Long Poems About Africa
#Africa
goldenmyst
Poem Published
28th Apr 2023 9:48pm
28th Apr 2023 9:48pm
Grandpa Blues for Grandma & Me
Grandpa Blues for Grandma & Me
Deserted gas station
In pitch black cloak
Of an African American gentleman
Ambling down the street
Our guardian seraph
On this blue avenue
Where parishioners of the church congregate
And a New Jerusalem waits
The man ushers us down the aisle
What is your name I ask?
“Richard, too many people know me
Where I died in Paris
But here hardly anyone knows me.
I prefer the anonymity of my hometown.”
And the memory of a lonely sign
By the bluffs that honors the Native Son ...
Deserted gas station
In pitch black cloak
Of an African American gentleman
Ambling down the street
Our guardian seraph
On this blue avenue
Where parishioners of the church congregate
And a New Jerusalem waits
The man ushers us down the aisle
What is your name I ask?
“Richard, too many people know me
Where I died in Paris
But here hardly anyone knows me.
I prefer the anonymity of my hometown.”
And the memory of a lonely sign
By the bluffs that honors the Native Son ...
#love
#father
#brother
#Africa
#spiritual
137 reads
0 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
3rd Apr 2023 5:21am
3rd Apr 2023 5:21am
The Discovery of Coffee
The Discovery of Coffee
Her spirit was first made flesh
before the fall of Atlantis
in the ancient coffee forests
of the Ethiopian plateau
where she was the first
to find out that the bean
was more than something
picked by children for fun
And she was the one of those kids
Who gathered magic beans for play
Only to learn that they made much more
Than a basket full of pretty seeds
But when dropped in a pot
Held over a fire
Became a brew of exquisite...
Her spirit was first made flesh
before the fall of Atlantis
in the ancient coffee forests
of the Ethiopian plateau
where she was the first
to find out that the bean
was more than something
picked by children for fun
And she was the one of those kids
Who gathered magic beans for play
Only to learn that they made much more
Than a basket full of pretty seeds
But when dropped in a pot
Held over a fire
Became a brew of exquisite...
#women
#childhood
#Africa
#shadows
#coffee
104 reads
8 Comments
PittinixDesigns
Poem Published
31st Dec 2022 11:10pm
31st Dec 2022 11:10pm
Haile Selassie Is Not God
Rastafarians will feel animosity towards the author of this composition.
Emperor Haile Selassie was a wicked and corrupt ruler, not God.
He did not care about the underprivileged people of Ethiopia.
Millions of Negroes starved and suffered under his oppressive leadership.
The uncivilized Rastas rejoiced that their god was coming for them.
His Imperial Majesty Emperor Haile Selassie I visited Jamaica on April 21, 1966.
And he needed an interpreter to translate between English and his tongue.
What kind of god does not understand the language of...
Emperor Haile Selassie was a wicked and corrupt ruler, not God.
He did not care about the underprivileged people of Ethiopia.
Millions of Negroes starved and suffered under his oppressive leadership.
The uncivilized Rastas rejoiced that their god was coming for them.
His Imperial Majesty Emperor Haile Selassie I visited Jamaica on April 21, 1966.
And he needed an interpreter to translate between English and his tongue.
What kind of god does not understand the language of...
#oppression
#Africa
#religion
#God
#suffering
224 reads
0 Comments
PittinixDesigns
Poem Published
30th Aug 2022 2:17am
30th Aug 2022 2:17am
America
It is time to lift up the carpet of deception and expose the dirt that you swept under it.
We do not care whether you can stand the smell of your own excrement or not.
Your opportunistic forefathers ran away from Great Britain and came to the west as wanders.
They settled in other people’s lands and they reaped what they did not cultivate.
The Americans claimed that they discovered a land, but the land had already been inhabited by people.
So the country that you proudly call your home does not belong to you; it is a stolen land.
Your dishonest teachers and...
We do not care whether you can stand the smell of your own excrement or not.
Your opportunistic forefathers ran away from Great Britain and came to the west as wanders.
They settled in other people’s lands and they reaped what they did not cultivate.
The Americans claimed that they discovered a land, but the land had already been inhabited by people.
So the country that you proudly call your home does not belong to you; it is a stolen land.
Your dishonest teachers and...
