Poetry & Works by Kaffi & Kaffy

Suddenly, something did move. Peeking out from under the monkey’s tummy, a small pair of sad eyes looked up at the children. “Oh, look!” said Geno. “It’s a baby monkey!” she whispered to Alid. She eased the tiny creature from under the tummy. All the children gasped. The author Shariffa Keshavjee has two new books out, “Momo the monkey arrives : Momo the monkey Adventure series,” and   “Momo makes a mess,” a picture book that’s great for reading to children or having them read when alone or aloud in groups. Here, Shariffa   leads readers through the children’s imagination and feelings towards their new found friend and pet, The author blends the ideas of children basic instincts ,innocence and a mixture of   mischievous traits   on how to   get Momo into their home, how to care for Momo and the fun   and chaos that comes with having a monkey in the house. Drawn with a sketchy but confident pencil line, and painted in the clear, saturated colors and pictures,

A cleansing sword, a dove of the Black Continent! An enduring rose, deserving of unceasing compliments! Unlike his covetous contemporaries clinging onto the mace, He rides the vast African prairies, his spirit moves apace, Engulfing the African soul with long lost love, With a good natured smile, he stirs the intellects grove, Canonized in the eyes of men and held a sacrificial rood, Breathing peace, he is the tower of good; Where morals are taught, vengeance vanquished, Virtue rewarded, and violence admonished. Like an emblematic sparrow, in words and deeds, His wings scatter prosperous seeds, To save tomorrow from the mindlessness of yesterday, In retrospect humility, he leads the way, Holding the lantern in ripened wisdom, His white garb illumines, the paths painted in crimson, Denuding the barren land of barrenness, And concealing buttocks from ridiculous bareness, Wealthy with virtues, we are forfeit to extol: For his life is a path we adore and stroll.

         "Of course i can hurt you, simply with my point of view - Guru of Gangstarr"             Joe Mwenda where i shall breath in peace love and respect and out breath the same where i shall drink from a cup thats free eat from a plate thats just where i shall live from my means and not on promises the broken and yet to be broken ones where i shant suppress pain with pills postpone pressure with puffs and pints where virtue is embraced and vice is not known there father let me and mine exist.

I am the moving wind! Every aspect of my life is artistic, photographic, a fashion statement, poetic and rhythmic . Every aspect of my life is cherished, shared and sacred! Dear Pen, dear paper Take me to this lands planted in my brain by the images I see on TV and in pages of my magazines Elevate me and let me feel the breeze that a prisoner feels when he walks out the walls of prison as a freeman Bring me that joy, strong enough to seduce the pain of labour by giving the beautiful cry of a new born baby Make me a creator of words pen, a craftsperson of verses A  pro of metrical compositions strong enough to carry feelings and illusions Make me a king, a god of words Make me rule in this world, I think A sailor in this ocean of ink, A prodigy because it was only you from the start who really acknowledged me A warrior I hold you my dear pen as my spear,  loving paper as a shield come along Take me here to this place I have never been Come along take me ne

©Kaffy Mwangi I take a bow to this world, a bow to wolves in sheep's clothing. tonight I rest my soles burn my heels and let my soul nurse the wounds of friendship.  

© Kaffy Mwangi I would wake up in the middle of the night and I would gasp for air, My hands would shake my whole body was in a fit. You would hear my heart beat so loud, loud like a train grinding on its rails. My shrink said it’s just paranoia, Just trauma wound itself in the figment of my subconscious. It would get so bad my parents got me an inhaler, thought I was asthmatic. They covered me up in more blankets said the bad dreams will go away. I couldn’t breathe at night, my pupils would dilate, I was in a fever, hot and sweaty you could trace my veins to the heart Yet goose bumps  cropped from every follicle. ‘’you know when you are drowning; you actually don’t inhale until you black out. It’s like no matter how much you are freaking out the instinct not to let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel your head exploding, and when you do finally let it in, that’s when it stops hurting; it’s not scary anymore ,it is ac

