The Doctor's waiting room

I was sitting in the doctor’s waiting room with my ten year old daughter. She was restless, feverish and worried about getting a 'prick'. To distract her from her illness and the doctor, we made up this sort of meaningless but fun poem. By the time we were writing the third verse, she had settled down, was contributing enthusiastically and genuinely enjoying herself. The thing is that you can go on and on and on. Luckily for us we were called in to the doctor’s room and had to stop. I hope it will brighten your day. Don't look for any meaning from it, just enjoy the rhyming nonsense.

Fun with Colours

My favourite colour is blue
How I feel when I have the flu
Head light as a fly
Temperature high
What’s going on? I don’t have a clue

Red can be an angry colour
On the walls of Aunt Bee’s parlour
The room is so hot
From her potion pot
It’s nothing like a fancy gala

Purple is the colour of calm
Like the wind blowing on my palm
Whispers of peace
Chocolate puzzle piece
Sunsets on a vegetable farm

When I think of the colour yellow
I don’t imagine anything mellow
But something bright
And filled with light
An award winning practical fellow

I really like the colour pink
Nothing to do with the kitchen sink
Soft party frills
Oganza spills
And a fashionably fresh fruit drink

Green stands for natural and earthy
The trees, grass and things murky
Not enviousness
Or sly jealousness
But all things fun, free and quirky

Black draws the darkest of all
Bold and bland as a brick wall
Stands proud and clear
Both front and rear
Like the face of our own city hall

©2009 Christina Sempebwa

A Butterfly & A Child

 

A butterfly transforms

Like the life of a child

It blossoms into beauty

Like an adolescent will do

 

A butterfly is fragile

Like the life of a child

It’s delicate, soft, but firm

Like a teenager will be

 

A butterfly will fly away

Free to see the world

Like a child will explore

Eventually, cautious and wise?

©2009 Christina Sempebwa

For Victor and Clare

TWO SHALL BE ONE

I’m not really fond of arithmetic
But one thing I know is true
That math’s is always, well systematic
Except when God takes you through

Lend me your ears and I’ll explain
It’s really quite simple to me
Two plus two equals four, that’s plain
But not so with God, you see

Settle down in your seats, we may be a while
I’ll expound on this ‘adding’ thing
The words of my Lord, well they make me smile
They make me just want to sing

There’s ‘three in one’, that’s the Trinity
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit
And ‘the two shall be one’, that’s Divinity
Clare and Victor a unit


The truth is I’d like you all to know
That divine summations rock!
The two are joined, become one as they go
Not separate, oh no, a block

“And two shall be one,” the Bible says
It’s really a spiritual thing
Their lives will blend in God’s divine ways
Their vows are sealed with a ring

The mercy of God, amazing!
His grace sufficient for all
His love beyond our understanding!
He picks up all who fall

For Clare and Victor and all us here
To witness this special day
The Lord comes first, last, before ‘ere’
That’s the holy way

To God be Glory and Majesty
Now and forever more
To Him be praise and honour
For all eternity!

© 2008 Christina Sempebwa

Bananas

I know you love bananas
I can’t imagine why
Those yellow ridge bandanas
Rubber rough pancake pie
Their sweet in hot savannas
Melt into African rye

I know you love bananas
And that’s precisely why
I’ve bought some Tropicana’s
Of the fleshy sticky buy
And a tang of treacle cabanas
To evoke a delirious high

© 2008 Christina Sempebwa

My Mother

I wrote this poem for my mother on mother's day. She turned 85 this month and we are so blessed to have her.

My Mother

My mother is
and has always been
a tower of strength for me

My mother is
and has always been
a fountain of love for me

My mother is
and has always been
a treasure of wisdom for me

My mother is
and has always been
a cushion of comfort for me

My mother is
and will always be
a very special person to me

My mother!

©2008 Christina Sempebwa

Thinking about mummy

I used to write poems for fun but of late, I find that when I am upset about something, my hand finds a pencil and a poem emerges. Sometimes I write about what’s upsetting me, but other times, I just write down whatever comes into my mind. Below is a sample of what I have written.

When mummy

When mummy is tough
My life becomes rough
I want to be good
Not hide in a hood

When mummy’s not tough
We have a good laugh
I don’t want to stop
I’ll laugh till I drop

©2008 Christina Sempebwa

My mum

My mum, in a sum
Can be so full of fun
As bright as the sun
With time for everyone

My mum, in a sum
Can so angry become
As loud as a drum
When I’ve done something dumb

My mum, in a sum
Can be so overcome
As sweet as blue gum
There’s really no rule of thumb

©2008 Christina Sempebwa

Strolling along

I had stayed up late one night watching a documentary on ‘swarms’. You know locusts, bees and other such insects that like to live in such large numbers at such close proximity. The next morning I woke up with these words running through my mind, “I was walking alone in the park one day …” and I grabbed a notebook to jot them down. I continued to building up this poem over a couple of months and as I wrote it, I wondered if that documentary had any influence on what I was writing. Sometimes I thought it might, but at others times I wasn’t so sure. I don’t want to spoil it by telling what it’s all about, but I do hope that you enjoy reading it.

