Bruce Wekesa, Kenya's National Honour, September 2026
Bruce Wekesa wrote the highest-scoring poem from Kenya in the Writory International Poetry Contest, September 2026: FROM THE COCKS TO THE CLOCK, scored 73 out of 100 by the blind judging panel across five published criteria. The poem was read in English (Latin script) with Swahili, Luh.
FROM THE COCKS TO THE CLOCK
FROM COCKS TO CLOCK My morning getting to work Birds erupt welcoming the morning Like an audience in the '80s welcoming Franco Lwambo Makiadi on stage The sun struggles to filter through the lusiola trees Dropping it's golden rays on the dust and grass Cocks argue from opposite villages Deciding who owns the first morning And I just stand there, Hearing the world wake up around me Branches dance without music, Flowers smile at the light. Birds hold mics and sing, Lusiola leaves clap back. The mood is Electric, Refreshing. The sun wins the struggle, Lusiola trees yield. Shadows run and hide, And morning takes its crown. Smoke competes to reach the sky first, Cows choke the air with their moos. River Nzoia hums softly, And the village speaks with life. Axes kiss wood, Boda boda engines scream, School shoes strike the road. The ground cracks as I step foot on the road, Dust rises under my feet. Horns try snatching the mics from birds, Matatus call my name. Lusiola trees wave goodbye, Touts voices fill the air with fares and destinations. Doors struggle to close, Elbows negotiate for space. Nostrils compete for air, Music threatens to tear up the speakers. Rhumba lyrics dominate the air, "Bolingo somi somida Lolango na yo epayi ya basusu ehh..." The driver switches lanes masterfully, Like a monkey jumping from one branch to another in Malava forest. Manamba alternates between stuffing more passengers in And stuffing more miraaa in his mouth. The car pierce through the air, As trees move behind, As if creating passage for a speeding VIP. The manamba screams out for fares, His shirt unbuttoned midway to the chest. Chest out. Eyes threatening to fly out of their sockets. Fanning notes in his huge fingers, Palming coins in his sweaty palm. I step out with my dirty shoes, Inscribed with other people’s steps. Rhumba still in my ears. Buildings punch my face with shadows. Offices spit and swallow humanity. The city clock stares at me, Its hour hand chasing its minute hand. My morning finally gets to work.
Every country's leading poet each month is named on the September 2026 National Honours. The contest is open to poets in Kenya and everywhere else: enter the current round, and every poem receives a score out of 100 and a certificate.