CHAPTER 12 Word Trekking Around Bloody Booty Arrows: Hot In The Fields With A Knife And A Bag Of Snakes. Uganda February 5th 2018
The Poetry Train crew came upon a cozy drinking place in a field past the Uganda border near Mirama Hill.
“We want to go east, and must stay away from the Ruwenzori Mountains of the Moon.” Jado said pointing northwest. “When you start to feel evil spirits let me know.”
Great, Redd replied.
“Why do I get the feeling Jado, you know we are in for some surprises here?” Andy asked.
“Again you are keen.” Jado replied tending to his two Cows. “This grass here is dewy, fattening for my Cows if I only had the rest of them, so let’s stop here. Your lives were worth it. I will take you to Kenya, but then I must return home.”
“They would need to be milked, sometime soon right?” Andy asked.
“Yes.” Jado replied, and laughed. “I have to start over.”
Andy got off of his Donkey, Jackie, and said, “King things.”
“I need each one of you to pull some grass, and put some in your pockets slightly hanging out.” Jado said, “Show the grass to anyone that comes near, it means you are peaceful.” Jado spits on the dirt ground. “Good luck is coming, as the sun is growing up high.”
Andy petted Jackie the Donkey as he looked around. “Looks like we can go mini rock climbing through these valleys. Looks like there are many places to hide too. Lightning must have fun here.”
“Right.” Boet replied.
Rabbits were seen everywhere.
Who is King here Jado? Redd asked as he gave Scratch some love, hugs, food and water. “I should have checked his teeth first.”
“The Batwa, the Baganda and the Nadi tribes are here.” Jado replied. “This land has many conflicts being the pearl. The word is King Kabaka, Danieri Basammula-Ekkere Mwanga II Mukasa is building a lake dug out by the hands of his people because they love to fish, and swim. Scratch is used to all of this isn’t he?”
Surprisingly yes. Redd replied. We are his family. He is a lot of work.
Jado looked at his two Cows, and petted them.
“Why did you ask about evil spirits Jado?” Andy asked.
“The word is there’s a tunnel to hell here.” Jado replied. “A land where Kings ask madmen for advice.”
Andy looked at Redd, and Boet. He shook his head in affirmation.
Jados’ Cows played in the mud next to the watering hole, and a little red Bird joined in on their fun.
“Look.” Andy said as he pointed northwest. A low moving cloud was coming in their direction slowly,
And as the cloud got closer it dissolved into many flocks of snow white Birds. By this beautiful happening the red Bird flew away.
Wow, that was great. Redd stated.
“We must march on.” Jado said. “We are not the only ones who have seen that. People may follow, and come this way.”
“Let’s trek.” Andy stated, and walked Jackie besides them.
We need new boots Andy, Redd stated.
“Yes we do.” Andy replied, and laughed.
“We have bogs ahead of us.” Boet said.
“Fantastic, like a fairy tale Boet.” Andy said.
Indians from India with their ox-cart wagons of tools, and a white man crossed paths with them. The man was a missionary, Alexander Murdoch Mackay. He looked at the Poetry Train crew. “The King is killing all who can read, and works for the Railway.”
“Oh ya.” Andy replied. “Do you work for the Railway?”
“They work for George Whitehouse, and the Mombasa-Nairobi-Lake Victoria Railway, and the Uganda Railway.” Mackay said. “The Kings’ warriors attacked the telegraph lines, so they are making assessments.”
After looking at each other Mackay spoke again, “I will not flee, even though many men who don’t are burned alive by the King whom work for the Railway. Many are causing this. Chief Koitalel Arap Samoei, Nandis’ Orkoyot made a prophecy, and it’s coming true. He said, “A black snake would tear through Nandiland. It would be spitting fire, and would make its way into peoples’ life.”
“So everyone is spooked.” Andy replied.
“Yes,” Mackay replied. “I am exhausted with this madness.”
Andy looked at Redd, and Boet.
“Even the Arabs want me dead.” Mackay said. “I have to build a boat. See the trees, God made them for this purpose.”
Andy, Redd, and Boet looked at Jado, and at the trees.
“I miss my books, so it’s okay if I weep.” Mackay said.
“Amazing.” Andy said, and took a walk with Jackie checking out the area.
Mackay eyeballed Scratch, and Mackay made his way east, and the Indians made camp.
Andy thought, ’Taking a sonnet and a theme, and burning the tables into which it all came from. Reminds me of a Psalm. Beware at the table. The soul mirror, time codes.′ Andy finally thought out load, “God bless, can we not chill for one moment on this grass the creator made for us without some kind of mind-soul boggling trick not to get caught in?” Andy spit on the ground. “It’s like what do we have to do, starve, and go on a soul-body trip worldwide.” Andy stated. “The year 2132, everyone finally shuts their mouths, and does things worldwide productive. Without mula, mula, mulash. Psycho Goulash. Good grief.”
“Bloody booty, all around.” Andy said, “Procreate, kill, procreate, human-shit, kill again, any way who, how. God bless, rest the legs already everyone. Let’s chill, and suck in the air, and call it fair.” Andy looked at a shadow on the ground to reveal what time they had before the sun pushed them on. “Indians, Indians.” Andy shouted. “I’ll be back, I want to ask them for bags, we need them, I have seen them on a cart.”
Mackay heard what Andy asked the Indians, and Mackay walked on shaking his head.
“Hear is a knife, and four bags, snakes, snakes are their eyes, between your steps, you will have to jump.” An Indian told Andy.
“Cool, thanks.” Andy ran back, and laughed saying, “Open the door of imagination, me, I can do it. I am the small fry. I am the small fry. Sorry, fry, what the hell is a fry, only hell knows. One, I meant to say, small one.” Andy laughed his ass off. “Okay, a bag for each of you. Made here but with Indians from India’s’ hands, check.”
Andy you are hilarious. Redd stated.
“I know.” Andy replied. “I figured we needed bags because we lost out on much munchies there and here.”
“I agree.” Boet replied as he took a bag. “Thanks Andy.”
“You are welcome man.” Andy replied.
Scratch was intrigued too, sniffing all the bags, making Redd smile.
“Jado, what’s best for you?” Andy asked.
“I want to get married one day.” Jado replied.
“Can we be your best men?” Andy asked.
“Yes.” Jado replied, and smiled.
“Make Poet babies Jado.” Andy stated.
“Redd, remember Tennessee?” Andy asked.
Yes. Redd replied.
“We are still Poetry hobos.” Andy replied.
“Looking cool, and being cool.” Boet replied.
“I would be spooked too, but let’s go with it.” Andy declared.
Redd laughed his ass off as they all walked. Andy that’s hilarious, the seekers of love, and the road of pain. Ha ha this is how we all got here. Freaking hilarious. Who are these Poet travelers?
“We are!” Boet replied, and laughed.
“The world believes they are stuck in a rut, because they listen to not the gut.” Andy broke code, somewhat. “Like why is water so Poetically powerful, making Poets so close to big water smart asses. Can we like walk around the big lake in peace? If not, tell us why Poetry is so boring then? Like a dead end. Why do Poets near great lakes be so verbally in your face, head, and where ever like the ages pages? What makes great water maneuver through humans like that? What are they trying to protect or project? Jado tell me about this hand dug lake, answer that one for now? Don’t give me no croc, because we are here for a while!”
“Rays, the suns rays.” Jado replied. “What I love about you Andy, is you do not hold poetry and wisdom hostage so it is free like water, but you slap it all, and splash it all. The Sun is like water.”
Andy looked at Redd and Jado.
Andy went off, “Say Poetry is biological then it is spiritual, so no science or chaos can destroy it, because it’s part of life’s powerful physical being beyond. An energy balanced way before human games. So this is why Poetry is so strong, but have no modern title belt, but whoops some ass like a belt. So what it comes down ya ya, up to is, most have a listening problem, because of the so called bag of tricks humans may have? I once had a prostitute friend that had a ear fetish, she told me once, ‘If people heard what the world is doing behind their hearing, they’d understand why people are so fearful, and Godless.’ I replied, “God must speak in mysterious ways. So this told me, a moment could mean so much to one, but nothing to all,” and yes she said, ‘But me, set, I set, the only table I know.’ She scratched herself for hours after that. Why is that? Was she trying to let her soul free for a while?”
