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

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

The beauty of His handiwork drives us miles in the thousands, pursuing awe in the mastered mystery of creation.

We are wonder full at the appearance of mountainous clouds, thick forests and their streams, serene lakes, seas, their neath and the landscaped violence of waterfalls.

Even at the worthy tranquil beauty of mornings microscopic droplets called dew.

Such a creative Heart present and Earthly plain to see of which even the mouths of babes cry praise.

Yet from the day of the open womb atrophy is arm strong, ministering twenty-four hour receipts.
Perplexing why many seek not beyond it?

The first Romans spoke of this mystery and at the eleventh hour the wisdom of learned Hebrews faithfully exposited;

"to diligently seek the Wonderul is to find Him, rewarded with the masterpiece Himself"


© Qwey.ku 2023

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

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

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

'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

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

There is nothing  
Little
nor
White
about a lie.

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


**© 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

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

the turmoil of the universe
was carved of a canvass
of black so its stars would
shine ever brightly.

our celestial picture is heaven
astrologically saying;

"the darkness of your troubles
simply serves to luminate
the brilliance of beauty
in all your battles of victory...

for even death is undone
with the last flicker of breath
like falling stars leave
a glorious trail of descent"


**© 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

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

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

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

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