Trained for turbulence,
calm is cringe,
peace seems painful,
like a war vet,
an idle mind is unkind.
Sighing at sweet serendipity,
the stress that precedes a fearful outcome leaves eggs on my face,
do you frustrate the same at my lack of faith in your grace?
You trodded down in to the tangible to teach me how to live,
You said worry is weight that you didn't give,
Yet I keep training for turbulence.
Will the titanic sink?
Will the Boeing crash?
Will the bus driver swerve in to the sewer?
If the hands that hold my fate have proved faithful then why clinch to control?
When the books are opened and the case closed,
The Judge will be justified for my crime will be sleeping with fear when faith was at home.
"We suffer more in imagination than reality"
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 2:08 AM UTC
Young boys on the street greet me with respect,
An inadvertent reminder that I'm pushing 30,
In Zambia they say "uncle" in SA they say "Ta",
the most recent decade feels the most defining,
a young man seeking alignment,
comfort can be cold and confining,
a raw ore rusty refining,
slacken strings needing tuning,
a fruitless tree praying for pruning,
before its cursed by the planter,
before the call needs an answer.
I have coined this my unc era,
a time when I have the capacity for great wickedness,
the knowledge of good and evil,
the serpent's siren song singing seductively seeking my smithereens like DeeDee in Dexter's laboratory,
yet I knead to be like bread and not let the yeast leaven the lump,
cling to the tree of life and run like forest gump,
Got an awakening slap from the book of Acts,
It's hard to build a case without some crucial facts,
my memory fails me at times,
alarmingly so,
I forget to remember how dead I once was.
Craving to see those coming after me not fall for the same fallacies,
to dodge the traps in the jungle,
to be the last man standing as they wrestle in this royal rumble.
I recall alcohol amnesia,
being bruised by the brazen,
where corn and cheese,
or as we used to call them blue movies became a daily disease,
I've fallen for the bait of betting,
Hours writhing and regretting,
Yearned for a noose or to be trampled by a truck but the bleak midwinter was warmed by the warmth of the love of God and my desire for death held it's final breath as I stepped in to the summer of life.
When I survey the land like a theodolite,
looking where to construct a house to honour the holy one,
in a land that can make one weep,
if one takes some time to truly peep,
the highest percentile of GBV,
artificial artillery,
glorified gangsterism,
endless euologies,
teenage parenting,
failing families,
broken brothers,
neglected nephews,
homeless husbands,
men who mirror what was and is partly still cracked in me.
I don't have much power left,
this fuel crisis has my flame flickering,
the goal has been to make sure the next gen's set,
but I realise if I try to use electric lines,
I might just take their eyes away from the Son's light,
the true source of strength comes when we reflect His light,
to quote the great teacher "if the light you think you have is darkness how deep could that darkness be?"
so I put up the panels and shout it form the rooftops until all the neighbours know the good news of Jesus.
Daily I dance away from the dirge of depression,
fighting for joy with the Word as the weapon,
Trying to find the best forms of expression,
To convey a message so simple to a world so complex,
to focus all the rays of light from concave to convex,
Can the blind have sight?
What is the result of rejected light?
"Why does he write like he's running out time?"
Hans Zimmer the clock is ticking,
from my inception I've felt like time is of the essence,
Struggling to rest always running,
Like Hamilton racing towards retirement,
knowing I have the only formula that won,
with a treasure in my chest,
only in the South as a guest.
Maybe one day my rhymes will make sense to my dearest reader,
All I can hope is that the young kings rise where I fell and follow the true leader,
it's the difference between Potiphar's wife and Bathsheba,
Obedience and sacrifice,
Where in the blink of an eye you don't even think twice,
temptation tries in it's many ways,
but your anchor holds fast in tumultuous waves,
for the lamb is coming back as a lion,
to rule with a sceptre of iron,
keep your eyes on things above,
the only safe place is in his love,
Choose life young kings,
Choose Christ the King.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 9:15 AM UTC
The purple profile picture,
a virtue signal?
the cost of change,
a weighty figure,
the women terror,
the men indignant,
"it's not all of us"
blame the system,
or maybe the victim.
Is it sin sickness?
is it narcissism?
fatherlessness or mother wounds?
mental disorders or poverty?
what is the cause?
what is the cure?
Will we dwell in echo chambers,
preach to the choir,
or will we engage with each other,
find common ground,
climb a little higher,
it's tempting to cry maranatha,
or anathema,
but until we see the Son,
the night will endure,
keyboard wage,
march in protest,
pray on knees but don't lose focus,
there is still much work to be done.
Nov 11, 2025
Nov 11, 2025 at 12:24 PM UTC
To pen about the infinite,
can be such a challenge,
with limited diction,
descriptions are so weak,
like a bond that's covalent,
poems preluding the ultimate,
a story about a groom's inheritance,
An Author with living letters lifting up his eminence,
written words with penintence,
living in remembrance.
