Waggle and Jounce by Donal Mahoney

By Mgcini Nyoni -


Out on the lake 
the white caps leap,
old lions shot in mid-air.
Not far from the water
I sit on a knoll 
and open your letter.
You're in Sacramento now
singing for money.
Here in Chicago,
on hot August nights,
I lick in my dreams
at the scoops 
in your shoulders.
I prefer them to ice cream.
In a week I'll fly out 
and salute your nipples.
Long may your buttocks
waggle and jounce.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My Life By Michael Lee Johnson

By -
Image
M y life began with a skeleton  with a smile and bubbling eyes in my garden of dandelions. Everything else fell off the edge, a jigsaw puzzle piece cut in half. When young, I pressed against my mother’s breast, but youthful memories fell short. I tried at 8 to kiss my father,  but he was a welder, fox hunter, coon hunter, and voyeuristic man. My young life was a mixture of black, white, dark dreams, and mellow yellow sun bright hopes. Rewind, sunshine was a stranger in dandelion fields, shadows in my eyes. I grabbed my injured legs leap forward into the future. I’m now a vitamin C boy it keeps me immured from catching colds or Covid-19. Everything now still leaks, in parts, but I press forward.    
read more

Letter From The Other Side By Chris Chakwana

By Mgcini Nyoni -
Image
I am that seed that was denied the chance to grow. That cock early morning did not crow, the fifth wheel terminated without my will. I am the child you aborted that child you denied the warmth of your womb, tenderness of your breast that child you relegated to the tomb. But No! I refuse to rest, because am that child whose loss u didn't grieve. That child u denied the right to live. Am the child you obliterated, mercilessly annihilated, callously incinerated am the soul whose life you separated that child whose death you celebrated. A product of your reckless behaviour Juvenile delinquency, miss know it all. I am that sad soul u destroyed the abortion pill you employed. I am that being you erased, that life that can never be replaced. Dear mother am that child on your conscience. Your secret yes!, but your daily torment. Like a stain, my memory will ever be your daily pain. I am your mental anguish, disposed of me like rubbish you selfish being. I...
read more