“How did you meet her? Jado asked.
“Just like this, asking where can I keep me, and my Poetry safe?” Andy replied.
Jado looked at Andy.
Andy looked at Jado, and walked ahead of them. “We are all a temple! We are all a temple! But only some, read, only some write, but a few listen, and all the rest die without being free, truly? We are getting closer to all of it.”
Redd walked up to Andy and whispered in his ear, They don’t know how big the world, or universe can be?
“Look, I do not have Crocodiles, only Cows” Jado said.
“Crocodile Poets!” Andy stated.
A caravan came up on them from behind. A man in a headdress led the people. Many men carried things too. Ahead of them on the path had many bones of those who did not make it any further.
“Maybe they did not have hongo?” Jado said.
What’s that? Redd asked.
“Passage money.” Jado replied.
Everyone looked at each other.
“This is the slave route.” Jado added.
Up ahead was a banana plantation, and Andy got out his bag.
“This maybe a food depot Andy, or a trading fort.” Jado said.
Villagers appeared from around the turn in the road. They began to walk through the plain.
“Rain makers, Uinets.” Jado said. “This is interesting, watch them.”
Andy looked back at the caravan and it seemed it was divided into smaller ones now.
The land was filled with Hartebeests grazing. Boet gathered handfuls of blackberries, wild strawberries, and placed them in his bag. Jado took a walk to the market where there were an abundance of fruit and flour, beans and poultry. Redd looked around, and petted Scratch. He saw a man coming from behind on horseback, and he was Alfred R. Tucker, the first bishop of Uganda. Redd felt something, and got up fast. “We have to keep walking. We are surrounded by a resistance. Now. Without fear, let’s go.”
“Redd is right.” Jado said. “We have to go. We stay here we may not live. They have a code of conduct, and we must conduct on moving north east like now.”
“Look you all.” Andy replied. “I am not running anywhere. We may not have hongo passage money, but we do have grass, and I am sitting here on my ass. It will be okay.” Andy began to peel a banana, and eat it.
They all looked at each other, and sat down eating berries. They had faith they were not going to die. Scratch and Jackie laid down next to them.
Alfred R. Tucker, the first bishop of Uganda got of the horse, and asked them if they were okay?
Andy showed him some grass. Redd showed him some grass, and everyone else followed this by revealing grass.
Alfred R. Tucker laughed, and spoke, “You all must be Poets. I am an artist. We are here to sell books, and to bapitise people because Uganda is becoming hell on earth.” Tucker looked at Jackie the Donkey and said, “I have had bad experiences with a Punda.”
“What are you talking about?” Andy replied. “Look old dude. I respect many things, but for you its best if you just carry on, and be about your business.”
“A little touchy are we.” Tucker replied. “I see you have a mean streak in you, so let me explain. On a trail we made camp. There were no trees so we tethered the Donkeys to boxes. A Donkey moved, and seeing the box followed it, it was frightened and had stampeded the rest, waking the camp. We thought it was a charge of wild Buffalo, and we panicked. It raised my temper, and the matter gave me no rest so make sure you tie your Donkey to a tree.”
Andy stood up.
“The Masai are on the war-path, and kill all, even mail men, so save your energy for them not us.” Tucker said.
Andy sat down, and spoke, “Alfred R. Tucker have you ever heard of the American Poet Walt Whitman?”
Alfred R. Tucker replied, “Yes, but I thought he was a journalist?”
Andy looked at Redd and Boet and replied, “Some Whitman wisdom for you Alfred R. Tucker.
I think I could turn and live awhile with the animals ... they are so placid and self-contained, I stand and look at them sometimes half the day long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition, they do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, they do not make me sick discussing their duty to God. Not one is dissatisfied ... Not one is demented with the mania of owning things, not one kneels to another nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago. Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole earth.
That there is Walt Whitman wisdom Alfred R. Tucker. Kill each other, but it’s best to create performance arts, stomp each others ass that way. You understand. I hope”
Andy looked around, and spoke again, “It’s beautiful on the equator. God bless, grow some more food or something!”
Tucker replied, “Truly it is a topsy-turvy sort of world we live in!”
“Why say that, the world was here before we were?” Andy asked. “I bet we have cattle bones under our asses.”
“You are right Andy.” Tucker replied, and sat down. “I am too old for all of this traveling to and fro, but I hate Englands’ devil music. I must keep my bounce if I am going to be a ball.”
Redd looked at Andy.
The murmur of many voices drifted from the east, and it sounded like waters.
Railway men, Colonels Richard Meinertzhagen, Sir John Wallace Pringle, Charles William Hobley, and Engineer Blockett made their way to the market. They looked at them sitting in the grass with curious eyes.
“I wonder if they have hongo?” Andy asked.
Blockett spoke among the men, “Lunatics.”
“Well this is the road to be for the Lunatic Express.” Colonels Richard Meinertzhagen replied.
“Indeed.” Blockett replied, “I want to aggravate them, so when you are done come over there by us. Blockett walked over to the Poetry Train crew, and asked, “Are you all here for ivory?” Blockett asked.
“No we are here to wrap up ourselves in grass, because we are a gift.” Andy replied.
“Do not get an infection!” Blockett replied. “You all better get up if not you may get jiggers, and where ever you get them, your feet, or on your private parts you may have to have where ever they eat to be amputated off of your body.
“Look we have no arrow money for you.” Boet replied. “Either you can relax with us, or carry on back to your friends.”
“Friendlies.” Blockett replied.
“Yes they are.” Tucker replied, “So are we. We are resting.”
Blockett looked around, and had seen all of the bones.
“Dead Donkeys, Oxen, and humans everywhere.” Jado replied. “We sort of like it, and even the smell.”
Andy laughed and said, “You do not make us angry, Sit down if you have a conscious, please.”
Colonels Richard Meinertzhagen, Sir John Wallace Pringle, Charles William Hobley came.
“Sit down Blockett.” John Wallace Pringle stop disturbing their peace. Here eat.” Pringle gave Blockett some fruit.
Andy laid back on the grass, and said, “Oh people, people people, I wish animals wrote Poetry, books, and news, flowers too. I bet they could see the future. I bet they cry in the works, as in, they see florist shops not allowing people to take photos of their great to the great grand kids, and this even after there are no wild flowers. All captivated in the name of progress, and capitalism. Look at Scratch I bet he has a tear, and a Poem too. I bet he is sad, his great to the great grand kids will not have places to go to, and people will fear them even more, and speak about how to kill them. People are losing their duty to be guardians. This is not our land, but then again it is. Animals and flowers. I think one day, when all animals and flowers are gone, with hope anyway, people will finally realize all failings, but do not hold your breath, and in fact I know most won’t, so in the meantime, can we have this moment of solace. While the world creates conflicts, stigmas, and then to be careless to reach out, until it’s time for them to reach out. Many diseases, so many, and it does not matter of the color of skin, it’s in the mind, and choices, we have choices.”
Amen, Redd replied.
“It’s not like we can go in a safe place, and get lost forever.” Boet added.
That’s why we are here Boet. Redd replied. Here in Poetry eternity.
Colonel Sir John Wallace Pringle pulls out his diary, and writes into it.
“We need boots, we need arrows for money, but we have grass and fruit.” Andy stated.
Redd and Jado were looking at the rainmakers, and dark clouds were listening. Boet was looking at men working with honey bees producing honey. Andy whistled, and tossed his head around so everyone could notice the railroaders were eating grasshoppers.
“Can I try one?” Andy asked.
A man road up on his Horse and he was Lionel Decle, and he was a photographer. He looked like a movie star.
“You all do know we are surrounded, correct?” Lionel Decle asked.
Get off your high Horse! Redd stated. It is nothing new. Sit, have peace.