#murder
#evil
#America
#Africa
#racism
197 reads
0 Comments
summultima
uma
uma
Poem Published
1st Nov 2020 10:15pm
1st Nov 2020 10:15pm
RAKTAKARABI~ BLOOD OLEANDERS: From My Congolese Times… Towards The Light Of Liberation
I am her ‘Madaame’ Of Everything
ingrained in her rarity flashing ivory smiles
to her ever red rising simmering eyeful suns
in delicate armours of tearful hanging glistens
that she unfallibly holds within the kohl
black lashes that yearns to touch
skyhigh liberating flights
Yet, mellowed down rustic
earthen tones of perseverance
she heavily bears forevermore
as weighing down destiny.. in those
simplistic mellowly beaming rays
she sprightly blooms with…
her vivacious pagne’s striking...
ingrained in her rarity flashing ivory smiles
to her ever red rising simmering eyeful suns
in delicate armours of tearful hanging glistens
that she unfallibly holds within the kohl
black lashes that yearns to touch
skyhigh liberating flights
Yet, mellowed down rustic
earthen tones of perseverance
she heavily bears forevermore
as weighing down destiny.. in those
simplistic mellowly beaming rays
she sprightly blooms with…
her vivacious pagne’s striking...
#Africa
#RabindranathTagore
413 reads
9 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
22nd Jul 2020 00:24am
22nd Jul 2020 00:24am
African Interlude
African Interlude
The magic hour of nightfall approaches. She pulls me by the hand with the urgency of the moon tugging on the sea. Fireflies blink on and off like stars in the Galactic night. Their glowing tails light the trail to a house decaying in the forest solitude.
We open the door as our phosphorescent friends shed light on the dust motes which are suspended in a silent dance. Wrinkled boots hang pendulously from rusty nails. A salt caked jar sparkles like a pauper’s chandelier. The little-winged lanterns shed light on the dresser that has sinuous cracks...
The magic hour of nightfall approaches. She pulls me by the hand with the urgency of the moon tugging on the sea. Fireflies blink on and off like stars in the Galactic night. Their glowing tails light the trail to a house decaying in the forest solitude.
We open the door as our phosphorescent friends shed light on the dust motes which are suspended in a silent dance. Wrinkled boots hang pendulously from rusty nails. A salt caked jar sparkles like a pauper’s chandelier. The little-winged lanterns shed light on the dresser that has sinuous cracks...
#love
#kindness
#grief
#Africa
#memories
339 reads
0 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
10th Jul 2020 3:16pm
10th Jul 2020 3:16pm
Scent of Tamarind
Scent of Tamarind
We meet in the Casbah when I step down the stairs like Zeus descending Olympus. Her sisters are wrapped in burqas. With my glance, they dart like little birds back into their nest. Suddenly the window opens again. Her face peeks out and she beckons me with a tongue click. Her eyes are portals of dark fury.
She opens a door below and I find myself in a dark room scented with lemon. She says, “Let us drink cardamom tea and let the hours slip by like seconds on the clock.”
I say, “Why would a spring flower bestow her affections on a grey mop...
We meet in the Casbah when I step down the stairs like Zeus descending Olympus. Her sisters are wrapped in burqas. With my glance, they dart like little birds back into their nest. Suddenly the window opens again. Her face peeks out and she beckons me with a tongue click. Her eyes are portals of dark fury.
She opens a door below and I find myself in a dark room scented with lemon. She says, “Let us drink cardamom tea and let the hours slip by like seconds on the clock.”
I say, “Why would a spring flower bestow her affections on a grey mop...
#love
#romantic
#death
#Africa
#heaven
375 reads
4 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
28th Feb 2020 00:51am
28th Feb 2020 00:51am
Rwanda Bound
Rwanda Bound
Rowena says, “Honey, I don’t want to ruffle your feathers after our romantic night of beer and potato chips over movies. However, do you recall that French was my major in college? In fact, it is my second language.”
Doug replies, “You know I am in complete agreement. We should watch more French movies instead of American cheese. So finally I will set up our satellite TV and we’ll watch Brigitte Bardot to our heart’s content. Of course, you will be my starlet Brigitte will just put us in the mood.”
“What I have in mind will be a cultural...
Rowena says, “Honey, I don’t want to ruffle your feathers after our romantic night of beer and potato chips over movies. However, do you recall that French was my major in college? In fact, it is my second language.”
Doug replies, “You know I am in complete agreement. We should watch more French movies instead of American cheese. So finally I will set up our satellite TV and we’ll watch Brigitte Bardot to our heart’s content. Of course, you will be my starlet Brigitte will just put us in the mood.”
“What I have in mind will be a cultural...
