Who is Michael Aete

Michael Olute Aete is a 35 year old Kenyan. He holds a Bachelor of Arts Degree in Education (Linguistics and Literature in English) with IT. Currently he teaches English and Literature in Mwer Boys' High School. He heads the languages department in the said school. ...
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Michael Aete Poems

  • The 2020 Lover
    I don't mind your COVID smile my love
    The whole of my being is quarantined in your heart
    You are the epicenter of my happiness
    Allow me to capture your heart and place it under total lock down ...
  • The Chief Assassin
    Dear Chief of State
    The Commander in Chief of the Armed Forces
    And a staunch SUPPORTER of the Human Rights and Freedom
    I have a tragic revelation to make ...
  • The Supreme Judge
    You sit on the bench
    But I ask myself why:
    You have no judgement to make,
    No reason to listen ...
  • A Befitting Send-off
    Brothers, carry out the autopsy gently
    That corpse was a rich man's residence
    The carcass was never an ordinary body
    To be hacked and dug upon ...
  • The African Dictator
    Have you ever heaped up
    all the possible disgusting wastes
    from a high-level hospital
    ...
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Top 10 most used topics by Michael Aete

Soul 3 Broken 2 World 2 Mental 2 Vision 2 Lost 2 Feel 2 Precious 2 Dark 2 Place 2


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Poem of the day

Carl Sandburg Poem
House
 by Carl Sandburg

TWO Swede families live downstairs and an Irish policeman upstairs, and an old soldier, Uncle Joe.
Two Swede boys go upstairs and see Joe. His wife is dead, his only son is dead, and his two daughters in Missouri and Texas don't want him around.
The boys and Uncle Joe crack walnuts with a hammer on the bottom of a flatiron while the January wind howls and the zero air weaves laces on the window glass.
Joe tells the Swede boys all about Chickamauga and Chattanooga, how the Union soldiers crept in rain somewhere a dark night and ran forward and killed many Rebels, took flags, held a hill, and won a victory told about in the histories in school.
Joe takes a piece of carpenter's chalk, draws lines on the floor and piles stove wood to show where six regiments were slaughtered climbing a slope.
'Here they went' and 'Here they went,' says Joe, and the January wind howls and the zero air weaves laces on the window glass.
The two Swede boys go downstairs with a big blur of guns, men, and hills in their heads. They eat herring and potatoes and tell the family war is a wonder and soldiers are a wonder.
One breaks out with a cry at supper: I wish we had a war now and I could be a soldier.
...

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