Lionel Decle laughed, and got off his Horse. “Can I take your pictures?”
“No!” Andy said. “Why, because far off in the distant future the seeds of commercialism and mass capitalism will destroy this beautiful planet. All in all photos would be great, but we are time travelers and cannot break time codes. Also people will take advantage of all of Gods’ creations, animals, flowers, and even themselves. They have agendas. Sword money will be worthless, and much more.”
Everyone laughed. The market got busier with many people.
Redd looked at Lionel Decle and said, Seems you too need new boots, maybe we all should become master shoe throwers.
Everyone laughed again.
The missionary Monseigneur Hirth came creeping up to the pow wow too. He looked familiar to Andy, but Andy did not say anything but, “Sit, may as well join us in peace.”
They talked about war of religions, wars of mentalities and children on the thrones, and grown children on the thrones, and they were not talking about innocence, but about evil immature leaders not truly leading. Yes they were surrounded by the Grasshopper clan, the Nseenene clan. Some had crowns like metal cones, and lion beards. They too joined in on the peace. They talked about the Railway only reaching Ngomeni and was five hundred and fifty miles to Uganda. They talked about the waterless Taro desert. They joked about many things as well, taking all plots against plots lightly, but in how to advert disasters because letters to the press and appeals to government of England produced no result.
Finally before the coming rain came they talked about Sir William Mackinnon and his exclamations.
Tucker mimicked Mackinnon, “Look here! Uganda is costing us forty thousand pounds a year. Help us to raise thirty thousand and we will hold on for at least another year. If you will raise fifteen thousand, I will myself give ten thousand pounds and will try to raise another five thousand among my friends.′ The disclaimer Mackinnon wrote did not relieve the government of responsibility. Let me not be misunderstood. I deprecate in the very strongest terms the idea that missionaries, in penetrating into savage and uncivilized countries, should look for, or expect, aid and protection from their home government.”
Everyone laughed, so they all came up with a solution to keep quiet, a play stupid. A silent smooth paperless treaty. Sanctioned by time.
Tucker went to his wagon, and got a crate of Huntley and Palmer’s Maizena Wafer Biscuits, and shared them with everyone.
Andy and Boet loved it, they even added some grasshoppers in between some wafers. Scratch loved some wafers too.
Redd laughed, and said, We are what we eat.
Tucker spoke again, “I have stood in between many things, between a slave and her master. I have burnt the midnight oil until my dreams were of slaves, law-courts and judges. However, I mastered them till they were at my fingers’ ends.”
The rain makers walked by, and the rain came. They all laid down, and relaxed in peace.
Andy smiled, and said, “Invest in word a vision, instead of the sounds of swords clashing, and the crack of rifles, furthermore the sounds of animals’ cries by the hunters’ deeds.”
The train horn tooted, and someone spoke of the Tororo-Gulu-Pakwach Railway, the Rift Valley Railway, the Uganda Railway, and the British East Africa Company outside their roomettes, and awake they were to find Poets from Mirama Hill, Mbarara, Bihanga, Mpondwe, Kampala, Tororo, Mbale, Soroti, Lira, Gulu, Pakwach, Nimule, and Goli.
Redd was deep asleep still, and ventured off with Scratch admiring the Nyero Rock paintings. Redd spoke to Scratch, Isn’t this amazing?
Scratch chirped, and pawed at Redd.
This one looks like a Gorilla.
Scratch chirped, and pawed at Redd again. Redd was awakening and knew Andy was up, and Redd said, Interesting in how many rocks on the continent of Africa resemble the animals here. Not man made either.
“Ya ya I wonder what we look like.” Andy said, and they both laughed.
Wonder if we they have porridge on this trains kitchen storage. Redd said as he got up. I am hungry for that.
Boet was awake smiling like, well, and said, “Oh the Dickens, oh the Dickens. Did you see the caravan of Indias’ railway workers?”
“Yes.” Andy replied. “That was smooth when you recited the Henry Labouchère poem,
The Brown Man’s Burden.
Pile on the brown man’s burden
To gratify your greed;
Go, clear away the “niggers”
Who progress would impede;
Be very stern, for truly
’Tis useless to be mild
With new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child.
Pile on the brown man’s burden;
And, if ye rouse his hate,
Meet his old-fashioned reasons
With Maxims up to date.
With shells and dumdum bullets
A hundred times made plain
The brown man’s loss must ever
Imply the white man’s gain.
I did not want to hear it,” Andy said, “But we needed to act like a Cow.”
Boet laughed, and replied. “That was fun. You all have been doing this for a long time. Your heads must be piled and piled with wisdom.”
Redd looked at Andy, and laughed, Let’s go eat, and find Mathias. When Tucker said, The Lunatic Express is coming this way young men, keep your souls together with your heart. We have to keep that in mind.
In the dining car Andy looked online for what was happening on the Poetry Train, and said, “Here is Poetry Train trivia, No Poets of the stage have created or posted on the Poetry Train. Seven years long. I guess we are going to have to build a stage, an outside one preferred, or make us a kettle of chili.”
We have intellectual chili coming up, spicy and hot... Redd replied.
“I have been trying to get many of them to spice it up.” Andy replied, and laughed. “Railroad chili in the morning.”
We never made it to the Gandy Dancer Restaurant in Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.S.A. Redd added.
“No one told us.” Andy replied, and laughed. “Anyway, we have much work to do, let’s go with it.”
Y’all have chili. Redd replied, I am having porridge.
Someone was on the train station platform playing guitar, and singing.
“Nsimamukama said, writers need each other, and the world needs us.” Boet said. “I am on it this morning.”
Where is he from? Redd asked.
“Looking now.” Boet replied. “Not sure, nothing.”
“Add him to Uganda.” Andy replied.
“10/4!” Boet replied, and laughed.
I like his poem ‘Vanity Mirror’, so the Poet sees. Redd stated.
“I found him.” Boet said.
“Word!” Andy replied.
“Nsimamukama is aka Kanyeihambas Ambiition Baco.” Boet said.
Mathias came, and said, “Breakfast is served you cowards.”
“Ya ya, let me get a hold of one of these Facebook.com robots, and I shall show you a coward.” Andy declared.
Andy looked around the dining car. “Low patronage, empty train, empty train.”
There are military engineers behind us Andy. Redd stated.
“Yes I spoke with them earlier.” Mathias said. “They are returning from China where they were trained in railway construction there. The mantle of leadership in this great endeavor in Africa has simply been taken up by China, so we are following a pattern with this railroad training of military engineers as in Rome, the U.S.A. Isn’t there a railroad school at West Point?”
I have no clue. Redd replied. News to us.
“I mean to braid the subject fellas.” Boet stated. “Addition to ruin the breakfast meal, maybe. Poet Christopher Henry Muwanga Barlow and his Poem reveals the universal history repeat intentional game of bluff of the welfare of the masses at heart. Read the poem ‘Building the Nation’ from the Poems self-titled book, Building the Nation and Other Poems.”
I see, I hear. Redd replied. I found a video for the Poem by Joseph Ochieng, and it is well done. Again another work with not many views as there should be, but hey hey the Poetry Train applauds you today. Well done Joseph Ochieng.”
“Poem Booster to rattle the Rooster, come on!” Andy said, and posted the Poem video. “Well even the train is nearly empty, we do not have to tune/zone in beyond the chatter as James Joyce describes like in Ulysses so we should be able to grasp all solid meaning.”
“The railway here in Uganda is connected to all the east African states, with each of the countries required to build their own sections.” Mathias stated.
“I hope so, if not, this extravaganza will have to be put on hold, and we would have to become gandy dancers to carry on.” Andy replied.
Everyone laughed again.
“Sounds like fun.” Boet replied.
“Life in the fast lane, dedicated to Charlie, you are my favorite. I told you.” Andy stated, and played ‘Limp Bizkit - Livin’ it up’ A Poet from maybe from Kentucky, gifted with a horseshoe, lucky lucky, not confidence in stucky.”
Ha ha, Redd laughed.
“You are one crazy man.” Mathias said.
