Biography of GIDEON BORE
Kenyan born Poet and Book lover, and trained as AInformation's system Administrator.He works as an ICT Instructor In a governmental School.His hobbies includes Reading, writing and riding.
GIDEON BORE Poems
Tears Has Failed to Dry (A Letter to My ...
A character she only knows, Once she felt his heart, Missed every beat of a soul, that lives; For He cuddled his precious gift, first,
Tale of Embaa
This is the story of helchem The gorgeous damsel who dwelt in the town-village, A sprawling populace of embaa and with her, Her kins dwelt betwixt a conjugal brawl
Crossing narrow lanes of greed, Our toss I’ll crash rugged rocks, Our swinging arms clash, For space to sing and swing.
Duo ghost in the city-park
As I returned pitiful to my liar, Returning upon my solitude, I saw a face; A face, but now a phantom of the grim, City-park, a park of dark shades-
Read it on the shoulders high, Like a crown-bird’s stiff neck, Stands arrogant head, raised, That suspends a blazing complexion;
Nature rarely hinges doors loose, And doors loose a golden fortune, A golden fortune befalls unaware As kins and foes alike intercede, to
Mercy! I wander Where none pose for my posies- Art thou a reprieve for grief? Art though a cry for pity?
Touted deals ripens every moment, New systems are built on fame and opulence, The mighty and the rich command; Yes sirs! My lords. My heart is broke;
On the shore gaze
On the shores picturesque sceneries, Blue waters emanates cold breeze, Engulfed by moist air stands, The strange boulder, curved,
One color too many..
In the grey skies floating, Above the blue deep far west; Walked through golden rays And sat a queen-
Dream, to live, even when nights are cold; Dream, to warm nights, even when bug, Sprawls your bathed skin; Or else, what dreams?
Not a reed in the banks could keep you, Neither that on the precipitous crag, But before the sun shone, You drunk to every croaking of the frogs
You seem too near yet too far, You seem too far yet too near, We hear of you yet miss you; We miss you yet hear of you,
Lee Emmett! take too a moment of repose, And wander of life’s true gift Breath,
What Gift Fit?
I have no wit, no clue, no thought;
My heart within me beat a tide,
Of indebtedness each time
Your heart is bared and self prod,
Thereof you spill your corn to me.
I feel the much your heart wills,
I see the far you seek to stretch;
Alas, my heart this selfsame virtue;
I seek a price worth it to bid,