Writing good poetry

Over time, my experience in writing poetry has made me aware of the difficulties poets, especially beginners, face before writing anything.

One of the major challenges we face is lacking modesty of admitting that our work is mediocre, requiring a lot of reworking.

In lieu of admitting that the poem we are so passionate about is poorly done and therefore needs to be re-written, we spend so much time brooding. And that is our folly.

A realization that writing is a continuous process of re-writing is the only way towards perfection. We cannot be good at what we do if we do not take seriously what others thinks of our work.

And that reminds me of my own experience. On several occasions, I have been told to find a subject for my poetry, be in control of it and 'refrigerate' it until such a time that I can return to it with an objective mind.

Its through following the above that I have been able to make an amazing improvement in my art, from mediocrity to something publishable. And I am still learning, still perfecting.

Another thing that has led to the improvement has been my membership to a writers club. The ideas of the critical readers have been of great help.

To write well, one needs more than talent. You need skill, patience and a passionate but sober attitude in your art. Reading others also helps to shape you. The exposure to several styles and concerns is of great help too.

Good poets know that they have no excuse of doing something bad when the good is within their reach. Read, write, share and listen.

Notes on CV writing

I have realised that a majority of the people looking for jobs have poorly done CV's.

The common mistakes include bad English (spelling and syntax), poor layout, cheap ugly papers, unnecessary details e.t.c.

One of the sure way to the dust bin for your CV is for it to be guilty of the above charges. In addition, those of us with lengthy CV's should leave out the litter. Keep your CV short. No one wants to read ten pages of what you did twenty years ago.

Your CV is your marketing tool. Sell yourself well.

Darkness (30/10/10)

Darkness,
what mystery do you hold?
Your magic makes known
what before was hidden
Like good alcohol
you lay bare all hearts
Thieves, harlots, rapists_
the scum of society_
get their acts better
when covered generously by you
But not them alone.
Leaders, whatever you
conceive them to be
live their true selves
in your tight embrace.

Under the shy moon (22/10/10)

Outside, under the shy moon
hidden by a translucent cloud,
the winds blow not. The trees
like good sentries stand still
and guard the omnious night.

The naive moon light only
magnifies the darkness, our
footsteps compound the silence
and the echoes of the cry of the
distant owl mocks this tense night

This night is fractured, crickets
chirp a crooked dirge, and the
stagnant air embraces the song
with all its long gone life.
Death smiles from everything.

Dawn drags itself but what
does it hold in its clenched fist?
When the sun chases this coy moon
what mystery would then unfold?
I stagger, alone, broken-hearted.

You are your enemy!

Brother, what is the point
of these periodic sobs of yours?
Are you not the slave who sees
another buried shallowly and laughs?
Aren't you the rat, dumb with haste, who
fails to see the one ahead drop into a hole?
When a man digs a hole to trap others,
he's to blame if he becomes his own victim.
When a farmer disturbs bees during day,
he should curse his god for his foolishness.
Remember you were warned against them,
but big people seem to have their way with you.

Pluck me (5.10.10)

I'm that yellow fruit
ripe, full of life,
the perfection beyond you,
the fullness you constantly desire,
but fail to attain.

I'm that star up above
shining on your darkness
I'm the light you detest,
the truth you so much hate.

I'm that gentle flowing stream
pure, divine, serene.
You can only but dream
to relax, nourish, as I do.

I'm that dark green leaf,
fat with life, calm
with nature. My presence
magnifies your inadequacy.

I'm that rose flower
early in the morning
a dew resting on my petal.
I'm at home with myself.

Pluck me, for I'm more
than these. I am
what you're against, but
secretly yearn to be.

It is finished (1/10/10)

After the test
she mumbled:
"It is finished!"

My heart fell
and twitched
in the acids below.

Memory brought
the heat and fierceness
that melted the rubber.

Gloomy eyes grew grey
and the day begun
to mock me for what I had done.

In the mirror myself
in the eye
I could not look.

Past pleasures perished
and was born
untold bitterness

that chokes me
like rust in a water pipe.
Now, the unborn

will severely pay
for our sin.
What a fate!