“Ya ya! And we are going to get it out with historical fiction!” Andy replied.
Andy yuku.com sold out to tapatalk.com, and demolished the Poetry School. Redd stated.
“No worries, I have all the files from each teacher.” Andy replied.
The train began to move through the pearl of Africa, Uganda, at the Miramama border train station.
“Maybe Poets are afraid of Poets, making everyone afraid of Poetry? Talvez, Warez” Boet stated.
Andy and Redd laughed, and replied, “Nice, you are beginning to become like the Goose Gosage, saving the team, ha ha.”
Calling Dr. Boet, Calling Dr. Boet. Redd added, and laughed.
“No, no harm, you two have honor.” Boet said, “Not saying everyone, but the human race in general, there’s no honor among the people, they cheat each other, scam each other, lie to each other and try to get over on one another instead of being honest, fair and working to ensure everyone gets to benefit. Talking about the Railway politics too.”
“What do you think is warping humanity like the Baboons and Monkeys in Uganda?” Andy asked. “Yaws, causes deformation they say, and I say Jaws, Humans running those jaws, with scorn, back biting has deformed humanity, and politicians love it. Have you ever watched debates, and one would think of an advanced race? Ya, right.”
Pesticides, humanides, and all the go to hell coincides. Redd added.
“Close your windows folks, we are being chemically, and possibly digitally bombed.” Andy said. “What about the animals, what about the animals?”
“It’s all good Boet, the chains of the world need rattled!” Andy said. “Shorest Straw, by Metallica, back in the day I drove to Texas, and found this song via cassette at a yard sale, blasted it, and wrote many Poems to and fro.”
We just riding though. Redd stated. Look I want to say this also so it is clear. A Poet on the train talked us into monetization on Youtube. ‘You deserve something for all of the hard work you do on that channel, is what we were told.’ We thought well, whatever becomes of it, we can invest whatever back to you Poets, so we did, but a feeling came over us as in, what will others think, and in all reality we don’t care what others think, but it is a money based world. We did not like the feeling once we tried it, but we let it ride, and we found out live videos work better on that issue. We also noticed a passenger change. So let’s make this clear, we do this because we Love the Art of Poetry, Railroad history, Railfans etc &c and so much more. Our playlists Rock and Roll baby. Gander them. We are Poetry VJ’s. All one has to do is tune in to a playlist, clean your house and listen to Poets from the U.S.A., Canada, Africa, and so many other places, and so many other playlists that inspire. We don’t care about the changes of monetization on Youtube. What we do care about is megalomania, we spot it, and we do not got it. Comprehend? Thank you for riding... Furthermore we are going to have to e-stop by Mugoda Gordons aka Wake The Poet, and get us a rolex from Musilamu. But just imagine if no one had Megalomania, and all flicked the on switches on all Poetry Channels, so whatever mind set you have, carry on, because reality is cool.
“Ya ya, what Redd said,” Andy replied. “How hard is it to subscribe to anything you love to do, why even ask.”
“So Createspace and Youtube gave a low blow to Poets?” Boet added.
Much so. Redd replied.
“Alright back to Poetry studies gentlemen, and look around Uganda, back in the day, not so long ago and way back too.” Mathias stated, “Uganda was a rough and tough place for Poets. Poet Okello Oculi was lucky, he got out as of many others too, and went to the U.S.A.”
“From Poems read in his book ‘Song for the Sun in Us’ seems to me, he knows Love as we know it.” Andy said.
No one said anything. As the train rolled on they looked at the Giraffes living so beautifully.
The train stopped at the Kasese Train Station, and the conductor warned everyone the lands may flood from the coming rain, so the speed of the train must be slower than usual.
“There is private American money on these railways.” Boet stated.
“Imagine that.” Andy replied. “Note, Jimmy New Orleans and investments.”
More army engineers boarded the train.
“Great, we are safe, but we need more java steam, and sugar cargo if you know what I mean.” Andy said. “What’s up Redd?”
Books. Redd replied. ‘Consequences,’ so here we go again, a word with con in it. Who keeps on installing fear only prolongs fear, whoo, okay, oh the luxury, oh the wisdom. Never mind fellas, just, ha ha. Let’s just keep challenging literary norms with dedication, and keep on keeping on, producing and distributing innovative literature at the lowest possible cost for the greatest number. Ha ha. Heads and morals held high away from the corporate hubbub, rub a dub, we are not subs.
The train began to slowly roll, and the rain played music upon its roof.
“Tell me something.” Boet said. “I am reading this mini bio of Philippa Namutebi Kabali-Kagwa on badilishapoetry.com. She talks about the wisdom of centuries, the tried and tested imagery, the archetypal characters that give new perspective to the perennial questions that we struggle with. Is that our duty, to stir something, to teach?”
Yes, although it depends on those that, want to feel the more terrible, of more love. Redd replied, As America Poet James Dickey would say. She is wise. I love when she says, ‘When your life feels sad and like ashes, blow on it, and the fire of passion returns.’ I deeply love that. Also when she says, ‘There is power in the simple, and nothing beats a book.’
“Ya Ya in the moment right here right now.” Andy said, “This is good stuff. Exactly Boet, this is why we do what we do. If you listen close, she knows, people like us are listening, and paying attention.”
Andy, I am thinking about our first days. Redd said. Oil is still stopping high speed rail in the U.S.A. And starting it here.
“I know, thanks Redd, that’s why I love you.” Andy said.
“There are pranksters among us again.” Andy replied.
Redd looked around, and looked at Boet and Mathias.
“Read her Poem ’The Call.” Andy said. “Think about the times, when Poets met face to face, eye to eye, soul to soul... I was thinking also last night about music, and new great talent. Back in the day when I was in a band, my cousin invited me over to listen and watch a Mudvayne concert. Me and my cousin written many songs together, and he said, Listen to the nu-metal, these youngsters are doing it to it, so I found this video, and listened, and I have to agree, but then I was to occupied by life and what we were doing to fully grasp the shift, but now I see, they took their originality and blended old school things too, like Motley Crue and Kiss imagery, and theirs works as well. In the video, the audience did not fully expect this level of musical greatness, so keep that in mind.”
Nice, everyone said.
“So occupation is good but a distraction?” Boet asked.
Depends on the level of growth. Redd replied.
“Right.” Boet replied. “Why do bands break up?”
Andy laughed. “I will explain later, aye. So these Railways have been rehabilitated? Spanking new, that’s cool, and we too are transporting raw material, ya ya. Poetry! Heavy Duty Poetry, imagine that! What transit time? I wonder if Charles Kateeba of the Uganda Railways Corporation would hang out with us. Maybe Talvez.”
Boet free styled some Poetry,
“Railway land, railway land, poetry man, poetry man.
With poetry one won’t have big big problems, understand.
Yes Jimmy New Orleans inc. is around,
so nothing will be sound, all Poets hit the ground.
We are saving your dream, riding on this train of lime green.
With it Jimmy New Orleans funded,
all railways will remain in the 1800′s.
Radicals radicals making railway deals,
Appeal appeal and one must never forget,
this is the land of the railway lunatic.
I say -U.S. money do not borrow,
because Jimmy New Orleans will never give you back tomorrow.
Protest what what, do not keep your mouths shut!
Be hard and be not soft, and be careful of farmland sell off.
Read American history, you all remind me of American natives.
Listen to me, listen to me, crack the whip on this safari.” Boet laughed, “I am going to have to write this down, I can go on.”
Everyone laughed, but knew it was no laughing matter.
Andy got up, and said, “I shall return with some rail wrecker pie, because we have the Crocodile eye, and know Jimmy New Orleans is around, and believe me, we know the guy. Who dat say Jimmy New Orleans?”
“Let me put this Mahvash Sabet news cast on your e-desk.” Boet said, with a sad face, and asked. “Have any of you seen this in your feeds since its publication? Me, I have been gandering since.”
Andy and Redd started to listen and read. They looked at the dates, and at each other.
Boet, I have not, and I am sure Andy hasn’t. Redd replied, as Andy looked deeper.
