this afternoon...

the air is pregnant with rain-
that expression seems a whole world to encompass
this moment;-
skies overcast, heavy, grey cloud
the air stirring- rich, green, turgid leaves
rubbing and whistling, dancing in the cool dark, damp air
the dry season is a distant figment of my fertile mind
all around me’s water, fresh
and the promise of water, and more
to, come, from overfilled heavens
life’s sighing and singing in happiness.


©gayuganda 11 October 2009

SunSet

Sunset

the dusky, orangey, sun splashed feel of evening,

a rowdy, bustling, bursting Kampala downtown

when the cars are many and thick,

streets traffic jammed, the cars

sandwiched, packed between the

jostling, joisting, pushing pulling crowds.

Sweet confusion sour.

tired faces, a long day’s work worn

a longer, stress filled packed journey expectant

homewards, outwards, out of town

to the leafy, dusty, peopled suburbs that we call home.

©GayUganda 10 August 2009

I know what your heart is

Before, my mind was a storm
tumultuous, of tortured emotions
they tore through me, swinging, no campus-
they choked me up, swung me from tears
wild laughter, swinging colours, and back.

Then we talked-

It was cool, high on a terrace
soft darkness of night, cut by the noise of
electric lights and cars, occasional train
We sat alone, together and probed
the depth of my wounds, pain.

It was painful, frank; the anesthetic alcohol,
It was opening, free; I saw deep into you,
you probed into me, we
communicated.

Now life, though tumultuous, is settled
a calm, not terrible, but steady-
the strength of a rock, solid, certain
for I know what your heart is, and you know mine.



©GayUganda 23 Jul 09

Tell me Again

You don’t hate me?

Ok, tell me, again

for I am slow, to understand

weak of mind, quicker to flame,

and anger-

tell me again

Why I prison deserve;

for loving him, the man I love.

[He is beautiful, he loves me,

holds me in his arms,

and makes love to me;

he holds me at night,

chases the terrors away,

kisses, touches, holds, loves

and he’s all for me]

tell me again-

Why you spit at me?

Ok, you’s a big man,

known, honoured,

you have all, that I lack-

a woman to love,

children, money, social standing

I see you on TV, radio

hear your voice, your laugh

in my head, nightmares

as you threaten prison,

tell me again, how much you love me?

Tell me of your love, please-

you know so little, and much;

and say too much-

you deny me family;

clan, tribe, country-

tell me again, how much you love me?

I am bad, corrupt, evil, a devil

to taint and steal children-

corrupt and tempt youths;

to preach about on Sunday,

and cast away, out of church-

tell me again, how much you love me?

I do not deserve,

a place at your god’s table-

he is your god, I am a sinner;

and you his priest, to preach his love

Strange love that you preach;

love stilled in hate,

loud in spit, low in touch,

tell me again how I love to hate,

and you love to love

tell me again… please?

©GayUganda 16 July 2009

Out of your Sight

Out of your sight
I fret and fritter
unsure, discomfited;
uncomfortable-

Do you love me?

Maybe you do, am I sure?

Uncertainty, sure companion to all lovers
stalks and follows me.

With you, the waters calm,
turbulence of spirit irons out;
all fear is removed.
The sight of you, your eyes, your gaze
the touch of you-
all that’s the miracle that
pulls me with love to you.

©gug 02 July 09

Anti-Gay

They make me feel

filthy- anti gay people.

 

I love-

I know I love;

and my love they

malign and corrupt

despise and shame-

just because I love.

 

They make me feel

worthless

and I have to

reach deep to my

depths to cling

to sanity

midst the gale

their hate.

 

©GayUganda 20 Mar. 09

Words, Poetry

Reading through poetry I realize the vast greatness of our world.

My mind, like others is obsessed by a few things. My sexuality. Attempts, as I see them, for others to control what I am. But that is a very narrow world. It cuts short my sight, blackens and tightens all perception. It makes me feel constrained and held in. A prisoner of my own wrath.

But, there is so much more to my world, than the passion of my commitments. So much more than the validity of my beliefs, the blessings of my faith.

