Laying in bed today, listening to tunes
          As I so often do
A feeling encroached, one I could not shake
          Or attempt to lose
The sound of sadness, through the microphone
          Blew the dust from my aging bones
Sunlight diffused, into the tomb
          Of my desolate room
Shadows scattered, from their thrones
          To reveal four walls of stone
Flowers dressed, this cold gray place
          Where I woke from rest
Bare and unburdened, my blemished fleshed took its first steps
          Bent but not broken, rebirthed, awoken

Down by the river I lie alone. Folks wade on the banks,
Sifting for gold. Washing the aches from their brittle bones.
This land of the forgotten, has never felt so close to home.
Detached from the blood-oiled machine,
Not much to part with, but
Every footstep carries with it
An imprint of meaning. The current here
Flows away from greed. Deposits into a reservoir,
Of pure intentions and peace. Tucked away from the cracked city streets
That mirror the crying streaks of those bewitched by the banal belief
Of progress by any means. Power here,
Is a drink for the weak. The outstretched arms of willow trees,
Cradle this quaint town. The last bastion of human passion. Bereft of malevolence.
Indeed, the realms of Hell seem to have a slice of heaven left.

drank
too much
again last night,
bred fury
through the bars
and taverns...

fed,
the maddened
cannibal, on
vaticidal unions....


came around,
down early bells,
head, supercelled,
expedient..

could not
believe what lay
beneath the subways

of Jerusalem

What can I say? Another one dead and gone away.
Lost to ignorance, or
Possibly blind to addictions hooked grip.
One day your dangling a toe
Just over the edge. The next,
Your staring up wondering
How you lost your footing. I could say he’s a ******, but
Lord knows the elixirs I have invented
To dispel the dark heart of my depression.

Though I stand stoic, life has taught me
To never shame a smile. The sun rises for the living, and
Dead men fall short of tomorrow.
The amorphous soul slips through the seams
Of hands grasping to hold. So, when death discards its cloak and
Swirls its specters all around me
I’ll raise up life like a guiding lantern
And
Step through existence with my convictions.

Empty in African terms,
is a "coca cola glass bottle."
Strange to some,
but never strange to us.
I grew up as a child,
riding long journeys in something called a "chicken bus."

I knew about robots,
far before TV screens would show it.
But in African terms,
those robots are just traffic lights.

Green to go,
red to stop.
Amber the colour of chance in between,
and only a few would get what I mean.

I grew up speaking our common slang,
calling things a lot, by using the words "a span"
Making jokes with friends,
calling each other bra, calling another a *****.
"The rents",
meant I was referring to mom and dad of the family.

It's a wonder how I didn't fail English,
with all the made-up words we said.

Playing games in the mud,
by 5 o'clock refusing to bath.
As kids we didn't know much;
or anything close to real love.
The silly games we played on the street was all but enough.

Thinking of it back now,
the scars on my legs tell many a story.
And when I have children of my own, the memories I had,
I hope becomes apart of their African legacy.

Kids under the African sun,
how the simple times of life are long gone.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

press your ears to the green
of your eden. listen
to hell, its realness. it is the feeling  

that I write from. a distant burn
that blinks in the blackened
pages of his chest

as a star—only a piece
of the map that has led his heart
to yours, only a sliver to be scrapped  

by sunrise. I could speak of this:
his garden, the teeth around its margins,
or the way I waded near its grin,

with both eyes unbuttoned & my soft
heart worn inside-out. but your flesh
is ivory, & where it tapers, a key

to his own. but your throat is flute
enough to tread through his walls. listen.
I will speak of the wild heart

holding you. I have touched it
with my shadows, the deep
rays of my dreams. I have been

to its shrubs that whirl about
like wicks, the ponds full of laughter,
& the caves with leaping  

tongues. they are mystery
& aplenty. I could not quench them,
but you will, you will. if one

day, as you lay in his fields,
I stumble over his sky like a word
on fire. remember,

love, to make of me,
a better wish.

Somewhere beyond the sea
In the Square for you and me
A Lady stands for liberty
While the tanks come rolling

Somewhere beyond the sea
She's there for you and me
Standing tall with light held high
And all to her side she's calling

It's far beyond the stars
It's near beyond the moon
I know beyond a doubt
Brave hearts will lead us there soon

We'll meet beyond the shore
We'll stand proud as before
Safe and free beyond the sea
And never again those tanks go rolling

We'll meet—I know we'll meet—beyond the shore
We'll stand proud as before
Safe and free beyond the sea
And never again those tanks go rolling