Boet stated, “The Poetry of Mahvash Sabet is,” and everyone at the same time said, “Powerful.”
Boet spoke again, “I admire the self-esteem. I see that in the both of you.”
We tend to feel satisfied with ourselves but do not necessarily see ourselves as superior to others. Redd proclaimed.
“Not driven to get ahead than to get along.” Boet replied. “I love this learning, and growing.”
“I am listening to Poet Vuyelwa Carlinand, and gandering online some books of hers, and anthology’s she is in. I admire Poets that endure through time and changes, and keep steady in Poetry, so as an outsider looking in it is a good feeling, so one day may people see all of our love and hard work too.” Andy stated. “We have been through a lot these last seven years, traveling the e-railways, and the railroads to listen, read and promote Poetry and Railroad history, and we have been awestruck and in perpetual epiphanies ever since, so as Vuyelwa Carlin says, ‘Through Poetry she tries to understand both these strange worlds from within.’ And that also goes to the strange and dangerous world on the outside, that as we see as a downhill progress these days.”
I get you, and from listening to Poet Farzana Marie, who is on the Poetry Train now by the way, and this was also from finding Poet Mahvash Sabet, and her lessons of life, Poetry in prison, and back tracking to do work for Poets of the U.S.A. And Poetry Train America, and with Channillo is yes, to look beyond the frame work, the frame works of political and other mind sets. Red explained. We will get to more of the Channillo and Poetry Train America later, because we have much to talk about and study about the Mountain Lion issues we are now facing, and there’s so many other animals that need care too. Yes Andy I understand, and I don’t like to use the word retro, but I see what you mean. It is great to look back and see how things looked and sounded not too far back in time, and you see the shifting.
“It amazes me in how Poets sense the world, senses what is right and wrong.” Boet said. “What saddens me is what politicians don’t sense, and that is a serious matter too.”
“There’s a lot of ugliness happening isn’t it?” Andy asked.
Reds spoke, I am reading, Poetry world split over polemic attacking ‘amateur’ work by ‘young female poets’ by Alison Flood and Sian Cain. I find it all interesting... Megalomania is not a joke, another kind of spiritual battle. I can tell you all this, there are invisible Poets in this world, they read online Poets in all forms, and they will not post online for many reasons, and to me they are part of the audience that learn from those in the arena. I have met some, and their Poetry is just as good if not better than what is online, and they also tell me they do not submit Poems to anyone either and that comes down and up to a lot of factors... All amazing to me... What kills me about this article I’ll just say this there are Poets that do rock and roll and they get no recognition because many won’t let them shine, so when they do move forward on their own they get back bited, a flat out joke, to me... There is more peace in how we roll... Once some one understands Frank Norris’ Octopus they’d realize how things are stuck in stupid and can’t get the history repeat button to un-jamm, simple as that... The main thing is a Poet cannot let peoples stingers get the best of them, they need to rejoice in who they are regardless of smack..
We are all growing, hopefully anyway in good ways. Favoritism does not build the Poetry audience, appreciations do.
“I’ll play a song for you Redd.” Andy said, and laughed. “Take two. Take three.”
“Seems to me, many can’t breathe the ugly reality.” Boet stated.
“Conflicts within, the conflicts without, when you use the word we, make sure you know what the history of we is about, and decipher what intentions and inventions came about. Tote some wisdom on your back, and you will find, you shall need a train and a Railroad track.” Andy proclaimed. “We have our eight fingers down, and two thumbs up, and we are the Poetry E Train and that’s what’s up!”
A few rickety racks went on by on the railway tracks.
“I like this article, 10 Ideas That Could Save American Poetry by Seth Abramson.” Andy stated. “Tuned people know what is real, real as in oh wow this is cool, Poetry arts etc &c. Because when all senses are engaged you know real because once in that zone, you feel all of its tones, bones are bones bro. Love for Poetry, is all you need, as he said, Chase Poetry through the channels of time. As we know, and have been doing.”
Andy has the tendency not on purpose but the tendency to crimp styles. Redd proclaimed. He has a habit of climbing flag poles having a seat up there, some ladies like that, and it pisses off their fellas, it’s funny to me. Even Lynyrd Skyryrd has a video in their archives of Andy climbing their flag pole in Nashville Tennessee, the yellow jacket security came, and Andy disappeared out the front door, funny stuff.
“God bless, why don’t they have bath tubs on trains?” Andy asked. “Again I say, find your happiness in Poetry, and stick to your Poetic guns.”
“I have been pondering, how would a Poet know if they have been plagiarized?” Boet asked. “Not one mosquito bite, so how is literary malaria going? Think about, where can a Poet scratch an itch? Maybe that Poetry Igloo app right? And also, Poetry is similar to human creation, love lust, lust love, and the styles of making love.”
Andy and Redd looked at each other, and smiled.
“These are Chinese farms here, and they do not like the railway here, similar to U.S.A. History.” Mathias said. “All farmer’s complain about the train, and not utilizing the frame of brain.”
In the U.S.A. The railway is a movers secret, it is cheaper than moving companies, and containers. Redd declared.
“Which African country has saved oil money for future generations?” Mathias asked, “None, they always say that in the beginning. Nigeria said the same. Angola said the same. Congo said same.. African bad luck. The president will always divert to Swiss bank to enrich white man further who would in turn cleverly use it under another name to lend back to Africans at very high interest. To use money to build institutions lasting ones and steel plants, aluminum smelters, metallurgical plants labs machine tool gold mining and processing to plant a gold bullion gold currency requires concerted thinking which is outside the presidents control, so the bottom line is poverty and unemployment and fiat money and beggar culture for eternity. Theft and corruption is the motivation. Children are taught corruption is bad, it’s our only chance.”
“Yes, the schools teach this, and kids write Poems about this, good.” Boet said.
“I do not think we have told you this, but we love your accent Boet, and yours too Mathias.” Andy said, “Back to wisdom of Poets, Walabyeki Magoba, wrote for pleasure, wisdom. He read to be inspired.”
“Writing is hard work, and many people do not appreciate that.” Boet said, “I think people don’t realize how much effort and how many sleepless nights are behind the most successful Poets. People who chase fame never last! It’s the artists who love their craft, love making music, love the people who support them, and don’t care about fitting in who become legends. I share this mentality,”
21st Century Uganda has a totally different tone than anywhere I have read and heard so far. Redd proclaimed.
“Boet to answer you.” Andy said, “Going back to literary malaria from Poetry plagiarism Poets have to consider the Poet Igloo we created and connect with the Library of Congress and similar institutions to create a data base a better than better app furthermore built like Fort Knox, but it’s not going to happen unless Poets get off their ass, and unite in that fight. Let’s look at WordSlingers screenplay ‘SAM’ which be new, never posted on the net and a month later some writer created a similar story and in all reality ‘SAM’ be much better because for one it was first and true. ‘SAM’ is based from his true life, so these mosquitoes need sprayed with unity from street Poets and academic Poets. John E told me regardless of the state of affairs he is happy with creating things for Poets and knows one day some will awake, and get it done. In the meantime he says never stop being who you are in Poetry and grow but most of all help the next Poet. He also says, let them do what they do, because the Poetry Gods will have the last say. Ha ha love that. Also I want to mention, say an alarm to all Poets, this is why no one who is a Poet is not posting online because seems to them, Poets do not fight for and enough for themselves or others, so until then, they are growing faster, by being ninja like, comprehend?”
Redd laughed and said, Yes these Uganda Poets are primal Poetry hearts. World peace so close yet so far away... These scientists say, parallel worlds exist and will soon be testable but it is okay to tinker from 0 to 9 but when it comes to z to a, lost... Stop using the word, hope... Can’t figure out what is pushing, maybe it iz the prankster God doing what the prankster God does best, push... Is anyone sure some don’t have an invisible tail, if they concentrated on poverty, animal killers and bad bad bad people and trash so much more you may have a clean place to live, where we all can enjoy life, but no, we we we we we the human pig went to the market...