On more than an instance, When I’ve been idler than a broken lamp-post - Time weighing heavily on my hand, As pen and paper prove closer than a brother: I have taken written notice of slit eyelids upon a chocolate face, Accurately chronicled after carefully observing - Playful fingers twitchily twist a neck pendant, And spin a plastic band on a wrist’s axis Hands press down a dress’ length for modesty’s sake  by Kevin Orato (Notes) The slow-motion, almost rehearsed brush of the brow, Unsaid appreciation for the Viewer’s attention How seamlessly well she blends with the surrounding; Not merely part of the furniture but its mantelpiece Manipulating without earnest effort, events around her; Keeping in check any intrusion and mischief. As if by magic wand, conjuring up occurrences But like a skilled orchestra conductor, directing tune. Never really losing her ladylike comportment - Apart, of course, when acknowledging the Observer. I draw

In another time, another life; All factors constant and considered, Both parties on the same wavelength, Scruples dangling uselessly on the window-sill - And the Other One conveniently inexistent: I’ll eat from your hand – a tamed beast,  Toe the party line from sheer bliss Brought about by my prying for misadventure, Utterly mindless of a dark surprise hanging unseen - As I hug tightly, the mirage of a storybook finale! ALAS! It is now! Everything is as is and appears thought through:- And the Other One inconveniently exists.

Sunday, April 21, 2013 2:00pm  until  5:30pm 20TH FLOOR TELEPOSTA TOWERS (Koinange street entrance - EASMS) Hisia Zangu is an association of poets and writers who meet with the main objective of analyzing poetry and writing and offering a detailed critique to improve its quality. We also offer a discussion platform for anyone who wants how to revise existing poems. The family has reinvented itself for the betterment of art. From this month onwards, we'll only share and discuss poems, short stories, and novella/novel excerpts revolving around one central theme. This month our theme is LOVE. LOVE is an aged topic. The age of LOVE is the age of GOD. Yet in our attempt to engender some kind of freshness, we'll be looking for something new, a new twist to the eons-old tale of hearts. "To love is to live. To fall is to be in pain. To be alone is to be hurt. To be in darkness is to be in light first." Let's bind our words to emotions. Let

by  Poetria Viona Wamuyu 'Forgotten' regrets, Request denied. I can't escape these cold facts That I too share this act. Reflecting back in time To that one specific moment or the other, That I wish didn't happen as it did. Regret that plagues my mind Every now and then Making my me reel with what if. As if such torture can change Even a little of the past. Staring longingly at yester days, Willing a magic eraser be at hand So I can rub that specific point clean And paint a new picture Hence forever changing the present. Just a simple wish From a heart that does get weak As thoughts of the past Hold my mind hostage from time to time. Playing the many different scenarios Of how things could have happened differently Then maybe today I would be reflecting on a satisfied life. Fact is, What's past is past. A chapter in life lived, written and sealed In days gone by Only to be recalled in memory, Not altered in any form. What else to do other that reconcile with m

©Mwangi Njoroge I have a lot to write, stories to tell white lies to sell. my heart has the words, my mind, runs ablaze with images. Images that can't wait to occupy my notebook but it’s a conspiracy! my fingers refuse to write , they refuse to relay the message, I feel them go numb, feel them go frost bite cold,  they have put down the pen, misplaced the writing pad. Its disorganized labor in my house, I need to write!  To just write, on sidewalks and estate gates. I want the last graphite to tell my story, to hold the secrets behind my eyes, to let free the stream of thoughts, to let free of the saint and imp making love in my soul. I need to write! about classical literature and galaxies,  human folly and fallacies Unrequited love and secret gardens writing is my burden My good friend. Let’s have a cup of tea, and welter in these verses, fall into a trans of words and keep at bay our  friend procrastination; befo

the stars won’t come out tonight, God has abandoned his throne, termites have made bed with his gold, crows taken Jesus crown. the reeds now choke the angels; their bloodshot eyes tell it all, how the enemy within was but a fruit, none so different from Leviathans songs. Sirens now guard the gates to heaven, gargoyles rove his kennels and granaries, the holy ones staked on the golden gates; tonight the trumpets wont blow tonight the son of man wont return.