A STROLL IN THE PARK

I was strolling alone in the park one day
Along a beautiful, bright and brisky way
When I stopped to rest by an old pine tree
And there it was hanging high and free

I looked up to investigate, what could it be?
It was brown and round like a ball you see
Yet long and thick and heavy and full.
Swaying gently it begged me silently to pull

To free it from the tree was really not my choice
But it beseeched me and pleaded in a soft humming voice
Its cries grew louder and more urgent the longer I stared
Could I touch it with my hand? I wondered if I dared

It looked perfect hanging there almost ready to burst
I plucked up my courage, it felt strange at first
The rough skin was soft, I was surprised to find
Not as I expected, not what I had in mind

I pulled and I tugged but it stayed put on the tree
I began to wonder if it really wanted to be free
Then with one last effort using both hands to pry
I gave it all I had this was my very last try

I fell back on my bottom it was free at last
What a triumph, I had done it! But then it burst
I was amazed, disappointed after all I had done
But there was no time to brood, I had to get up and run

I was surrounded by humming and buzzing you see
The mystery revealed was there for all to see
I’m in trouble, I thought scrambling to my feet, I ran
Find a pool, a pond, or even a watering-can

What an adventure, what a day, I was soaked to the skin
“They’ve gone, I’m safe,” I said with a smug foolish grin
A narrow escape, from the big buzzing mass
And onto the next adventure with great poise and class

©2007 Christina Sempebwa

Preparing for guests in Africa

So much has been going on in Kampala, my hometown. All in the attempt to prepare for the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting that will be held here next month. Parts of our city look really good, but where I live and work its business as usual. This is still the rainy season and much of the city experiences flooding. It is such a contrast from the dry season when the city is just plain dusty! I don't know which I prefer, the dust or the mud and floods. I wish it could be somewhere in the middle. This is a poem that describes my hometown during the dry season.

My Home Town

I once lived in a city that was dusty
It was pretty and modern, but musty
No rubbish bins
Not even tins
Sometimes it could be so very nasty!

Now dusty is the capital of Ugantic
Its traffic jams are ever so frantic
No courtesy
Some heresy
And vehicles that should really be antique!

I love this dusty city of my childhood
And my country so often misunderstood
Such friendliness
Even in distress
There are some who are always so very good

But my country is plagued with a disease
Its potentials devoured by bourgeoisie
Mansions to behold
Just out of my hold
And an influx of foreign expertise

There is hope for our dear fusty land
It’s in our reach, right in our command
Grab our prize
Improvise
Come on then rise up and take a stand

That’s all from my dear dusty town
Come visit, we shall not close down
Malls full of goods
Taxis with hoods
And floods so be sure not to drown

When it Rains

These days it doesn’t just rain, its torrential! The city is flooding, the villages are flooding and well if you don’t take time to look at the other side of the coin, the situation is rather depressing. I wrote a poem a few years ago, reflecting what my children and I like to do when it rains. I think this is a good time to share it.

When it Rains

I love to sleep in when it rains,
My bed is so snug in a storm,
The splash of the rain,
On the window pane,
As I snuggle in bed it’s so warm.

The thunder so loud in the storm,
Flashes of lightening streaks,
Raindrops I hear,
All crystal clear,
Like a musical drama it speaks.

The sound of the storm slowly dies,
Nature’s orchestra comes to a close
The patter pat goes,
The wind still blows,
It’s time to get up I suppose.

© Christina Sempebwa 2004

My cat and the rat

I sat with my cat,
and put on my hat.
I looked for Coach Pat,
to give me a bat.

He was chasing a rat.
It ran under the mat.
Oh it was fat!
The rat, not Coach Pat.

“Chase him dear cat,
the rat, not Coach Pat.
It’s under the mat,
where I had sat.”

“Come on” said Coach Pat
“Use your bat,
help chase the rat,
it’s under the mat!”

I looked at my bat,
and the mat now flat.
Where was the rat?
And where was my cat?

“They’ve gone” said Coach Pat,
“The rat and your cat.
Play ball with your bat.
I’ll watch from the mat.”

© Christina Sempebwa 2004

ASLEEP IN A TREE

You’ll never believe what happened to me
When I fell asleep in the old fig tree

Curled up in a hammock, high and free
A sailor, riding waves far out at sea

I had this dream, it was weird you see
I was in my boat and I wanted to wee

But there was no toilet unfortunately
In the small boat, big enough for me

All around there was sea, sea and sea
So I thought it would be fine to bend over and pee

I scanned the area and there was only me
Not a boat in sight only water around me

Perhaps everyone was inside having tea
But I couldn’t think of drinking at this time you see

So I bent over the boat ever so carefully
Now remember I was dreaming and up in a tree

At that precise moment I woke up you see
And found myself swinging in the old fig tree

The hammock was swaying precariously
And I fell to ground unceremoniously

There is no one about, I thought thankfully
So I rushed into the house, to the bathroom to wee

I returned feeling good, relieved and free
The pressure was gone and I was awake, you see

Well be ready my friend if you sleep in a tree
For a great new adventure that your dream may be

My advice to you is take it graciously
But don’t be surprised if it turns out unexpectedly

© 2007 Christina Sempebwa

Trudy Moody Gets Groovy

My name is Trudy
I’m sometimes moody

But not so today
I’m happy to say

I’m skipping along
Singing a song

I reach for the sky
I wish I could fly

Jumping up and down
In my dressing gown

Stars sparkling out bright
Fill my bedroom with light

Oh what a display
A stunning bouquet

What a beautiful sight
It brings such delight

On a day such as this
Filled with much bliss

I’m dying to say
IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!

© Christina Sempebwa 2007