“At least others like Mr Greene know Poets are precious and lethal...” Andy said, “Word! The token is in Poetry with a Capital P ~Mr. Brian Greene aka the art of listening... Love his answer though. He’d ask a scientist from the future to his dinner table. Although from the art of listening. Hark, Poet King David would say otherwise.”
God is the ultimate prankster, Godacuda. Red added. Ha ha. Some Poets have been saying this for years.
Boet began to sing, “No one knows where time come from.” His singing sounded like a southern black man walking down the railroad tracks. “No one knows where time come from. Kicking gravel stone, home home grass.”
Andy joined in, “We grow, and ripen so. As in a prairie like a Meridel LeSueur prairie said so. Listen fellas, what these people need to dig on is in this time and place and universe, ya ya.”
“Poetry is beauty, beauty beauty beauty and it can show the ugly ugly ugly, so Poetry is ugly ugly ugly and show the beauty beauty beauty, so what’s or who is the problem?” Boet asked, and passengers online replied.
“I may get this wrong but..... ‘Beauty is Truth and Truth is Beauty.’ or is it ‘Truth is Beauty and Beauty is Truth.’ I think Keats said that.? Sometimes a door cracks open in my brain and a memory stumbles out. Lol!”
Andy commented back, “Indeed Keats... but keep in mind the literary trick bag from all the masters... Keep all senses engaged, and always listen to the gut... The thing is that scares good ones are the trick bag. You can be holy and good until blue is blue but in this world evil is evil.. Survival... I told many this and not my theory I’d have to step back and adjust but what it comes down to is love and lust either or we are born from either or: no one is perfect thank God for that. Just look at a battery does it work or don’t, so where are we going with it? and who is we? All I know is God is prankster and is not going to stop anytime soon. Look at the word Push as these scientists try to explain, notice try. Who and what is or are all connected. They are masters of math that lead back to Poetry. Eons from now they will find Poetry. Here is a perfect example of shaking the fence in our life time.” and Andy played, Marilyn Manson - The Beautiful People.
Other passengers commented, “Poetry is like a broken toaster, some days are dark, some days light, it depends what you’re plugged into.”
“That’s right the Poet is the Human Camera even Susan Santog in her book ′ On Photography’ of hard core work says, the Poet began and the Poet will always be- correct in so many things it is about Push, these scientists from all time and now cannot figure the push well.” Andy replied. “Fix the toaster.”
“Just plug it in to a different place lol,”
“Ya ya I have a story to tell you eye to eye about the toaster bet that.” Andy replied.
“Poetry is a kaleidoscope of emotions from one end of the spectrum to the other and back again. Free flowing.. Ever going.. Poetry isn’t for those who can’t ride.”
“Poetry is actually letting your emotions channel out of your head, pass down to your heart, then running to your hand, whole the pen spits the thought to the paper.”
Time out, Redd stated I have somethings to reveal. We have a signal on global polarity timescale. We also have an alarm. The road ahead is not good because Africa is splitting into. Also war in South Africa, no rain too, no one can get off their asses, and make a rain Turtle, and it is just sad what has any one in charge of heart of goodness learned from history? Obviously not to damn many. Also they found bones of a new hominin, so how are these scientists drinking water and not getting killed, and why they not know the magic if the rain Turtle. Oh yes, they have the mentality of a United States land fill. And.
“What, oh no.” Boet replied, “It’s been said politics is downstream from culture, but culture is downstream from race. Cargo cult folks, and we are hauling wisdom and Poetry with love and care.”
“Yes, trying to teach Poets to protect their work and others like a photographer.” Andy stated. “God Bless wake up.”
Andy tell them the Poetry modern trivia please. Redd suggested.
“10/4, Can we applaud Edgar, where are you Edgar. Where are you Mr. Welchberry? Because y’all, Edgar Allan Poes’ Poem Annabella Lee is the most recreated video Poem in modern times.” Andy spoke, “All sorts of creativity went into making video Poems from many people, and every one of them are as I can say, are Grand!.”
Everyone was silent.
Andy spoke again, “Slowly the picture comes into focus... I may inject some ccs of megalomania just to save some of you... It will be fun stepping outside the Poetry aka Poet Igloo... ya ya to th’ya ya...”
Redd added, We have been plowing through bs and time, folks the path has been paved... Do not let these candy asses scare you. Buck right up to them... What side of the horn are you on?
“That is a great question.” Andy replied. “What side of the horn are you on? That can mean two things. The splitting into. The continent geography and human intellect. We could be on the horn side of this journey, meaning when we get to Kenya. The people must be warned. Also Poet Mbizo Chirasha says, ‘I am declaring a creative war to those who oppress and look down upon Poets, and I am declaring war on Poets who fight other Poets. It’s time we become united Poets.’ Also everyone Poet Fayssal Chafaki says, ‘Poets if not united are not Poets,’ so lets think about all of this for the next Poets because as we know from experience, and from Poets before us, with wisdom relay by using the art of reading and listening. Many Poets are and was crass about others. Also not to mention names but bad ass Poets who have passed and ones alive now know what’s up. No one is perfect and we know this. Some Poets stay with who they are comfortable with and others keep close to see what use and wisdom there is, and intake. Also from what we learned from the Wanderer project with Livraison.us Fayssal Chafaki has a serious point, and other factors we have witnessed and witnessing. I removed PoetryTrain America from Channillo.”
Oh great. Redd replied. I will tell Charlie.
Boet felt the disgusting part of all of this finally, and spoke, “If politics cannot split Kenya then nature will split it in time. I cannot imagine Lake Victoria moving. We need a drone. Now about Poets, the people who love reading and Poetry have the greatest say, so stick the gut.”
Andy sung a song, Bye Bye Love by the Everly Brothers and contacted Constantine Enyo and Munia Khan and sent latest wisdom...
“Kenya and all of the world must be warned, and also the seismic activity may collapse the Railway in the land.” Mathias added.
We must keep listening to the realm. Redd said. May have more trivia, seems Sylvia Plath has many Poetry fan readers creating Poem videos of her work too, cool stuff.
“I have told Poet Mbizo Chirasha we are ready to assist.” Andy declared.
Mathias laughed, and said, “Beautiful things, sweet songs and funny stories, rhythm, shape and colour, a literary train to keep individuals and society sane. A story one could use, to tell your own, of the local and the universal. Eternally collected, and this has been a smooth transformation. The rollercoaster never ends.”
Andy spoke, “To remind everyone how cool in the rule we are, recall, Okot P’Bitek wrote: ‘If there are two types of rulers in every society, that is, those who use physical force to subdue men, and those that employ beautiful things, sweet songs and funny stories, rhythm, shape and colour, to keep individuals and society sane and flourishing, then in my view, it is the artist who is the greater ruler.’ So as rulers we could always invade, and raid radio and tv stations.”
“We will be in Ngugi wa Thiong’o land soon enough.” Boet stated.
I love it here, so much warmth and spirit, Redd said.
Redd got up to stretch and said, Seems Robert Serumaga and theatre gave force to the times in their day, and what is sad is that there is nothing on the internet he has done, and well, absurd to me. Question, do you think the whole world has been poisoned?”
Boet turned up the volume on his icy blue tooth speaker in the dining car, laughed, and looked at Redd.
Redd laughed, and said looking at Andy, He knows Poets of place, he is understanding.
“Ya ya unlike me, Boet is right.” Andy said. “Real people know originality, and those that keep to it, thank God.”
Boet and they listened to a mini bio video on the Poet Mildred Kiconco Barya aka ‘The Gift’
Boet nodded his head in approval, and Andy elbowed Redd.
“So this is like a Poem video of the Poets place, right, those kind, correct?” Boet asked.
Yeah yeah. Redd replied.
