A death poem by David Tombale: An ode to an elder statesman

This poem was dedicated to Nelson Mandela on news of his death. A tribute to a great man whose strength we will all miss.
An ode to an elder statesman
The radio is buzzing, sawing away
proclaiming the news of the day
and I am wasted, thinking sombre
thoughts while picturing a flock
of birds dancing in the sky, their
cawing a silent message to the
heavens to open up and set another
seat at God’s right hand.

Here where we are watching all
is misery and quiet contemplation
laying carnations outside his gate
but he doesn’t live here anymore
somewhere an empty cell carries
traces of him, pacing its narrow
walls crying out with quiet eyes
and heavy heart for a peace that
seemed far out of sight.

We lit the home fires and sat
together to talk of better things
than the bitter hand of death
of a life much like the sea sometimes
loving, sometimes fierce but ever
moving, tearing down the stones
that tried to hold it captive with
talk of years upon their lips now
cages open and freedom becomes
a solemn promise that is left to
one’s own children.

A sad life poem by David Tombale: A view from an alley

This is a sad poem about the life and suffering experienced by some girls in today's world.
A view from an alley
I have not come here to say
a word of comfort, there are
none, hunger lives here stripping
decency from your bones and
then you look at me, there is
pride there in your naked eyes.
Your skin is grey and ugly,
too many nights spent sleeping
outside alleys breathing in the
sickly scent of cat piss and
sweaty bodies, little lady who’s
not so little anymore your sister
followed, escaped the black gates
that kept you prisoner once upon
a time but she lies now in the hollow
chasm of his body never knowing
that soon he’ll trade her for needles
and dust they’ve ground from dragon
bones, little lady I wish to find
you happy, wearing diadems and
a tiny crown of diamonds, I wish
someone is loving you like a princess
born of a distant star. 

A contemplative poem about nature by David Tombale: A remembrance of an event

This poem contemplates the potential consequences to nature of Man's destructive ways. I hope readers will enjoy it.
Remembrance of an event
There are it seems these days a multitude
of imaginings as plentiful as the stars
but this one seems the closest to me, an
image I had of Mars, of empty fields as
far as the eye could reach, of winters so
harsh they’d freeze blood and marrow
and shatter a new born’s tears but
odder still when I’d slept enough and
awoken to the dawn I came to see it wasn’t
Mars I’d seen but a pure vision that happened
here in a world I once had called my own. 

A love poem by David Tombale: The honey in the lion's mouth

This love poem is one of a series of poems I wrote from my younger days all the way to my adulthood that tell of my great weakness for extraodinary women. This how I have chosen to honour my crushes.
The honey in the lion's mouth

In seeing you I see myself reflected
in your eyes and my face looks somewhat
strange when I’m staring at you. It’s
a look I’ve seen in many faces bent to
pray, somehow you’ve become my prayer,
words I whispered into the dark, my heart
is needy, I, I cannot breath, I’m in need
of air and love and shelter and of these
three I will always dream of love, these
things I say, I say them only in this place
where no one’s listening so they will never
know I have pinned my hopes on a mirage
that shimmers in the desert, a mirage that
I think waits for me because no one will never
know her as I do, she is hardly perfect,
she is no one’s angel yet she is mine, the
rhythm in the rhyme, the answer in the dark
the honey in the lion’s mouth, this woman
whose name I speak out loud who will never
know me is the only woman I’ll ever need.

 

A love poem by David Tombale: Like Cherry Blossoms

This love poem was actually written for a poetry contest I entered once and deals with a lingering memory of a girl I used to love. This is one topic I think a lot of people can identify with.
Like Cherry Blossoms

Her beauty’s like summer days and cherry
blossoms in winter and I still miss her. I still
think of her when the sun rains down
consumed with rage, infernos meant to burn
all down while the dark rain clouds flee into
the night. It’s these aches that write you messages
that sound too sweet to be believed
so don’t linger here if you aren’t longing for
my love.

Her beauty’s like the fall of Rome, almost like
promises kept by old lovers’ hands while
Greyhounds are still raring to go. She watches
as he turns to go but that memory of her teases
him, it tumbles round like ice on the floor of
his glass, he can’t flee from her, his wonderful
girl of honeyed words and wicked eyes
now he’s breaking doors trying to raise
her broken heart cause his love of her is
all that makes him whole.

A passionate love poem by David Tombale: Within the distance

This love poem grew out of a crush I developed for a young singer I met once at a Christmas concert. I hope everyone will find something to relate to in its lines.
Within the distance
My thoughts tiptoe around my bedroom floor
trying carefully not to awaken me but still slipping
in and out dragging me from sleep. My thoughts
are restless and a little tipsy from drinking in the
sights, the liquor almost ghostly white as it swims
around the rim of a glass I emptied out tonight.

My thoughts it seems are thinking of you
distilling meaning from the melodies of your words
I heard you sing and it’s been keeping me awake
but I can’t stare at the turning of my clock, it runs
so slowly and keeps calling out to me that my hours
are escaping. It is you that has me here trying to
mediate my loneliness into some grand design
that you tear to pieces each time I catch a fatal
glimpse of your amber eyes.

I am not sleeping and my mind has caught me
laughing at the shadow puppets I’m painting on the
walls, a scene as old as I am young that takes me
back to aging bones and dried out lakes, to shining
knights and dragons that ruled the skies, it’s almost
vivid like a reflection carried by my soul. It is you
who brings me here to where fantasy dances with
this reality and you live within the distance carved
out by my pen.

An idealistic political poem by David Tombale: When my people shout

This political poem was born during the period where voter registration was taking place in my country and symbolized the betrayed the idealistic feelings of many of the youth at that time to the politics that were shaping the nation.
When my people shout 
I’m sick of broken promises delivered
with all the panache and slickness of a
Hollywood star, I’m sick of waiting in
the rain and the dark listening still to
words that I could swear sound
real but then all these dreams sold from
the back of a campaign bus seem a little
empty when the sun happens to rise
over the hills again.

I’m sick of shaking hands with smiling
faces that tell me my race don’t matter
that if you got a problem that’s what my
door is for, that’s what I’m living for, I’m
sick of raising up just to watch them fall
when the lights go up and the money starts.

I’m sick of writing letters cause my bank
is wrong and my house is gone, I’m sick
of watching my daughter cry while her body
aches cause she can’t eat at all but most of
all I’m sick of sitting here throwing slippers
at this tv screen so I think I’ll dust my
placards off get on my feet and let these
careless figures hear my people shout.