Zawmb’yee Nuje Writes A Poem, ” The Frizz Of My Hair “

The Frizz Of My Hair

There has been
a maple syrup rain in my dreams
a downpour of sweet premises
a thick and sticky bane

I am soaked by the night,
but my day is dry
with dissertations and speeches

Applause is due me
but I sob in the morning dew

I try to never sleep, but
I see a baby in her arms.
She loves him as do I, and
he drowns in maple syrup rain.

I proclaim the sweetness of the faith
that all must obey, but

he has been my lover
a rebel
her baby
my baby
a blasphemer.

He’s been executed for
the sweetness of the faith.

I am soaked in downpours of blood
frazzled by the night and
I scream

cut like a maple tree
used and drained for sweetness

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Zawmb’yee Nuje Writes A Poem, ” Mountain Man “

Mountain Man

Mountain Man,
I have seen you soften
when
my love went fishing in your stream

and I have seen
in glistening glint and gush
the river on your face, and such.

I have seen you soften as
we harmonized the howling winds, and
softened moonlight’s omens much, so
cold could never bite our heat

You’ve seen me
wander in your forest where
the wind and water sing to me, but

You might know
you splash my soul
as kindly as an otter.

Could I tell you Mountain Man
I’ve seen you soften in your rain,
and in your brook

your cute little wiggle
makes my waters giggle.

Oh Mountain Man,
you rock me

Zawmb’yee Nuje Writes A Poem, ” To Table An Oak “

To Table An Oak

In the grain of my oak table
I see memories of Spring
when he was a lad
and I was so glad, for
with him no troubles, just
acorns and squirrels, though

he could be of grainy vision, a
philosophy not clear for him, and

he had been of rational mind
the time he would spot the mistletoe

Oh, I said, how charming —
in the old oak, some mistletoe

Yeah, oh, mistletoe’s a parasite
he said quite contrite, and
will sap the life from oaks

I coyly smiled and played him for me:
Save my tree, my hero, my bloak

A fox squirrel showed him up the oak,
so below he could take the mistletoe

But lo and behold like Celtic folk
we kissed among the acorns

San José Mine, Chile: “Chile Has Been Lifted Up”

Chile Has Been Lifted Up

{Mario Gómez In The Mine With God and Friends 2 (edit)}

In the din of sorrow August 5th,
some did say chances were slim
But No!

President Piñera that day
felt 33 alive to pray

Drill, drill, drill, for
bore holes will see
each miracle to be.

Up a skinny borehole August 22
two red notes on a drilling hammer read:
well in the refuge the 33, with hope and life
Mario Gómez, and give
this love letter to my wife

Then all Chile knew
God is not confined to stars
to mountains and valleys
to merchant ships

He dwells in every
interstitial place where
souls may lie and pray

It is said
there is a task of redemption
for every stowaway on
His ship of saints

Could be
some will return with a ticket

It is said
for a bit of chocolate
and the taste of heaven,
Mario Gómez was
a miner for God
and for Chile

Luis Urzúa was his navigator
did the charts

In the hearts of the mine
there were stars, and

down tubes
little packets of food
messages from loved ones
videos
prayers

In the hearts of the mine
there were card games
friendships, a diet for
a small waist that’ll fit
in the rescue shaft to come

God minds the miners
gives them strength
an image of family
a bit of chocolate

Chile has capsule, crane and heart.
There are stars in the mine
and stars above.

We lift them together
where sons and Sun may rise

The surface.
Double-thumbs up from ninth man out:
this October thirteen, the writer is seen
Mario Gómez
waving the Chilean flag
embracing his wife, and
kneeling in prayer