“We have more on our study plates gentlemen, and I am reading about schools in the U.S.A, Why American Students Haven’t Gotten Better at Reading in 20 Years by Natalie Wexler. Syria voices, and since we are Poetry-Poetologists we need to look into this Rolling Stone article, How Forensic Musicology Is Altering Pop’s Future, by Andy Hermann.” Andy stated, “To read & write grand, one must become an ologist on persons, places, and things, don’t you think? To learn history too from Poetry, ya ya you know, ha ha. To originate, and abolish whatever else has not been done or found under the sun. Thank you sunshine, ya ya. Look to the future of the now, and always protect yourself any way and how.” Andy went into speed racer like twitter mode to alert all mentioned in music law the Poetry Train is alive, and Andy smiled the whole time.
Redd added in, To think this reading problem in America is not a Poet problem too then think again. I have faith some youngsters are educating themselves to the wisdom things... Also, for the ones that do, and become original will have a hard time because who is going to be there to feel all they have to offer?
Boet looked at Mathias, and back at his laptop, looking at photos, and said, “We are finding all of these local publishing houses like crazy.”
Poet Austin Bukenya knows about team work and unity; so does Kanyeihambas Ambiition Baco aka Nsimamukama. Redd stated, and he eye nudged Andy to look at Boet, because he was falling in love again. Mildred Kiconco Barya aka The Gift was on Boets’ mind.
“Wisdom and assurance alert.” Boet proclaimed. “African Literature is beginning to Open Itself to the World by Ranka Primorac.
They all listened to Ranka Primorac videos online.
“Literature is powerful and politicians know it, one has to make it into the funny papers,” Andy said and laughed.
What else do we have?” Redd asked.
“Maybe Ranka knows we are ahead of our time?” Boet suggested.
“She is considered a literary detective.” Boet added.
“We are undercover Boet, you know it.” Andy whispered, and went into electric owl mode, and said, “Love this here, Godfrey Kalimugogo says to Maurice Alex Muhwezi-Murari, ′My job is to write and not to market. Those who care to read will find the books.′ Bingo, Bob G. Kisiki has wisdom... This is great, in 1966, a scholar named Rajat Naogy founded a literary magazine called Transition, and was the spectacle spot for many voices, but many voices retreated into the U.S.A. So, hmm.”
I am reading this too. Redd stated, Many fear literary creativity, wow really, which was mistaken for political activism, whatever. Idiots. Some things make me sick. World, how hard is it to do the right thing?
“I like this story, must make note to add to my think tank. Boet said, “The theory that it was in fact Edward De Vere, Earl of Oxford, who penned Shakespeare’s plays.”
Andy spoke, “I know in my heart these owners of social media websites have never sat down on the earth, and counted the blades of grass. I know this because of their limits they allow, tyrant like aka ceilings they call them, and I am sure they never roofed a day in their lives either... Then you have shadow ghosts asking for money to enlarge that, sorry Charlie trix are for kids... Carry on...”
A half a minute passed, and Andy added, “Stay to your poetic guns Poets!”
Boet looked at Andy and asked, “How many snakes do you have in the bag daddy?”
“Let me sharpen my knife, and we will ask them to count themselves.” Andy replied. “Been thinking, maybe Poets worldwide should go invisible for a while, a long while. Meaning hiding all Poems, similar to a worker strike... I wonder about Poets, and things that may and hurt them. I know all of humanity are fighting a battle. We can only have faith they are doing their best. Although some things tell me humanity will box themselves into darker madness, and to back track, and look back; would reveal the obvious. It will take humanity nearly 5,000 more years to clean up. In the meantime, yes some are trying I guess, listen to Dr. Micheline Maylor, when she says Poetry sends signals to connect us, so who is trying to stop, disturb, and cause conflict to that issue? Again, there is freedom and peace on Poetry, that dead end street, so, maybe it is best to be left alone. Sounds like I am plumber, hmm. So ya ya, what Dr. Micheline Maylor says. As I told Munia Khan, Dan Wilk, Tammy Jo Tamborini and so many others like Chris Marts I have told, oh ya Malik Peterson...
The Poetry School teachers’ feet never hits the ground- that Wahoopa Loopa Bop Bam Boom!”
Nice, very nice, Redd replied, Zapped’ zap, we own junk.com too. Redd laughed. The greatest pool tool. I have a red alert, time loop.
“10/4.” Andy said, and he stops the train by running around with a bag of snakes and a knife. “Saving you all from snakes, they been creeping in the dining cars on every train we have rode.” Andy drops the bag of snakes, and does a Walter Paytons move over the crowd by the conductor and door to save a girl from drowning in a nearby river. As Andy ran, he recalled the past, saving two girls from drowning in pools in his life time, and they were all young black girls.
On the way back Andy received applause from all...
Andy says, “It truly amazes me in how many make, and take Poetry into, let me say, an alphabet orgy fest... Buy Guppies and a big take and ponder, then take a break, and maybe one day a seed will get planted in the soul, because- Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust shall we say if it was not for bad ass Poets the world will- Rust... _Andy Sandihands... so wah wah tever, - boo.”
Boet and Redd laughed their brains on...
“No one has the time, no one has the time Poetry.” Andy said.
NO, they don’t take the time, Redd replied.
“Where’s the bag of snakes?” Andy asked
“Someone stole them, and we are not sure who did that, and if they are still on the train or left, hoping they are gone.” Mathias replied.
A Storm began.
“We need a light show.” Andy stated.
We’ll let’s get off the train for a while. Redd said, and they all gathered their belongings to stay a night in Uganda. As they get off the train Boet asks, “So are we going to visit Jackee Batanda at the retreat, Humura?”
They all smile
“We need a light show.” Andy stated. “A dream map too.”
As they enter the Tororo train station, a crowd surrounded them. Their spokesman spoke to Andy, “Impressed by your courage Uganda takes you under their wing, and wants to you help you all out.”
Andy bowed, and sung, ‘Somebody Save Me’ by Cinderella.
Their spokesman spoke again, “Tonight we go on a night safari. No worries, we have rain coats.”
“You have to have umbrella insurance.” Andy said, and laughed. “For sure, we must. Find a place to sleep. Find a place to sleep. Our belongings.”
Is the hail common? Redd asked.
“No.” Mathias replied.
“Flash flooding.” Boet said.
“The lightning is so creative like we are.” Andy said. “Let’s look at the world in the eye, and say hey, you are headed to destruction.”
We are going to be boasting introverts, and be even more precise with scalpel and dissection, Redd said.
They all in sync recited the poem Lunatic Express backwards,
It is clearly naught but a lunatic line.
And in spite of George Curzon’s superior lecture,
What it will carry, there is none can define,
What is the use of it, none can conjecture,
Where it is going nobody knows
Where it will start from no one can guess
What is the object no brain can suppose
What will it cost, no words can express
Boet looked at Redd and spoke, “Andy seems cynical.”
“Rain Rain go- Train Train go-, so who was the Poet that wrote that great line about wishing?” Andy asked. “Shit in one hand, and wish in the other, and see which one comes faster?”
Train station security gave Andy the bag of snakes, and gave him back his knife.
Boet and Redd laughed, and Redd filled everyone in, The suggestion came to us, should we have another poetry presses and publishers week, like we did in Canada... NO, came from all of us, NO, and because we like Bill Haley and the Comets. We ‘Shake Rattle and Roll.’ and not only that, we recall only one had the decency to say thank you, so get out in that kitchen, and rattle those pots and pans. Well roll my breakfast ’cause I’m a hungry man, Oh Mr. Welchberry.
Andy looked at Redd and looked up, and spoke, “Okay, may as well y’all take splish splash, while the rains lash. Sleep walking so bad, even non-sleep walkers sleep walking- ya ya call me Captain Slim James Jim Smirck, Giving th’Universe a Jerk, get off your soul, and perk... aka Andy Sandihands, knowing many have bath tubs to waste, and not doing a thing but wasting time. The ols’ man is snoring, spoke with an s for a sucking reason, and the rain is pouring. We are not Poetry Directors.” Andy laughed his ass off, and spoke again, “We are not old. Going through life and death together, so you got a problem with that, we outside, sting it, sling it... So there’s your worldwide love speech hate speech, where’s Axel F? By your way Facebook and all your phone and service companies have been making sure you have e- observed oxygen all day and who knows whats else, sick viri upon on and in, YO, and ya ya that’s cool, Because we are watching the coil snap...”
