I held a Mother in my arms,
With love
&
tears of mournful abandon,
Watching as she passed to paradise.
In time,
I heard a Father’s breath of silence;
His silver cord too, shredded.

Oh my soul!

We have been force fed a lie;
That real men don’t cry?
for it is written;
“and Jesus wept.”

A son shouldn’t search such unsearchable sorrow...
But it's right that children bury their parents,
&  
Not the other way around, a painful truth;
our caretaker's are now in the ground.


How long before sunshine’s healing rays
Dissipate this institute of grief?
&
When will the Son rise?

(G-d have mercy on us all.)


~  © Qwey.ku

Sorrow is too painful a Master;
I must resign his employment.



© Qwey.ku

The shortest distance
between pain and peace,
[between what is
&
the fruitfulness of the morrow]
is a rugged shortcut;
an unattractive narrow path
gated small,
signposted;
travail  &  obedience.

A steep elevation,
hewn of solid rock;
an ancient Roman road,
weathered,
yet
* traveled few.*


Pay mind to where you tread.
Be walked conditioned fit.
&
Foremost,
relinquish all your baggage.


© Qwey.ku

There is a reason why
Love
&
Hate
never friend...

They try to visit on force of occasion,
but blindly
pass
like lone
ships
in the stiff dead of night.

They
create
such

a haunting divide;

an ebb

&

wake
of salty foam.

An eerie vacuum...

a sense & state of pregnant airs' taste

...a forever's of fleeting tranquility.


**© Qwey.ku

"Probably"*
          
             leaves open
                
     the door of uncertainty,
      
             Just enough for

the breeze of possibility


© Qwey.ku

There is a woman I oft meet
On my journey here to home

Hey Lady!
I feign to shout.
My complexion's dark
But not my Soul.
So when you fright
On my approach
For
Goodness
Sake;
There is no need
To cross the road.

I'll feel that for a millennia,
ME
&
My kin

You so rudely
Robbing me,
Of the
opportunity,
To politely
Commune with you...
“good morning”

Then again,
You could be applying,
Learned street smarts?
Changing lanes,
Avoiding crossing paths.
This
Uptown
Downtown
Topsy-Turvy
Up-side-down

YOU'RE - SO - COOL
Pretending not to see me,
Hiding under your
Beats
Skull candy.

What sweet music
are you channeling?
Tunes contrary to Art?
Con
Artist
Purveyors
of
Catchy wicked things
Said twice?
High definition
'Stereo'
Types?


Shall we dance from a distance
Again tomorrow?

Yes of course!
For I believe,
You too have been deceived.

Hey! Ms. Concept,
R U
Thinking;
The beauty found in this deep Brown,
Predetermines fact that
I'm called
Black?



**© Qwey.ku

Patience is a more lovely woman
&
her other name is Virtue.

Wait for her
&
her Kindness.

Her baskets o'er flowing

with

crimson fruit;

T o k e f.



© Qwey.ku

This verse soundscape
is labelled dejected and angry.

Procrastinated
pockets
of
hope deferred
make the heart choke
in a vice-like
pressure cooker
tension filled
with
the cardiac solution called
LIFE

Think about it.


Tasting your own medicine
is
such a bitter pill to swallow.

They say
“Be the change that you want to see”
but
NO CHANGE
I see
on paths traveled
now
&  
before
me.

Does this mean
the change I want to see
is
‘no change’
– a Spirit
personified
slowly
dying
yet
living
within you and me?


Think about it.


Tired of a dead lifes' heart attack?
then
SEE THROUGH
the change you want
to be.
On your journey
bitter pills do digest.
USING
the
MEMORY
of that
ill
taste
to heal
&
outlive
the sickness
prevalent in this
human
RACE
?


Think about it.


WHAT REALLY IS YOUR HURRY?

S L O W  D O W N.

Can't you can see ?
GRAVES'
great joy
is
to
blind & thieve
"your grace"
leaving you
with just enough energy
to
kick the bucket,
while robbing you of understanding
that these
sweet words
origin
from
YOU
to
ME
reflecting
what 20-20
would let you
really see...