Systems sedate our senses,
principalities prey on ignorance,
societies atrophy as communities collapse,
humans form a hierarchy,
the soul is on sale,
Christ being made a commodity,
cults of personality,
those we've pedestaled have plummeted,
rappers have shiny wrapping but lack in substance,
podcasts are vain and crass,
saying anything for their only fans.
Life is but a mist,
careful if you think you stand,
let's make sure we understand,
There is both trembling and solace to be held in the hands and a gracious yet Holy God.
I don't sit from a high podium,
I too am just as vile and lame,
as reactive as sodium,
my thoughts dance defiant and deviant,
My words jail me,
confined by my own corrupted collusion,
my tongue ablaze in delusion,
a double-minded broken mirror,
my face on the silver coins of Judas.
My high school english teacher JD would say manners makyth man,
now money makes a man,
but in the wisdom of above that's foolish;
trading the glories for the ghoulish.
Queue Johnny Cash as I wonder when he's gonna cut me down,
gambling with my inheritance,
rambling so reckless,
outwardly professing,
inwardly rejecting.
Quiet place neglected,
Double crossing intersections,
Catastrophic consequences,
my hand I will relinquish,
from the sins i often sink in,
clean the cup inside my dishes,
for every man is a liar,
only one is faithful,
only one is true,
only one is messiah,
for him,
gladly be a fool.
Don't invest in things that will perish,
If life was rice Jesus is the relish.
May 20, 2025
May 20, 2025 at 3:40 PM UTC
Dearest reader,
What is home to you?
For me it entails safety and solace,
A place to rest my head,
Where I am known fully yet accepted.
For many years I wandered,
seeking refuge in places and people,
yet still feeling the deepest lonely,
words have been a way for me to explore,
this sense of lostness,
at times a certain truth leaves me feeling understood,
then I change and grow and it becomes a never ending quest,
leaving me weary from searching.
There are many troughs but at the crest I find rest,
I find home and more in a person,
A King and a Priest forever blessed in the order of Melchizedek. (Heb 7:17)
"If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him." - John 14:23
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 1:04 AM UTC
Despite the comfort and amenities I've been endowed,
witnessing the corruption and chaos in the homeland,
a mother's aching bones and a nation stretched ever thinner in austerity sends the sweet siren song of nihilism seductively seeking me to sail upon it's serpentine seas.
A few more millions and maybe I'd marry my mattress and lull in to ignorant bliss; a privilege I'm not able to claim. The Ecclesial song of Solomon rings through: "Everything is meaningless. More knowledge yields more sorrow."
Yet Hope endures. Faith sees beyond. Love sustains. A turbulent but triumphant trio testifying that there's still a tomorrow to be tasted and with a smoldering wick of a flame in my chest,
there still roams a devil to shame so I'll rest.
Sep 7, 2024
Sep 7, 2024 at 4:11 PM UTC
Treaded passed concrete design by the skin of his teeth,
now he digs deep for a trace of belief,
frustration is futile as each axis folds back on him,
a web of passivity leaves him flanging fleetingly.
At the final analysis,
the beams have buckled,
the stiffeners crippled,
with covid clouding his truss in the structure of his mind,
the bolts are loose,
the welds are weak,
the shear tension pulls him apart,
as these concepts compress his cranium,
with every load combination assessed,
each turning moment reacting to
his resistance to failure.
Steel he'll persist,
the worst chances are not the ones missed but the ones not taken,
will he remain standing with his foundations shaken?
Sep 2, 2024
Sep 2, 2024 at 8:43 PM UTC
Keep your guard up don't just open sesame,
these streets will cut you up with no remedy,
don't sell your heir like Esau you're too tresemmé.
Aug 9, 2024
Aug 9, 2024 at 7:28 PM UTC
Reliable, consistent, disciplined and driven.
Only a few words i could use to descirbe my dear friend Edmilson.
I have watched him year after year grow in to a man I can only be proud of.
He is a poet, a leader and a learner.
I am grateful to have met him.
A gift to me and many.
When the curtain calls I'll be blessed to say I walked and spoke with such a great man.
Aug 7, 2024
Aug 7, 2024 at 8:40 PM UTC
Wickedness or weakness?
I should probably not tweet this,
Nearly slipped in to an abysmal depth of despair but read and heard of an heir,
the grim reaper sewed me a ragged garment but i traded it for a glorious cloak i never deserved,
Gave me solace when i seemed stressed,
I felt my soul less with each step,
To be or not to be?
Neither left right nor centrist,
box me at your peril,
living with the most hopeful omen,
killing fear by the day,
The only way to drink the cup is to keep my eyes up,
Icarus: you can never get too close to the Son,
Part of the cure or disease?
don't know how many seconds till the clock stops,
sprinkle some joy in to this cold play,
imperative is change the narrative,
first to find the path to match my claim,
the freedom attained must be sustained,
Am I free?
Quod Erat Demonstrandum.
Jan 30, 2024
Jan 30, 2024 at 8:26 PM UTC