Patricia Phoenix Miller © 2011 Heart pounding, breath Quickining To the memory of your sweet touch Finding that place of total peace that I have found in you My sweet ambrosia, how I long to be capsized by you again How I long to embrace the volcanic eruptions' of your passion again You have given me such savory delight, that anything else is fruitless Who or what can compare to the paramount of our love As I lay here mind adrift to that secret place that we shared That place where my hidden treasures became a palatable delight to you That you ate and ate until you we're in a cosmic cream shock My body paralyze as you searched out my ancient ruins My senses caught up in a whirlwind of Hypnotic passion I've lost all grip on my own reality You have turned my world upside down Nothing was hidden from you anymore You conquered and devoured every edifice of my body There was not an inch of me that you didn't discover and rediscovered As I loo

                                                       Intoxicating ink burns my skin Naked flesh stained artistically Kissed with tendrils of vines and flowers Earning there way down my smooth thigh Delicate and daring now part of me Inflamed sensuality saunters through my mind Nestling within visions of your finger tips Following the lines of the flowers edges Licking purposefully every inch of my live art Opening up the petals that enchant you Willing you in to explore the deep beauty Evocative nectar tantalizes you further Raising your expectations into my parted lips Spilling your storm that swells inside my soul

the-diary by kenyanmom.com   ''Over the years, I have spoken to moms who had the most wonderful stories and also the most heart-breaking stories. One thing in these scenarios was common. We all needed to find a way to share these stories. The trials and the triumphs. Having previously used my blog as a Diary and knowing how great it felt to receive a comment from a mom saying that they have experienced exactly what I have, I decided to open up Kenyan Mom for all moms to share, learn and be heard by the people who would understand what they were going through. Thus, The Kenyan Mom platform came to be on 20th August 2012. Feel free to drop me an e-mail (info@kenyakona.com)and enjoy what other moms are saying and learn from it. Because, as one mom said to me: We Hold The Future Generation In Our Hands. It Is Our Responsibility To Do Whatever It Takes To Make Sure It Is An Able Generation.

http://www.koamedia.com/ KoaMedia     Director · Nairobi, Kenya · Jan 2010 to present director is responsible for overall operations, asset protection and marketing/public relations for KoaMedia I also handle all aspects of human resource management for up to KoaMedia employees including but not limited to hiring and termination, developing position descriptions, setting compensation, working with employees and contractors. CASE STUDY DEVELOPEMENT AND PHOTOGRAPHY Jun 2011 to present Primary Education Enhancemnet Project. (PEEP) Since 2003, Concern working in collaboration with Ministry of Education and local communities has identified and supported various primary schools in 5 districts in Nyanza province to improve school infrastructure to enhance access, retention and completion of good quality primary education by the most vulnerable children. In 2010 and 2011 Concern, together with communities, implemented 16 of these projects in Migor

©Mwangi Njoroge … We had been in the bath tub for almost an hour, not talking much, just getting lost in our company, my hands were gripped to her back, wondering down her curves, seated between my legs it felt like de ja vu, like the first time we sneaked out of verbal poetry into the restroom. the way she was sat her head resting on my chest, left me in full control of her bodies geography. playing with her hair and squeezing softly on her twins   made her body have small tremors, I run my fingers on her back, down to her assets and deep within   that divide of   her Kamba heritage, occasionally rubbing inner thighs to her ass. It was an adventure, the now innocent quests of desire had led me to her forbidden city. bitting her skin, she loved the pain, moaned to every bite and lick on her   neck down to her breasts. my friend, the doctor was getting hard, I could feel the veins stretch out, fill up with   blood. He wan