We will lift them all united
the 33, with Chile, God
and family

—Douglas Gilbert

Zawmb’yee Nuje Continues The Blog, Chap 10, 119

Zawmb’yee Continues The Blog

CHAPTER 10 : SECRETS AND DISASTER

ENTRY 119

     I had my meeting with a representative of the Drofluo. If it’s even possible, I feel even more weird than before. Because I said I just wanted a general briefing, they sent just one representative who I suppose was sort of like a public relations spokesperson, although she had the high rank of Kfuaihicoo in the Drofluo. Perhaps it’s like the games in the up-top world where a person of ostensibly high rank like the Secretary of State can be out of the loop and ignored by the President and given only ceremonial duties, or in a different administration given real powers. It depends on a whim, or I suppose in this case I’m the whim and the wind. But since I’m supposed to be the ultimate power, and since if I knew anything, I could use rogue bureaucrats to drill down to the real deep secrets, I needed to make strategic friends. My feeling had been to play coy and see if I could develop an ally for myself deep within a disgruntled core. I know an entrenched elite leadership will always lie.
     Kfuaihicoo Yimiecei had arrived with a large entourage, but she made a strange request: she asked to meet in the kngacev. I would have thought she’d ask to meet in one of the royal conference rooms with the elaborate media displays and security equipment. The kngacev is a simple library with a royal meditation room or bedroom. I’ve been so busy studying that I’ve never actually slept yet in any of the official royal bedrooms. I haven’t even had time to explore all the rooms of the palace. But anyway…
     I had welcomed Kfuaihicoo Yimiecei into the kngacev with as much formal protocol as I could muster with the help of Yenkoi.
     Yimiecei had curly blond hair and blue eyes. She was fiercely beautiful and ferocious in a leather vest over a blue mesh tank top, a green shredded silk skirt, and orange running shoes with rubies over steel toes and with purple ankle bracelets. She left her weapons belt with her entourage who waited outside. She was so powerful looking and sexy that even Yenkoi almost kissed her when he, entranced, almost drifted into her lips, but stirred to composed himself for a formal introduction.
     She had said, “Fevepo Zawmb’yee, may we proceed to the back of the kngacev?”
     I was puzzled, but I said, “Yes, of course, if you wish.” We walked to the back, to the far most corner.
     She said, “If it would please you, Fevepo Zawmb’yee, may I climb the ladder to the top shelf of the book case?”
     I had no clue, but I said, “Yes, of course, proceed.”
     Yimiecei climbed to the top shelf, pulled a purple book part way out, and scrambled down the ladder . At the bottom she extended her arm in a downward arc and bowed. The shelf slid to the side revealing a room with huge screens, computer consoles, and a large conference table. She escorted me in, and we walked to the table as the shelf closed behind us. She pulled out a plush chair for me and said, “For your comfort, Fevepo Zawmb’yee. I am honored to brief you in the manner of your choosing.”
     I sat down. “Yes, thank you, Kfuaihicoo Yimiecei, proceed.”
     Sauntering around to the front of the table with her curly blond hair doing spring dances, she began, “I will start with the state of the Inner Villages. If at any time you want more detail, you may ask for it under the confidentiality agreement that Gavicte Yenkoi informed you of. Is this acceptable Fevepo Zawmb’yee?”
     “Yes, continue,” I had said. It was eerie like when Doug and I entered Zusoiti’s lair except that Yimiecei had a benign presence. She updated me on all the mundane affairs of state and I nearly fell asleep until she almost casually lapsed into extraordinary intrigue… I’ll tell you all about it, but I have to rest now before Yenkoi brings me more papers to sign and I have some grand decisions to make. I am exhausted. I have to rest before I present my treasonous revelations here on this blog. Good night and sweet dreams before I rule the day, or is that rue the day…

We, Marauding Rebels, are Caesar (EDIT)

We, Marauding Rebels, are Caesar(edit)

Red rivers of blood in the jungle
pink hibiscus flowers
birds of paradise, and
an 80-year-old woman
lying on her back, attacked by us
the most powerful rebels ever:
more than 200 women in Luvungi raped
we proudly declare, for

there’s tin and gold, you know
in the Democratic Republic of Rape.

We fear not the blue helmets, for
we’ll be made Generals in the Congo Army,
one of us will be President speaking
at the U.N. as a member, because

there’s tin and gold, you know, and
see how we conquer with a holler as

Anna Mburano lays bleeding on her hut floor
her cloudy eyes trying not to rain in shame
while she eats a few vegetables, starves, because

there’s gold for us in battle
and our speech is prepared for
the U.N. General Assembly.

Join us in joy and celebration.
We are the underdog to be embraced,
because rebels are chic and we
have our uniforms and bravado
like the terrorists we join in glory
with fame, fortune, and machismo

Ref: “4-Day Frenzy of Rape in Congo reveals U.N. Troops’ Weakness”, by Jeffrey Gettleman, New York Times, October 4, 2010, Vol.CLX, No. 55,183, pp. A1, A3.
———————————
Red rivers of blood in the jungle
pink hibiscus flowers
birds of paradise, and
an 80-year-old woman
lying on her back, attacked by us
the most powerful rebels ever
more than 200 women in Luvungi raped
we proudly declare, for

there’s tin and gold, you know
in the Democratic Republic of Rape.

We fear not the blue helmets, for
we’ll be made Generals in the Congo Army,
one of us will be President
and we’ll join the U.N. as a member
because there’s tin and gold, you know
and see how we conquer with a holler as
Anna Mburano lays bleeding on her hut floor
her cloudy eyes trying not to rain in shame
as she eats a few vegetables, starves,
because there’s gold for us in battle
and we have a speech prepared for
the U.N. General Assembly.

Join us in joy and celebration.
We are the underdog to be embraced,
because rebels are chic and we
have our uniforms and bravado
just like all the terrorists we join in glory
with fame, fortune, and machismo

Ref: “4-Day Frenzy of Rape in Congo reveals U.N. Troops’ Weakness”, by Jeffrey Gettleman, New York Times, October 4, 2010, Vol.CLX, No. 55,183, pp. A1, A3.
—Douglas Gilbert