Two poems: Lyrical Musing and New Mercedes in a dirty old house

Jerome Masamaka

 Lyrical Musing

              Wet words 
dripping  
                           like  
                                 clots of  
              hot     blood 
on this dirty  
                         page…  
                                     Mouldy thoughts 
oozing out  
              like putrid pus 
        leaking
from a stale scab… 

Breathless sigh               muted  
                       and drifting:  
The rancid morning breath 
                            wafting  
afloat a leafy sheet.  
              Silence! What now? What next? 
              Nothing!

But a groan               emboldened  
              by hope 
stifled by doubts 
                            spills over, 
and foils the foggy paper. Then 

the tears               tasty  
              and slick trickle 
clouding my vision… 

This cloud bursts unseen 
Storm thunders 
lightened by a yawn 
Another day is gone 
Another page is torn  
Another dream dries 
and fear born 
in a new daydream.  

Once again 
a rotten verse escapes 
from the rancid breath 
of an ageing sage. 

New Mercedes in a dirty old house 

See, 
A filthy old house 
of an old man on pension! 
How 
Much to repair? 
No repairs 
for broken rotten woods  
hideaway for rats and stubs.  
 

No cleaner comes 
but whores bring mess 
and leave by dawn… 
No portrait of kids and wife 
Bartered out of the house 
No cook, yet smokes… 
of secret herbs mixed  
with rancid stench  
of junk takeaways.  
 

Where are the birds 
to mock the starved, sad dog? 
Its pal the lean cat 
migrated long ago  
fed up with the same old picture 
of blank looks 
 

Where are the flies 
to drink the odour  
of a place cordoned off  
by cobwebs? 
 

Thirsty webs filled  
with dust and leaves 
and little gossips sneaking in 
from curious neighbors…   

What happened to him  
since they left him? 

Gossips wince at the flash  
Half a million-dollar car  
parked in the relic patch  
of a dirty old house. 

A consolation perhaps 
for the decaying times, 
rotting spaces 
One more prized toy  
to rev silent poison 
into our stinking eyes 
 

One more footprint 
of the air around the town  
and the cloud will drown someone  
someday soon.