Blackberry's journal

Nigeria Nights 1951

It’s a very old moon,    the Moon of Africa,
hanging low and large in an endless
black sky.

Sitting on the verandah,
we sing – arias from opera, but
with silly words.

Evanda squats in the corner,
fingering his machete, pleased
but mystified.
Why are we singing his name
over and over?  We can’t explain ........

It's a rhyme!

Mother stabs a finger into the sky :
a bolt of  lightening forks
over a hill on the horizon.
Electric blue runs down the hillside
and I shudder, wondering
if there were living creatures there.

How can she bear to be a witch?

Other times we sit by moonlight
in the compound , encirlcled by a fence
of woven twigs, beside
a comforting camp fire.

Hairy orange spiders
rush into the fire as we sing,
while Gerald plays the harmonica,
surrounded by night scents
roasting...............burning dung
and sweat.................and spices.............
the intense odour of Africa.

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Well, you did ask, Penny.  I can feel my fingers itching to edit it and pare it down a bit, but I'll leave it for now.
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Geraldine Messenbird Smith asserts her copyright over this and any other content of her LJ except for anything which may be directly quoted from another source.