You are Kings & Queens


Think about it.


We are all connected unilaterally.
Put plainly;
we agree to disagree,
in the midst of the fact that
there can be
no lasting freedom
until there is a weathered
wisdom
of
UNITY.

So(w),

If you see her
hold fast,
relinquish not,
D O N 'T   L E T  GO!
For
that's the point
when we truly become
LOST SOULS.


**© Qwey.ku

Race - ism is

a

myth

m  a d  e

of
*****
sneaky
pipe bombs
filled
with
the
shrapnel
of

Wars

P  a  s  t

P  r  e  s  e  n  t

 F  u  t­  u  r  e


A

sinister

s t o r y

of

tradition

explaining away
unsubstantiated
social phenomenon
built on
widely held
perpetuated
ideas
of

falsehood



Humanity.

Reboot.­

Start over.


Children,

colour within the lines

b  e  g  i  n

&

e  n  d

with a program

of

t r u t h;

keywords:

c r o w s
a  r  e 
b  l a c k


~ QB

The petty division

o f  s e m a n t i c s.



The bloodied mace

o f   w a r   o f   w o r d s.




T h e   v i le   p e n

strikes a more brutal blow

&

  b  e  

mightier  

t h a n   t h e   m o r t a l   s w o r d.



~ QB

I have been deeply
French-kissed
by the Sun.

My skin
unmistakably glistening,
reflecting;
the sensual moistness of her tongue.

Scorched by passion
from the very beginning.
A frenzied possession,
so deep,
now genetically smitten.

A torrid affair
by certain perceptions.
Unshakable,
defiantly unbreakable.
To wit questionable,
sometimes unbearable.

But...

I must confess
her kiss riles me,
and with it,
guilt
forgivingly
hails me.

Too,
the jealously of men
contorted,
merely
by
the sheer beauty
in her embrace.

?

I am at a loss, I despair,
I don't understand it.

Driven mad
simply,
by the affection of her face.


**© Qwey.ku

Noon had barely finished his circuit
when I engaged the Sun in conversation,
wondering if her healing rays were a golden ode to pain?

Abruptly interrupted;
shirts' silk thread dripping displeasure,
at the sudden moistness of its condition.

In return and in much the same verbal position,
I chided this thread,
intoxicated with sticky saline libation,
much less for the distraction
as opposed to the - parley intrusion,

citing;

“My dear shirt it’s impolite to gravitate beyond one's social inclusion”

Instinctively,
back and fingers joined this spoken foray
distancing themselves in unison
from the sozzled garments' argument.

Arching and pulling away,
his company no longer entreated,
whatever beauty he had,
now lost,
in his present
dis - position.

In agreement and sunshine unabating,
I attempted to continue our once lovely conversation.
But she;
her glow unwaning,
had moved on,
no longer finding such small talk entertaining.



**© Qwey.ku

The
footsteps
of
understanding
navigate
narrow paths
of
foresight
on
pavements
laden
with
golden words
of
insight.


© Qwey.ku

There is nothing  
Little
nor
White
about a lie.

They are both as
Broad
&
Black
as the
Night
is
Dark.


**© Qwey.ku

Beneath,
I amused fear,
drowning immersed in faith.
Near my final breath I mused Latin,
the etymology of 'entertain'.

Tormented;
by mistake.
Entertaining fear,
over entertaining faith.*

In the quiet silence of revelation,
I took stock,
&
looked up,
180° degrees,
poised
  &  
compassed
my flesh,
to
unbolt
the chains
of misdirection
bound to the recess of my soul.
Unleashed!
Now to hike the proverbial mountain,
cobbled
in the boots of Wisdom.

Contemplative.
Afloat,
aloft its height,
coiffured
safe
by the proverb,
transfigured,
by wisdom of consciousness.

© Qwey.ku

As you attempt to pour more political doctrine down my throat
I check the change in my pocket
for
the laxative I‘ll have to buy
from my legal drug dealer

REALLY!?!

Did you not know that your words are;

indigestible,

incorrigible

&  

wholly corruptible?

