fon tuma

fon tuma Poems

P1: Must we return to the age of stone again,
when club-men gave monarchy precedence
shall we revert to the justices of birth,
the chaos of Class?
...

Some added spice,
some rapidly sly fox,
some sensible shade
some enamored guide
...

A toothless, twisted old woman walked, hopping on one foot
muttering darkly, the lines of some scripture spiritual
repeating the psalmist poet over and over,
As a white iguana with a man's square-jawed face stood
...

You,
beautiful womb of man
singular seed of speed
first in a million cells
...

We go to where Autumn leaves left my single spirit panting
and finally November is here. Is it then sixth yet? Usually
my brother's bithday is time to progress, somehow the
stars favour me during that time when thighs loosen
...

Broken Faces done
broken images undone
this picture is one
and forever shall be
...

The mirages that will HASH-this.
Some sit with steadfast tiredness
Sucking bubbles from the blue-glass hookah
Its aroma of dry apples tinted with
...

I can see you but for all my seconds...
yet I know not your look.
I can hear your syllables but every day
I can see an outline, a profile
...

The river sang its way towards its mother,
- the river that would become a road.
its muddy banks holding the prints, signatures
written in the pen of hooves,
...

Starbook,
togethered by stardust,
invoked a patient love
a shaman artist.
...

The Musician Muse wove caresses,
about those strings of Angel Hair
those fine threads - ropes of the lyre.
Upon the leaves knelt, robbed in purple
...

A sickle moon of dirty yellow was plastered to the sky,
as rows and rows of parents, children, lovers,
friends, professional drinkers and drunks converged
to the sound of the band playing Hindi covers
...

fon tuma Biography

Fon Tuma is a twenty-four year old poet and author, born in English-speaking Cameroon. His debut literary work 'Talk of the Night' is currently undergoing publication review. It is a collection of smouldering, recondite prose marked by a propensity toward nocturnal and humanistic themes. He is currently working on a historical fiction set in Pre-Colonial Cameroon which bellows the advent of the Germans and the tribal resistances that followed. Raised Roman Catholic, he is an ardent Agnostic and in his own words, harbors 'A wanderer's foot'. Fon Tuma has lived in Bangalore, India for the last 4 years.)

The Best Poem Of fon tuma

'Mes Chers Compatriots' - A Bus Converstion.

P1: Must we return to the age of stone again,
when club-men gave monarchy precedence
shall we revert to the justices of birth,
the chaos of Class?
And The Frogs who should know better...

P2: What would you suggest we do of them (The Frogs I mean)
how do we tackle their transgressions?

P1: We must crucify their foolhardy meddles,
bake their tongues of thirsty greed
in the flames and kilns of revolution.
We must...

P2: Listen here, Blood begets Blood and is never wasted.
Spill it, and it willl come back roaring to accuse you.

P1: Then what would you? We lay beneath the sharp,
pointed heel, bare our naked chests to their points?
accept their theft and theft as they ransack with
bloody impunity our land's lay lush and rich,
this country our fathers trekked many miles to achieve
fought blood for blood for, tamed man and beast to gain?
And for whom if not us they did this, for their children's children,
for posterity. Should we cede without work this
country of their immense toils?

P2: So how far down the road of sacrifice will you go?
you who are so eager to bruise flesh and scrape skins?
How much can you stand and take?
Will you repel their flying missiles of metal with worktools,
when bullets come tearing through the raging crowds,
will you stop their wounds?
When our women lie withered after the takes of soldiers,
will you comfort them, replace what has been stolen?
Will you Stand and Stay when the lightning strike comes?
Go query youtube then return to speak with me
just type and ask what happened in the Coast dubbed by Ivory,
I looked there and saw a head-less woman,
A woman with no head! !

- Silence, a faltering start of speech, the consideration of these quizzes and then... Silence.

P2: I see my questions imprison your tongue,
And when speech will come, Whisper my friend,
whisper for you are friend.
Quench the blazzing zeal of your youthful blood
dilute that sour-ness that rises from your bile
accustom to shout-less words, cloak your impatience with indifference
register the accounts of this baleful night we ride,
watch and wait for that spark that will come with light
when sure justice will fall swift an strong, when...

P1: At last in you I see an countryman,
Alas I fear our paths from the other must stray.
Why wield wisdoms of complacence,
why attempt the tragic trod of homeless strays?
Here lies my home, my hearth, my country-land
where for too long, we have shambled by zombied in ineptitude,
But no more. Here I shall burn of their slug-like mouths
those who come with smiles in front and daggers behind
here will I up-root the venom of that leave-less leach, come to stay.

fon tuma Comments

p.a. noushad 14 October 2009

your poems are endowed with great redemptive powers, i like your poems very much

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