall,
Fall softly
Like drizzles
On a blade of grass.
Fall,
Fall randomly like fall leaves
And feel the cradle.
Fall,
Fall hard in love
It’s the only place
Pieces of your broken heart
Can be gathered.

        © Kiambi 2015

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Hymns of the Night

Who cares whether I rape the night
Who cares whether I seduce the dark
When everyone else has left her?
All they care is the child I will sire with her.
But I grope through the darkness
Hoping to find a tunnel of light
Through the dark orifices of the night
Because I’m the right child.

              © Kiambi 2015

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POETRY

Poetry;collection of paddles of tears and scum in potholes on mind
Poetry;creaking of doors and windows of soul
Poetry;minutes of refuting demons
Poetry ;convocation of angels in dilapidated hearts
Poetry;the tangle of worms in heads
Poetry ;murmur of stream of life.
Poetry;the knot in your soul, threatening to choke you
Poetry;the order in chaos under witness
Poetry ;the laws of nature on second dimension tongue
Poetry; tips of  jelly fingers on nape of your soul
Poetry ; Truth,statement of the last confession
Poetry ;the tomb of time.

            © Kiambi 2015

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WHISPERS OF ANGELS

Eclipse of clouds;
The din of demons deafen in dark days,
But I hear
Whispers of Angels
On tag tide of the moon.

I hang on cross of knowledge.
Offering broth of brains
And my heart on platter.
Take a fork and knife and mince it
While watching
The writing  in your heart
Inscripted by a finger dipped in blood
And breaking news of your broken dreams
In your head.

No one ever contends with self loyalty
If they’ve drunk sorrow from streams of their dreams
Knowing how it tastes like aged wine from ethereal cellars.
I’m inebriated to hear whispers of angels
To walk the odyssey and offer my heart on platter
For me,for the broken, for the forsaken and the trodden.
Whispers of angels kiss my ears
On the cross of knowledge.

          © Kiambi 2015

LETTER IN BLOOD

I will write you a letter in my blood
And when I die
Make a paper rose of it
And come weeping
Saying;
I showed you genitals of my soul
But you didn’t show me
The face of love.
Then quote misery,
The book of the blind
And write a new poem
In the book of the broken hearts.
I shall be negotiating with God
For our reincarnation.

              © Kiambi 2015

RAMPAGE OF DEMONS

Chaos upstairs,
Demons are rampaging.
Blood must spill
As a qualm,
As a sacrifice for Renaissance.

Angel in my heart says,
Strangle a bottle of red wine
And garrote the cork
Pour libations in your guts
And sync the psych.
Summon poetic scrolls
And call chaos to order
When the bottle bottom
Hits the table like a gavel.

Let locks fall
Aren’t you the male Medusa
For apparitions!?
Gods create order.

            © Kiambi Mutembei 2015
Chaos upstairs,
Demons are rampaging.
Blood must spill
As a qualm,
As a sacrifice for Renaissance.

Angel in my heart says,
Strangle a bottle of red wine
And garrote the cork
Pour libations in your guts
And sync the psych.
Summon poetic scrolls
And call chaos to order
When the bottle bottom
Hits the table like a gavel.

Let locks fall
Aren’t you the male Medusa
For apparitions!?
Gods create order.

            © Kiambi Mutembei 2015

         I

I set kindles
On the door step of your heart.
I know you are broken and cracked,
Like me, like all bricks under the sun.

Let the stars spark
That we may burn at the stake of our bones.
Don’t you feel a place waiting for us?
Don’t you hear the sorority of cherubs
Humming the ascension hymn
And God breathing a sigh
That we met in the Prairie of love
On fire trail?

I want to quote our soul
Before I immolate my ego
That you know we met before dawn of time.
I’m the piece you lost when the stars dispersed.
You are the temple that I find myself.

II

You are the temple I find myself :
Like valuable object
Forgotten at the bottom of a well,
Like a scroll
Scribbled ancient song of souls.
Like an artisan priest
With pallets of color painting desired prayer
Pleading for redemption.
Like a sinner
Seeking mercy
Like a saint
Possessed, obsessed,
Fulfilled.

You are the temple that I worship us.

          © Kiambi 2015