I am no big writer. Nor am I supremely gifted, as I would love to be. I love reading- trash it was at first. But now, I read poetry.

My mind is a kernel of thought that is tempted to expand. My heart swells with pride, and joy and the beauty of words. In poetry, a journey I take- of beauty, of love, of hurt. Of pain and gain, weird old meanings, and brassy shiny new meanings. With poetry, the dross in the world drops off, and, even when I pain, my mind is free. Even when I am bathed in mud, my mind soars.

I love reading. And I read a lot.

I have discovered, with a kind of amazement, that reading is like going on wondrous journeys, through landscapes of beauty.

There are soaring mountains. Few and far apart. There are humongous pits, and valleys, and bogs. Treacherous vistas. Beauty in a word, or words. Poor old ugliness, and that which would be ugly, but is so beautiful it must be sin. Words soar, and swoop, and glide; words are the medium of expression of small tender emotions, and soaring cruel reality. But they are. They in truth are.
For some, they are held in contempt. For some, in awe. For many, they are held scripture, to be revered, and crammed. For me, the living shard of soul of the poet lives even when my mind glides amongst them, touching the verse, commas, periods, like reeds in a swamp as I run through it. They whip back into my face, or slide away, swaying in the wind. They have a life all their own, that can never be denied.

Sometimes, they shrine ideas, and ideals. Sometimes, they are simple holy nonsense. All times they stand like water to my soul’s thirst, food for the hunger in my heart.

Sometimes, I forget all about them, only to turn back, to pick that which I had dropped.

Doesn’t matter, that I may drop off in the middle, or the end seek to touch. I come back.
Words indeed. They are the nectar of the gods. Poetry.



GayUganda

Untitled

Closeted-
I am careful
walls to erect between
that which I think;


fragile, artificial
barriers,
disguising my left
from my right hand;
to shock not with
revulsion
my imagined from
my real world.


©gayuganda 09 Apr. 09

An Afternoon

Been blogging sad things. But, even the deep, heavy rainclouds sometimes lift, even if it is momentarily...

I would like to share a poem about this lovely land of mine.

 

sprinkling of

hot, golden bright sunshine on

the deep, emerald jewel

green of leaves;

 

It covers all,

does the sun-

even the buildings

rust red and browns;

the crumbling slum

rooftops that like

mud of an overflowing

river touch valley bottoms.

 

The roads,

deeply holed asphalt

arteries peopled by an

abundance of men and

women, children, an overflow

like real blood cells do,

 

In the richer

suburbs trees tall and green

leaf the air-

mature compounds mimic

the solid, long gone green

cover of natural rainforest

and huge houses peep

jewels of colour in

green cloth of nature.

 

Kampala the

beautiful, indeed.

 

 

 

(c) gayuganda 02 April 09

Punch Drunk

Scared

 

You know we are

scared when

the usual watering holes

we avoid like

the plague-

like they are slicked with

repellant oil.

 

the week has not

been kind;

adverse headlines

ridiculous accusations

outed

banged, blamed, hit

without reply.

 

We are punch drunk.

 

©gayuganda 28 Mar. 09

Prison Freedom

I am free;

an outcast

from my world.

 

I live a world of freedom

hidden beneath a surface

of thorns, hate

hostility.

 

I swim. Free

but for the cage

of thought,

defining my freedom

and the hostile

active passive hate

of my mates.

 

Incredible-

 

These prison wall will

fracture, Inshallah;

 

meantime I will swim

free in a freedom

of unhindered thought.

 

©GayUganda 23 Mar. 09

Gay Agenda

there’s no

‘Homosexual Agenda’-

to that I’ll swear:

figment of the mind

Conspiracy theory

beloved by our haters

justifying their hate.

 

there is a

Gay Agenda-

that I swear

and I’m sworn to;

 

[if not there,

I will make it

milking desert sands

for life giving,

flowing waters.]

 

this is my

Gay Agenda:

respect for me as human

even when you hate;

Hands off my happiness

No lies told to hurt,

love to my love

No prison

No hate

No crime-

 

that is my agenda

the Gay Agenda

that I swear to.

