Hannington Mumo Poems

I do bitterly fault your restless digits, slatternly time;
Your agile dial's design I defy with mutinous rhyme.
What's the veiled intent of your lightning procession,
Against this snail-mover's beleaguered progression?
...

Traveled I to exotic places across the continent,
Dined with kings and queens and princes and princesses,
Seen foreign shores and mountains and ranges and ports;
I feel great attachment to such picturesque scenic places.
...

The world is full of the things we see
But more than these are the things unseen,
An example is the wind that sweeps rain to us
And the lust that leads to things obscene.
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Maggy Magola the twilight gal
Who sold her thighs for half a dime,
Was without any true pal
And thought good morals were a crime.
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The air is humid and the sun
Is a little orb peeping shyly between
The cumulus gaps, a cuckoo shrieks
And I look aside to see my shadow
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I'm not a preachy schoolmaster
Armed with various pens and a duster;
And I'm not the Almighty to dictate
About wrong and right in human state,
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For long I stayed forlorn
Wondering why so intricate is this earthly stay
Till a heavenly revelation on me began to dawn;
That this was but an ephemeral stay
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Though from a strait upbringing
And of character so reserved and shy,
None ever contested what was a verity;
Statira was a gorgeous maid.
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I love things of greater art:
Well-worded poetry like Shaw would write,
Or the superior sonnets Shakespeare Composed,
Generally succulent prose - by a black or white.
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MOI UNIVERSITY, MY ALMA MATER

I miss your beauty and splendor:
The sun that pierces through your greenest trees,
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