They all sat down outside the train station, and breathed flowed in human sentiment and emotion. Poetry will do that. Resting in beauty and nature. Andy was mind debating about horseback riding, and Boet still in the groove, played some Carlo Rovelli videos, and spoke, “We need more thinkers like Rovelli, and we need a better quality of leadership altogether. The citizen educated is the citizen freed.”
Andy was smiling, and Boet asked, “What causes the smile?”
“Oh, this is where, let me say, where, interesting to see if and when the science catches up with literature. Maybe.” Andy replied and laughed. “Redd here is a master at letting go.”
Redd laughed, and replied, Some of my deepest affections exist across and in spite of linear concepts of time. We really need to make the best of it instead of figuring out how to own it. Then we can see that our political institutions and politicians are In Reality, just two-bit actors with teeny, tiny brains on a really big stage. Really, there isn’t much left to human or animal existence when you peer closely. Andy here spoke once, as, the past is front of them. They can’t see the future, so it is behind them. Makes sense if you think about it. If there is a purpose to human life, it is to think.
“One of the things I like to think about is Elephants, and the way they return to where their ancestor’s bones lay in the sun for decades.” Boet said, “The way the Elephants gently rub their trunks over the bones as if they know exactly whose skull that is and that they still visit and think about that individual Elephant.”
“God is going to be pissed when God arrives home.” Andy replied, and recited T. S. Eliots’ poem ‘Burnt Norton’ After reading the Poem Andy spoke T. S. Eliot, “We must not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we began and to know the place for the first time.”
Red alert, Redd stated, Boet, scan Sophie Alal on law and literature.
“10/4, on it.” Boet replied. “In coming, Law and Literary Reputation by Professor Kate Sutherland.”
Redd, spoke on, Sophie Alal, one of the important lawyer-writers whose perspective on law and literature in Uganda. She says, It’s a shame that we neither learned how to reason nor cultivate critical consciousness. It was deeply worrying to realize that we were committing intellectual suicide on a grand scale. Schooling, and fooling gentleman. She needs to know, we need Poet Lawyers. She says, loads of lawyers, we could do with more musicians, public intellectuals, writers, actors and so on. There is so much work to be done to contribute our share to humanity. Wisdom is abundant in literary work. When you break it down to fiction and creative non-fiction, then it makes even more sense. She recalls books in the Book Bank, many we not there, say that should be. How might a young scholar’s mind been enriched she asks deeply? Mark Twain argued in his biography that there has always been a struggle between morality and intelligence, and the more intelligent one is, the more cunning they are at rationalizing their amoral positions. So, tool box, here you go gents. Key words, moral clarity!
Andy laid back and said, “Keys, shake your cystal maker. Ah ha.” His ring tone shook alone, Save me, save me.” Somebody Save Me by Cinderella.
“Now then then now time was made to be broken down.” Andy stated while getting up, and answering an unknown call. Andy looked at them, and whispered, “Seth Woods from Canada.”
Everyone else received flood warnings on their phones. “Be right back, although recall, Poetry, the Empire not many cared for aka care for, ya ya. Sweetly good.” Andy added walking away.
While listening to the Kate Sutherland about lawsuits of Edgar Allan Poe, L.M. Montgomery, and Theodore Dreiser.
Redd asked, Who teaching who? The power question, who listening?
Because in tune, Redd and Andy were tele-thinking together, and Boet was feeling it, and Boet recited the poem, ‘Miniskirt by Richard Ntiru.’
Mathias laughed, and gave Boet a high five.
The flood news on Mathias radio said. The military are doing air lifts, and animals are dying too.
“Yawn till dawn, green alert!” Boet said smiling here and there, ““The best Poetry is the folk epic,” declared Taban Lo Liyong at the 37th Poetry International in Rotterdam. He gave the tenth lecture in Defence of Poetry. Taban Lo Liyong says, In this confusing and volatile time, with its fast-paced Poems, we need traditional hero tales. Maybe he, the Chameleon like Poet, asks, “Where are the all-encompassing Poems? The Poems that position a human being in his place between the Gods and his weaker nature?”
All was quiet and smooth during the storm at the Tororo train station.
“Actually I have a list of Uganda to go through still, checking doors for Poets lost in the mansion of time.” Boet said.
Let’s get us some food. Redd said.
At the food bar, residential people were talking about no pay from the Railway. Enough is enough they spoke. Others made arguments about landslides from the rains, and many families were worried. Many people could die.
For the railway business, steel was this issue, the cost, and a non-skilled workforce.
A man walked up to to them, and said, “You can’t take a train as a passenger from Tororo Station, Uganda. Unless you hitch.” He pointed at the farm train.
Another man walked up, and said, “Bungoma, where dead men walk, and people get killed by trains.”
“Transparency, and progress.” Another man said. “Women are in training, they will be pioneers, locomotive drivers.”
“Andy!” Redd called out loud, waving at him to hurry back, and Redd pointed to the farm train, and walked toward it. Redd turns around, and says, Thank you.
“HAIL THE RAIL!” Andy shouted while jogging back to them hitching the farmer train.
While listening to Seth, Andy thought about, The Tudor period and the Tower of London, Llanerchymedd, Pennsylvania Steel, The Flight of the Earls, The Davison Lumber Company And Wilkes & Barre Vulcan, Iron works, and the British & the Acadians, oh yes furthermore The Swedish Nightingale.
The cattle around the tracks grazed in the grass and sun. The riders sweated under the sun.
They saw children in purple clothes as the train moved. The children ran to the railway tracks through the green bushes, and once there, they knelt down to the tracks to hear, and feel the life of the train with their skulls...
Redd spoke, So beautiful to see the children listening to the trains vibration... Similar to the story written and about Delaware, about the turtles, and the story is powerful about time and changes but not only that, genuine storytelling and time changes, aka Poetic Poetry photography, life, powerful, love it
Andy added in, “Also great vibration in Uganda, recall the sound of water as I mentioned... Idea, Hail the Rail week. Kenya style. Bungoma Boda Boda. The farmers’ route.”
A nice breeze from the movement of the train cooled them off.
Andy spoke again, “StoryMoja y’all, Kenya, StoryMoja. They like we all are in the same battles, fierce criticism from funding, check that. Wisdom sent, self-commended.”
Andy checked the swat phone, and spoke, “Thank you Twitter, again, we move along in e-space... Furthermore thanks for the intruder alerts over the years... Salute... Cool although should be...
“As you have mentioned too.” Munia Khan...” Andy said and laughed, “Thanks again... onward forward- of course on course rides the e- poetry iron horse... Also great vibration in Uganda, recall the sound of water as I mentioned... Everyone now can remove their educational strait jackets of a curriculum designed to keep people in their place. Book Bank, Poem Bank, Memoir Data Bank, James Gold Bank. Like the starship enterprise, build the Poetry Train already.” Andy added, “Everyone promote Poetry books, come on, with passion.”
Boet laughed, and said, “Sara Hirsch has lead me to think Poets can take the world out of a crisis.”
Yes, add in a Poets memoir and you shine from that star. Redd said, Because written memoirs, death of knowledge. I agree with Henry Munene, memoirs are natural data banks.”
“Cool, so is it the same as the work like we are doing, writing about Poetry and the Railways.” Boet said smiling.
“Yes, maybe our books will be damaged, used, dog eared, notes, jagged edged, so” Andy said. “Aging with grace, and brightening the readers face.”
Everyone got more flood warnings on their phones.
“We need a drone, to record this.” Andy said, and laughed.
What did Seth want? Redd asked.
“To say hi, and remind us of ability versus, availability.” Andy replied, laughed, and said, “Also to see how the sands were stuck on the hands. Because it is 2018, that one hundred years since natural time has been dead to man-kind, kind man. Ha, Seth, kind man, mankind. I told him too we may, invade, and raid radio and tv stations, so don’t be afraid.”
“Millions are displaced, and many died from this flood.” Mathias said.