 

© GayUganda 12 Mar. 09

Beauty

Beauty is

what makes my heart

skip a beat-

pause

in awe.

 

Reading

words of beauty

my mind feels like

an inexpert surgeon

trying,

testing,

teasing

the substance of thought

words with my mind;

sifting essence

for the pearls of

stupendous price.

 

©GayUganda 02 Mar. 09

Uganda

Once
I looked at my land
harsh, with
no softness hidden
but a red
dust patina

covering everything,

Now I see
the glorious sunshine
the green
of trees and grass
smiling people

lovely men
beauty, children
a golden wealth
of life pulsatile-

Why were
my eyes blind
ears deaf, mouth
dumb to all this
flow of life?

true.
I’m in love.

©GayUganda 26 February 2009

He is

He is

a fast talker-

 

where I

with silence

an armor I

clothe myself;

 

he litters the air

with flak,

decoys,

noise-

 

and lo, behold

he’s past my defenses

deep,

down into

my fastnesses,

holding his own-

 

I cannot not

be in love

with him.

 

©GayUganda 11 Feb. 09

Untitled

They think me
cold,
un-natural,
shy-

when all I do
is hide,
mask my heat
pain, desire-

all I do is
stay alive

Is a hostile world
this
thorns and stones
my mates believe
are my natural wage-
death, despair
my only fruit
reward on earth.

I’m gay-
that’s it,
fault of faults
deserving death-
shame, despair

so I hide
in broad daylight.


(c)GayUganda 11 Feb. 09

Untitled

Is it a poverty of words

or- a lack of

imagination on my part

in the way I

thread and weave words to express

the heights and depth of what I feel?



hard. Mvule hardness

the feel of a velvet glove wrapped

on a steel hard fist-

all may with a gentle deftness

and surgical clarity be expressed-

building a monument to

the art of expression- a poem.



(c)gayuganda 11 Dec. 08

My Sunday

It has been a beautiful day.

Spent it out of the house, with my love, and friends. A visit out of town to see one guy, then back, looking for a beach...

Found one which was adequately crowded for us to perv without being seen. There was plenty to see. Youths, away from school, add in alcohol and no parental oversight- yes, a recipe for chaos.

For some reason, I found myself ducking into my book of poetry, and I penned this.

I seek Love

I see more in people

and less, than I should-

maybe its just the thoughts

that range further and wider

seeking a depth to the surface,

something more that just the

smoothness of skin-

shallow;

that maybe my fault but

I seek meat and bone beneath the skin-

I see a boy, and dream of love and lust

not just a roll in the hay, day and night of pleasure-

I grasp at the lips, eyes, the heart;

reach for that which’s rarely offered

hoping beyond hope for day beyond the night;

I’m gay, and a man-

lust and sex are a river

that flows through my mind;

cannot dam it, too dangerous

it will crack and breach,

the overflow may drown even me-

Yet I seek that little bit more

that is so much more than

the heat and lust of a one night stand;

a home shared, a love to wake to

evenings watching sunsets,

the music of crickets-

sex with the fragrance of new,

familiarity of the old- all my buttons squeezed;

I seek that which’s not so often given

nor so often on market-

I seek hearts to enthrall as

they hook and hold me fast-

I seek love.

©GayUganda 07 Dec. 08

Poetry, a sweet

Poetry, a sweet
that loses not its sweetness

every poem a realistic
snapshot of life- emotion
and motion somehow held
dancing,
the poignancy of life
captured in words that will
live and always remind of
a long gone moment…

drop of time out of
the whole river and ocean.





©GayUganda 01 Dec 2008

Kiss of the Sun

A day of beauty;

I stand in the sun, shirt off

feeling its warm caress on

the smoothness of my skin,

It’s beautiful-

the clouds play hide and seek

sudden shadows that shade

the warming rays, and I lift

my anxious eyes, counting the minutes till

they will roll off and let

the sun’s face pop out again.

the sun’s kiss on my skin

what a pure, simple pleasure

to feel and enjoy!

©GayUganda 30 November 2008

Ha princess. Memories of home, enough pointers for you to work out where.