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

Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of liquid tapestry.

Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's tears,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.

An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.

But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and rather brazen beat.

Take my hand, why don’t you?

Come.

Dance with me.



**© Qwey.ku

drenched in a sea of waveforms,
dancing on the ebb of a digital ocean
its crests crowned with sound

pitched upon amplitude tides      
their volume compressed;
reverberating through glass speakers
mere dots in the sands

i hear cadence...
within the music of your speech
how can it be,
such a many word
written,
yet forgotten,
indelibly on your beach?

if we could interpret the oceans
what stories would its sea speak?
of its corruption?
treasures unreturned
to lost and found?
or of its time to give up the dead,
or of the angels that fell to its ground?


© Qwey.ku

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

the breeze of possibility


© 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

I speak of love
when I compare you to
sweet summers day
or a rose of its garden

I speak of passage in the sea of time
when I say
forever or always
whichever tide ebbs first.

I speak of knowledge
when I say
the body of a young lady is heavenly
but a womans' decidedly divine

I speak of faith
when I say
nothing good
ever became
without an
inject of pain

I speak of fear
when I used to say
you'd be gone some day
but now I know,
love transcends the grave

© 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

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

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

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

Despair unrequited asked of me;

where do proverbs, poems...
such wisdom's go to die?

do they expire with the ink of thought
penning themselves out of imagination?
or simply tire of expectation?

tell me
&
i would scourge
that unenlightened grave-site,
guillotine its immoral keeper,
&
decapitate him upon
a writer’s block!

show me
&
i will breach earths bowels
wrenching words from darkness' depths
with the light verse of celebration
&
a calligrapher’s paragraph of praise.

only then should i rest in piece
from wordy passion
scribed with its, novel pleasures

&
when spent, 
upon my epitaph do write;

'she was consumed,
birthing words to life'


© Qwey.ku

Believe
not
That familiar,
Wicked whisper

of

Dreams destruction.
Especially when it screams...

"You'll never achieve!"

For

'faith'

Is quantified as the
Intangible

&

Weighed as a tiny
Mustard seed.

Ending with...

Just
Believe.


~ QB

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

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

Take heed, falter not
Your time is currency,
Tied ineffaceably
To the heart rate of
Your Fiscal Policy.

Spent but once,
Priceless
-
A
Beat,
Irretrievable.


“Spend your time wisely"
Advised are we
But time invested
With
Family,
Often
Face-value perceived,
Too steep a price paid
When
Quantified
Monetarily.

Such an idea of a lie,
So psyche ingrained.
Dire submission
of modern humanity
Ever so
Intrinsically sealed
We even
Concede;

“These moments are stolen”
&
our time considered;

“...too precious”



© 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

There is nothing  
Little
nor
White
about a lie.

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


**© Qwey.ku

Spirit of pleasant memory told me;
(to) keep writing
So
sweetly fell her words
to the crests of my shoulders
she lifted me with high breath...
"the world was waiting".

Selfishly I seek that soul of a day,
such that creation no longer tarries
save at least one precious moment,
sooner, than what was writ afore.

Hope's expectation is
Carried by the wind,
A turbulent sky's ocean,
&
A heaven of jetted wings.



**© 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

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

An ancient river
an old London chapel
& our last summer rays
of such an august Sun
      
The promise of niceties...
laughter, drinks, ice cream
& perhaps a softly stolen kiss

Fill my hand with yours.

If you please;
a pleasant walk with you
up on Tower Hill

© Qwey.ku

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


© Qwey.ku

'Practice makes perfect' is a Damoclesian carrot fastened with erudite string.

•
Its bite mentally drops.
•

Practice is the whetstone of preparation.

&

Perfecting, the work of The Spirit.



© Qwey.ku 2023

My Heart is made of glass
&
in it, I have tried to keep love safe

•
———

T r  e a s u r e

your

m o m e n t s

for
they
soon will be

m  e m o r i e s

———
•


© 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

I can only infer you
speak of my skin
this beautiful brown
this lovely melanin?

Yes. Father’s no more,
now long gone, but before
he departed he worked
himself to the bone
straying not a day
from home.

As for my colour
you must be blind
the contorted
black darkness
you perceive
has never been mine.

Why is this hue such
an affront to you?
policemen, judge, jury
school-teachers too?

Now it is said
we’re real-good actors;
for we play many a part,
but you pay no mind
to such sentiment nor
proverbial heart-to-heart.

No sah!
Mistake not my
composure for failed
advance, blink once
& I’ll lick you down
given half the chance!

But then you, your ilk
and your briers sown
would just rise again
with sated verbal abuse
& agenda obtuse.

Lawd O’ Mercy
I want off this
deadly semantic
merry-go-round.

Go home!! N * * * * r!!!
Seething; they scream!

...there goes another
coloured criminal
KILLED
for being created
a shade of Eden's
dust of the ground.
Divine-rich-bloodied
melanite brown.

So, when you insult me
I can only infer,
you
speak of my skin;
this beautiful brown,
this lovely melanin.

ablaze
with
horror,
disbelief,
hopeless grief
&
anger

waves of emotion trigger
compassion of comradery
displayed in nothing but
the simplicity of love.

Oh!

what dawn of terror
on
Grenfell

a   h e a r  t   m o u l d  o f   g l a s s

w h e n   p a s s i o n   b r o k e   f r e e

c  l e a  r  l y   my   s o u l   s h a t t e r e d

a s   l o v e s   s p e a r   t h r u s t

t h r o u g h   f i s s u r e s   q u a k e d

o n   t h e   i n s i d e s   o f   m e


© 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

The beauty of a snowflake is
seed with impurity.
A dust atom the foundation
of its crystallisation.

An air of heaven meeting earth,
a divine tango of melting gracefulness;
watering this cold cursed Earth

© Qwey.ku 2023

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



© Qwey.ku