Visions of Victorian England come to mind
As I stare out my window,
For a heavy fog has crept in
Settling like a translucent blanket
Over and around the darkened streets and buildings.
One can almost imagine
Cloaked figures
Gliding past,
Glancing nervously about
As they hurry on their way.
What dwells in the gloomy shadows?
Does it mean them harm?
In the distance a train rumbles past,
And a dog barks frantically nearby.
Who's there?
Ominous silence.
I shiver, then return to my work,
Glad I am inside
And that it is only my imagination
Working overtime.
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
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Be safe,
Karen