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Posted by on in Poetry
Never did I allow myself the vaguest thought - That inside tin, timber and silicon boxes; Christened carriages and dragged along rails - By wizened, half-attentive engineers steering - A yellow-lined relic through Kibera, homeward - Love or Attraction in all their varying versions Would brew, even if fleetingly.   And though Love and Attraction – or whatever that was Never fully flourished into a burgeoned bougainvillea Your name and the train and the phrase they both formed Remain on my mind and on my lips: Suzanne from the Train Ride Home!    THE TRAIN-WRECKED ORATOR! :-)...
©Kevin Orato 2013
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Posted by on in Poetry
Fill my hands with sand, Fill my mind with sighs. Let the time flow through our veins, Let the distance bind our sight. Soaking into each others embrace, We blur the future and sublime the past. We are frozen in the moment, Devoid of hue, devoid of flickers, devoid of bout.  ...
©Shedyk 2013
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Posted by on in Editorial
This phenomena has been researched and documented severally in the past, I would think that Writer’s block essentially is a state of mind caused by the author. In more cases than one the condition has been self inflicted. The major reasons listed being: 1. Self critic – You sensor your thoughts before you even start writing, you are attempting to edit too much of you work as you write 2. Stressed out/anxious – You are putting too much emphasis on the deadline; your eagerness to finish is stressing you out instead of psyching you up. 3. Bored – You don’t like what you are writing, it does not capture you mind and emotions like you expected. 4. Plain old tired – You are overworking and exerting too much pressure on yourself, you have stayed up late thinking of what you will write only for morning to come and you haven’t figured...
©The Orator 2012
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Posted by on in Short Stories
Today, we shall lay to rest a man who wrote fifteen novels, bore three sons and a daughter, and waited to see tens of grandchildren. After 95 years, we finally mark the sweet leap to yonder of my mentor, the man who build a global media company from scratch, and shook the literary stage with a simple quake of his pen.   Death is a function of nature that must activate itself at some point. We have no sadness or pain or regret in allowing the African Bull safe passage into that controversial realm – the other life. But we’re joyous to look back and see what I call the Kingdom of Sweat, the palace of pain, and the era of making the impossible emphatically possible.   By all means I am proud that my grandmother accepted this man. I pray a simple thanksgiving to the gods who kill great men...
©Oduor Jagero 2012
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Posted by on in Poetry
I got a pendulum in the house. Ticking away to every thought. My notions attentive to its motion.   I relapse at the laps of every hour. Slipping away like quicklime. The final lap should come before I collapse.   How do I make my seconds rhyme? When my mime is at its prime. Because this time surely cost's a dime.   If God had a petition court, I’d ask him to slow down his Chronometer. Ask him for one more hour on the clock.   One more day on the week. One more week on the month. One more month on the calendar.   One more time to ask for more time. To make every minute minute count. To leave a good chronicle in time.   Script n Rhyme By Shedyk...
©Shedyk 2011
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