#love
#jealousy
#marriage
#Africa
#peace
395 reads
2 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
21st Aug 2019 7:04am
21st Aug 2019 7:04am
Breakfast in Africa, Dinner in Cancun
Breakfast in Africa, Dinner in Cancun
Our three-day trip to Nairobi on a flatbed truck takes us across Tanzania into the Serengeti grasslands. The hours pass as I watch people in the fields carry bundles of wheat on their shoulders. I watch the brown-skinned women carry their babies into thatched roof homes, to eat, sleep, and dream. As the day passes into dusk and I watch the dying red embers of the sun.
At the Kenyan border, the customs man boards our truck to look at our papers but our attire is the focus of his attention. “You two look good in those...
Our three-day trip to Nairobi on a flatbed truck takes us across Tanzania into the Serengeti grasslands. The hours pass as I watch people in the fields carry bundles of wheat on their shoulders. I watch the brown-skinned women carry their babies into thatched roof homes, to eat, sleep, and dream. As the day passes into dusk and I watch the dying red embers of the sun.
At the Kenyan border, the customs man boards our truck to look at our papers but our attire is the focus of his attention. “You two look good in those...
#Africa
#beach
#alcohol #heaven
#alcohol #heaven
416 reads
2 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
29th Jul 2019 4:13am
29th Jul 2019 4:13am
Ethiopian Songbird - rewrite
Ethiopian Songbird
“Nyala, today is a slow day for selling tomatoes. Please tell me how you became the most popular barroom singer in Addis Ababa. I’ll give you a quart of milk from my prize goat in exchange.”
“Well, how could I refuse such an offer? The taste of Ethiopian dust followed me into my dreams. Also, the beggar, blind in one eye, was there, who never panhandled to the miserly rich because while their bank accounts were full their hearts were empty. Also, there was the gypsy woman whose wares I couldn’t afford but who let me sit in the shade of her market...
“Nyala, today is a slow day for selling tomatoes. Please tell me how you became the most popular barroom singer in Addis Ababa. I’ll give you a quart of milk from my prize goat in exchange.”
“Well, how could I refuse such an offer? The taste of Ethiopian dust followed me into my dreams. Also, the beggar, blind in one eye, was there, who never panhandled to the miserly rich because while their bank accounts were full their hearts were empty. Also, there was the gypsy woman whose wares I couldn’t afford but who let me sit in the shade of her market...
#women
#childhood
#Africa #music
#Africa #music
408 reads
2 Comments
summultima
uma
uma
Poem Published
21st Jul 2019 3:56pm
21st Jul 2019 3:56pm
nzadi o nzere: Land of a River's Gamble/ the C-K Influence
just with ridiculously miniscule
of reserve hung in its huge, now
spatially emptied out gular pouch
a migratory bird
swims across salty currents
& alien smelling vastly
untested airs
spurs into an approaching irony
the dramatic demarcating centric
imaginarily circling (a)round for long
-this dragging equatorial line
their stealthy dense canopies in an eerie silence ...
indecipherably winking in midnightish notorities
wide-open & giggling whorish wayward river...
of reserve hung in its huge, now
spatially emptied out gular pouch
a migratory bird
swims across salty currents
& alien smelling vastly
untested airs
spurs into an approaching irony
the dramatic demarcating centric
imaginarily circling (a)round for long
-this dragging equatorial line
their stealthy dense canopies in an eerie silence ...
indecipherably winking in midnightish notorities
wide-open & giggling whorish wayward river...
#war
#Africa
#river
#birds
#rebellion
600 reads
6 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
5th Feb 2019 1:32am
5th Feb 2019 1:32am
Tangiers Afternoon
Tangiers Afternoon
She breathes like the breeze in a tamarind grove upon his face. Her henna-dyed tresses drift by him like thunderclouds laced with lightning in the marketplace. They ignite memories of the Tangiers where once his rose glistened with pearls of dew born in desire.
She caressed his wrinkled body with fingers soft as rain and bathed him in her fountain of youth. With rose petal hands she washed him in sunlight and combed the snowy hair on the roof of his head in their May December love.
They met in the Casbah when he stepped down the...
She breathes like the breeze in a tamarind grove upon his face. Her henna-dyed tresses drift by him like thunderclouds laced with lightning in the marketplace. They ignite memories of the Tangiers where once his rose glistened with pearls of dew born in desire.
She caressed his wrinkled body with fingers soft as rain and bathed him in her fountain of youth. With rose petal hands she washed him in sunlight and combed the snowy hair on the roof of his head in their May December love.
They met in the Casbah when he stepped down the...
#grief
#marriage
#romantic
#death
#Africa
446 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Long Poems About Africa
