Peter J White

At weddings, you’ll agree, champagne all round’s the very best
To celebrate that fizz and froth, when everybody’s overdressed,
Each man in his sharpest suit; the ladies‘ hats all wine and fruit;
The bride a picture in a dream of sugared apricots and cream,
...

Of all the plagues afflicting man, deserving most attention
Including Big C, (the one I scarce dare mention) ,
A high BP exacts the steepest price. If diastolics load the dice against you,
Accepting your surrender, prepare for their hard-nose agenda,
...

The Moon weeps for Zimbabwe,
Proud Lady of Africa, friendless, folorn
In the winter of her desolation.
Delighting in her nut brown form
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Old Mrs Masuku’s a mealie cob vendor
Down at the gates of the new football ground,
(Order by phone, I’ll give you her number) ,
Where customers come and stand all around
...

It’s now a hundred years, give or take a few, since Ford unfurled his flag
Turning out Tin Lizzys; filling every city drag with nimble
‘Horseless carriages’. Convenient it‘s plain, yet convicted, says the world,
Of noise, global warming, and many deaths as I’ll explain. Insatiable
...

“Leave me now, children of my daughter,
Follow the forest paths where the sand
Has few thorns. Listen and run,
Run and listen, the morning sun on your left hand;
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“Hello Mkiwa, ” (white man passing by)
“Won’t you stop for a minute and just tell me why
Part of you’s pink and your eyeballs are green,
And your face is so hairy, like straw in the cream.
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One day, long ago, when walking to school,
We stopped at the kerb, that’s me and my friend,
Looked left and looked right, for that was the rule,
When a five ton, green army truck rounded the bend.
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Whilom in days of yore and times gone bye,
Whan men wolde peesful carf clothes pegs or lie
All Sonday longe in bed, sich was of every wight
The rest God yaf him; sith now for our respite,
...

A young man, London born, I moved to Croxley Green
Where, to the north, primeval forests stood of elm, birch,
And conifers; pasture, beet and budding corn between.
Eastward, concrete stretched to London’s Marble Arch,
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A rare manner of man, God inspired or Devil’s pawn can change the course
Of history. Was he ingenuous or mad who, in his twisted mind
Scorned the reproach of national failure? Baleful, seething with force
Of resentment unmeasurable, he endured her shame; indifferent, blind
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Africa where are you going? Your office bearers
Seem obsessed with personal gain, exposing the lie
Of altruism. Are they the best you can supply?
People of Zimbabwe and Kenya were betrayed
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Sharing ‘It’s that Man Again! ’ way back in ‘41, my Mum
Exclaimed, “Aha! ” and “Well I’m blessed. This sounds like fun.
The paper claims the day’s not far when everyone'll see pictures
On the radio” “How so? ” says I, unwilling to admit it was clear as bricks
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Bindura’s saffron hills have not forgotten them;
Mtoko’s eucalyptus sway and sigh as if again
Those focused minds are with us, those brave men,
The farmers of Rhodesia, who laboured in vain.
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Children sleeping in a shed deep under the garden clay,
Covered overhead with massive pine tree spars, as bombs rained
Ruthless down on London, heard thousands of our guns fall silent,
Unexplained! “Why? ” I whispered scared, my sister had no answer
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See our world pirouette around her solar track, mimicking
The stars unending marathon, jostling Venus and Mars;
A costumed harlequin wearing a cheerful face the while
She looks your way; a darker hemisphere behind her smile.
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From Hospital Hill, the city lay dumb,
Dawn impregnated, wreathed in mist.
“Choose Life! ”its copper-clad acropolis
Constrained, “Your hour is not yet come.”
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You give new life my Gracious God
In a world radiant, splendid, free,
Where bud, blossom and bursting seed pod
Sing hosanna. Fern, frond and perfect flower agree
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Maiwe, Zimbabwe! Maiwe, our country!
Maiwe, Zimbabwe! Maiwe, her people;
Mourn for them, you who have written
The story of moral decay
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for Maria Fatima Muienga
Convent de Precioso Sangwe,
Maputo
...