Wednesday, March 1, 2023



At Noon All Shadows Are Dark


Night signaling,


And I see you trembling

At once

At the sight of night

Hearing the raw gospel:

But news that tickles

Your hairless armpits

Will hurt you

And that that sweetens your jaws

Will decay your teeth...

Let the sugar-coated quinine

Of truth cure you —

Look up,

Do you see nothing?

The sun has risen again,

And the strawberry sun

Has climbed high at noon,

The crows the eagles

The squatting vultures

With glassy heads as bald

As the buttocks of baboons

Hover over corpses of cities,

Hawkhooded hawks hawking

Through the impenetrable

Dark curling clouds

Of farts of civilization,

The meandering muscles

Of sophistication

Like drum-ribbed head muscles

Of tortoises,

Stitches of its scaly back,

The fat of the neck

And the wanding

Magic sticks in the space:

Through the glassy eyes

Of the rooms,

We coil in dark corners,

And watch

The scorching heat tracking;

The night is windy

And rainy,

And dead cold,

It pours when it rains,

And the floods

All colourful as petals;

We watch

Through the glass-ribbed rooms,

The flashing fingers

Of lightening,

Escorted by rumbling


The trembling

That follows,

The freezing coldness

Shrinking scrotums

At noon overshadowing,

The birds of death

Buzzing like drone bees,

The stupid slave bees


Without questioning,

The sea tides graduating

Within the vibrating farts

Of sophistication,

Into dyed alien sisal hair,

Weaving wigs of impenetrable

Pubic hair of the Soviet

Into dreadlocks of drones;

The farts of fire in the air

The bursting balloon bellies,

Snow sweating, sweating, sweating

Colourful strawberry dewdrops;

Thick mucus coughs of dark clouds

Fermenting into corrosive fogs,

Darkness creeping in,

Thick shadows dwarfing

Into deep  blackness...



Night music replaying


From the 1939 music

Of farting superpowers

In the trenches

Of Hiroshima

And the hunched hills

Of Nagasaki...

Beautiful blooming

Flowers still attract wasps

And bitter-honeyed bees:

A night of gloom

And bloom and doom


Bearing bitter fruits...


What sad music

Of lovers in bewitching hours

Humming nightly songs

Of the bitter days,

And the salted snow,

Snow salted

With weapons of wizards

Rattling the gourds

Of big sleep;

Drinking palm wine

And biting bread of sorcery...

What night rehearsals

Of trigger cities

Playing the gods;

Swift missile dildos

Masturbating the air,

Night flowering catchfly

From scorpion stings

Of dark-bellied drones

Pissing dysentery

Upon the dark snow;

A world of emptiness,

But snow and shadows

Creeping into stealthy

Frosted days

Of pursuing darkness



What tempestuous night

In what winter harvest,

Hot coldness

Shivering buttocks

Of the distant hills;

What dark night

Of the bright days:

Days of dogs:

Biting, barking

At silhouettes

Of the noon sun,

The shadows the dogs

Bite, the bark

Of the barking foxes;

At noon of the night,

Dogs howl for bitches,

The bridge between

Broken pestles in mortars,

Streets clearing

In the lockdowns

Of the viscous winds,

Doors flabbing,

Shutters creaking

At the daggerpoints of daybreak

Fading last...



The moon waning

In the blankets

Of the world,

From the towering corpses

Of groaning cities

Through our dark-eyed rooms

Of the ground,

We see the snow,

And nothing more:

The flowering petals

Of variegated leaves of snow,

The blooming brews of Moscow,

The nooze,

The dung of the horny cow

Steaming at dawn

Of darkness;

Weaving curling wigs of clouds


Into wet dog's nose night

Wet misty winds blowing,

Storms swirling like cauldrons

Califlowers of flames

Spitting serpents of smokes

Pythons of penis missiles

Peeling the smoking snow

Overripe tomatoes

Of bombshell eggs

Smashing roofs under feet

Chain-wheeled monsters

Smoking cigarettes

Of lusty sophistications

Lustre of midnight songs

Of toads panting,

Gasping for pure air

Chanting of bright days

In the well-woven wigs

Of towering clouds,

A mixture of farts of missiles

And dung of drones

Bits of bamboo stuck

In the anus of Moscow's teeth,

The purification of ambition

Shaving the armpits of trees,

Branches breaking,




And snow mixed with sand

Fluids of midnight dew-drops

Dropping petals


The lap-lap

Of persistent ardour

Of bitter rain nagging the night

The leaves that fall,

The petals that bloom

White like dark blood,

Corpses of leaves heaping,



Knocking stench

Of the civilized city

Perfuming the avenues

Of trenches

Tomatoes sauce spilled

In the speechless space,

The shrieking space,

The space of rat race,

The civilized city of the human race,

The skelter Helter of silhouettes

Screaming: who listens?