How do you manage
to
politically caress your own eardrums
reach
through your sinuses,
tickling
the lining of your
esophagus
and yet,
make me cough?!

Your response to truth is truly painful,
you feel it in your chest,
your ***** heaves and razes
you have a fit gesticulating policies
flipping birds that won’t fly

It’s too late!

Mr "I went to Oxford so I must have the plan"
Mr Self-Interest man
Mr  Ivy-league, Whitehouse, Whitehall...."Cambridge was better",
Mr  I can do all things that superman can.
Mr  “If we win the elections next year”...

Man

Take your leave,
your term is over,
School is out
&  
the old boys no longer love you.

Time!
to
run for
cover,
under the
colour,
of
your favoured
currency umbrella.

But

If you’re African  
"it's okay"  
you can stay a little while longer
and bequeath the throne
to your brothers', sisters', uncles', sons' junior brother!

Turn it into a dy-nasty

Bring on board;

Kwadjo,
Mary,
Abena,
Kwesi,
Uncle Nepa,
Sista Tism
&
Aunt Ivy.

Ah-Geee!!!

This nonsense is highly unpalatable
I’m past the word puke
my bile sack is empty
because your drunkenness is spreading

&  

y o u’r e

s t i l l

b l o w i n g

m e

f u m e s!


Your democracy
has made your Guinea-Pigs
demi crazy,
has captured this poets’ goat
Slaughtered it
&*
mandated this verbal frenzy

Enough!

Of this alcoholic experiment
I’m not drinking anymore,
I’ve cried blood!
and now *"my eyes are red"
Looking forward
to being 'tee-totally' sober,
while
U


c o n t e m p l a t e

t h i s  

v e r s e

o f

p o e t i c,

p o l i t i c a l,

M U R D E R.


**© Qwey.ku

Just how does warm weather conjure
the inebriated
&
lovers,
on to
Londons’ Tube?

Are sweaty nights
an aphrodisiac tune,
to an alcoholic groove?

Wavering
tight stepped shuffles,
paired with
googly-eyed,
hand-clasped,
lip-locked,
snuggles.

Inward thought
toothpicking the corners of mouths,
as cheerful eyes spy
the Underground antics of the South.
That off the shoulder dress,
stranger clothes,
newer shoes;
a fashionista bazar,
A fleeting memory is
Winters’ white metaled fire.

Hapless in this weather
what else to do but smile?
Is it not so much easier than to revile?

Warm weather has a mission…
dismiss disgust.
Go on London smile.
It’s a must.

**© Qwey.ku

Loves' tribute;
was a traumatic bloodletting,
at the feet of Earths' foundation,
passed over through resurrection,
as the author; Perfect,
penned the first song,
startling in Red;
chorused;
Sacrifice and Redemption.

A soul melody,
padlocked on repeat,
a key,
to live,
to move,
to exist;
the act of human being.

A dance of humiliating instruction,
'twas the universe's orchestra simply conducting;
a priceless,
yet eternal concerto,
forever titled...
‘Unique-Spring-Awakening’


**© Qwey.ku

Let's rob
the hands of time
of its
PRIME
mission
&
gain a few moments
of
Loves'
SUB  
mission.


Become
LOST,

Anti - Clock,

Wise - Thieves,

marking time,
in the honey coated
heated silence
FOUND
in between
the seconds of the night.


Embracing; blissfully.
Forgetting…
to refrain from embracing.
LOVE
&
elude the time to hate.



**© Qwey.ku

Impatience rode and passed me by,
I caught her looking down on me,
cuttingly,
with her gems for eyes.
scornfully,
sighting me
up
&
down.

Laughingly,
the sadistic mirth in her vision
spoke:

"Ha-ha,
Yes,
I've caught your attention,
how little you know;
a simple race with men
&
your limbs fail.
How then will you run with horses?"

I took wisdom from that evil look of thought.

In that moment,
I pulled
on
My Covering
much tighter,
that
Humble
but
Faith-full
Cloak,

I wrapped around me
firmly
averting my eyes
to the blazing
fire
before
me,
warming myself
in the comfort of its gaze,
patiently waiting...
…waiting
for horses.

**© Qwey.ku