Fire spitting bursting

Bellies of balloons

From the fire-breathing buttocks

Of missiles suffering

From chronic dysentery

Coughing corrosive mucus clouds

Of bellyaching snow of Moscow,

Spiced onion of smokes stinking

Innocent lungs,

And blades of sharp spear grass

Cutting as keen as the wind

Carrying the corona of corruption

The grumbling bellies of the earth,

The sniffling nose of the Earth,

Oh, my bellyaching Earth.


The sun baked Earth

Is in clinical climate

At climax,

The sun is a bread

Of death

We eat as supper;

The poop lanterns

Of the floating night

Bright blinding blinks of lights

Trailing last...



The arrows of bursting sunrays

Piercing backs

Of cities

With its rolling meteors

Swimming across

Bloodbathed dark skies


Cockroaches of tankers,

Pursuing last...



It is dark at dawn

Of the day

When the sun is high at noon,

Black-crowned night herons

In surveillance,

We are all-night sitting,

And watching the wakeful night,

In the witching hours

Adumbrating last...



They say we the voiceless talk to much

When flowers of bullets speak

The speech of the highly trained,

The speech of men

With speaking  buttocks;

The sky fogs are inevitable,

And we pray

While they prey;

Warriors love peace,

They say;

But the fogs are dogs of fear

When the sun is high at noon;

We sweat blood!


This fire fishing night,

The Sea is full of ships

Fishing weapons

From the bed of Sea,

And poisoning waters,

Fishing the enclosed air

And stings of drones

Purifying snow,

Overcasting last...



When the sun is high at noon,

Stars become clear

As mud

And rainbows

Arrest the sun;

Still the sun boils,

The Sea is burning,

And the air steaming

With dark farts

Of machines;

The Armageddon is on,

The streets shine

With darkness,

Blurring the day,

Darkening last...



This night-stool

Tremendous dim-fast

Supersonic night,

The sun the fairy lamp

Of the world,

In red-eyed flights

In the pumpkin night

Red last...



Covering —

Colourful dewdrops on snow

Wet as urines

In the pants

Of the dark continent dictator,

This meandering night

Veiling the ceilings

Of the world,



To death snow-heavy trees,

The wind in vehicles of dreams

Breaking branches,

Variegated leaves

Dropping, rotting last...


Flowering towers

With steel ribs

And glasses as eyes,

Storeys upon storeys


Corpses upon corpses


From the hunchbacked hills

Of the civilized cities,

Puffballs that burst,

Noontide dark last...



The still of the night

Is at noon,

When our shrines

Are uprooted

To plant alien shrines

Where they drum the land

With roses of barrels

And knell the bells

For night prayers

Long and dark,


Lurking last...



This unearthly hour

Of the day,

This ungodly hour

Of the gods

Axing each other

With buttocks of barrels

And barrels of buttocks;

What the hell

The father that doesn't want

His big son

To have a home of his own,

His bed,

His wife,

His children

At the noon of his life?


Evening comes with darkness

Closing around the corner,

The farts of the night birds



In the polluted air;


Clouding last...



This watershed hour

Of bedtime at noon,

Eventide is a noon

When arises the moon

And lights the day;

In the dead of night

One frog spoils the well,

And bees are attracted

To sweet scented flowers

And fruity trees of blood,


Tailing last...



A long sleepless night

Riddled with nightmares

At noon of the midnight,

From dusk-to-dawn

The witches dance

At midnight of the moon

In the moonlit night

A shroud of night

Is all they need

For their witch dance

Vigil at sundown

Of the day,

In the threshold of youths


In the curfew

Of the boiling day

At noon

Pitch-dark last...



All shadows are dark at noon,

And dwarfed

Into thick pythons

Of poverty

Plastered with mud

Of boomshells


Like fireworks

In the midnight

Of withered year

Of the wailing days

Nighted hour

Dogging last...



The bed-wetting night


Into the new year,

The birth

Of night is eminent;

This lip-trembling night

The pool the flood

Of Armageddon,

The end of beginning

In the progress of fear

Induced with barrels

And night blindness

Is inevitable

At noon of night

Eclipsing last...



The stumbles

The stepping on feet

The feeling of ancient paths

Overgrown with bushes

In the countryside,

The wigs of learning

Hummering the bells

Of a heated noon,

Boiling the land the sea the air

The bright day fogging last...



The fruits of blood

Falling like orange mangoes;

At noon of night

The bestselling commodity

Is nothing

But roses of guns

Blooming last...



We sing sunrise

When the nightfalls


When sing of dawn

At midnight

When the sun sets,

And darkness dulls the world,

We sing hopes

Into lifeless bodies

Torn to pieces

By fists of Soviet,

A disquieted night,

Night sweats steaming

From the foul armpits

Of high-hands

Bearing red fruits

Dropping last...



We sing epic songs

While we await the dawn

Of the dusk

Of high-handed shadows;

We sing praises

To our warriors

Guarding the fallen gates

Of the cities,

We sing eulogies

To our heroes

Buried in the mine

Of death;

We sing salvation tonight.

® Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe'st



No comments :

Post a Comment