I was born
With white privilege;
Irish ethnicity at that.
Remember their holocausts!
Occupied, evicted, brutalized, lynched, starved, hedge-scbooled, and,
Refugeed on their own land,
And on and on, and so on
For seven hundred years.
These things were before my time,
But not my Granda's.
It's so very true,  I was born with white privilege,
But not with white entitlement.

Here is my home town.
I'm lucky to live here,
To have grown here
With all our familiar streets and sights;
The houses where we lived together,
The homes of my childhood friends;
Our schools, churches and local attractions
Are mostly here.
The comings and goings of the locals
Are documented in The Observer.
Familiar and strange.

Today I see a city of cards and cardboard cut-outs.
Sarnia is a museum display of life
In the 21st century I study from this side
Of the display case.
In time, the partition separating us will dissolve
Into a pile of shifting sand about our feet.

Don't you admire his ringwork;
His footwork and speed?
Dance. Jab. Dance.
Did you see Rambonehead snap?
Glossy-eyed. Swollen and staggering
Like the bloated incumbent.
Jab. Dance. Jab.
The Dope's been roped.
The final count's on.

O Africa delight in blissful glory
You alone mutate many colors
Your kindred bears in their skin
Only you possess this divine qualities

O Africa your voice will be lost without Nigeria
For her giant strides is comparable to none
Her waxing human resources
Is a straw to light up abundant natural resources

O Africa if Nigeria divide
Your voice become unheard
For it will be a festival of no guest
And the biscuit bone of aid will be no more

O Biafra agitators nature wants freedom
But the world makes us a voiceless being
Do you think you will be heard in the comity of nations ?
O Sudan tears of regrets ran-deep

For they are victim of circumstances
O Nigeria wield your marginal division
And beat your drums across vast water and land
Rising your voice to defend Africa qualities

O Africa your fate I fear as I envision
And heard from minstrel lute of God
So I pass my little words across
Nigeria a land that embraces all

Written by
Martin Ijir

You say you won't cry
(and you know I know why),
But you will.
When memory reminds you
Of our life and thrills,
Our talks of love
In the park on the hill.
Our fear for our children,
Our love for each one,
Our love for each other
Before our love was gone.
You say you won't cry,
But you know you will.

The Queen is in the Tower,
She decrees to step out;
But the bouffant needs some tending,
And Royal chin y chin hairs sprout.

The Queen is in the Tower,
She dines well when she eats;
But Lizzie's in a tizzy now,
No walk-abouts on her street.

The Queen is in the Tower,
Standard at full mast;
When the Union Flag is lowered,
Royal Heirs will know she passed.

Let me take you back
Over ***-holed tracks
To present day nostalgia;
When six feet away meant a grave,
And not a rule of order.

Let me take you back
Through ***** air,
When smog and soot were normal;
We didn't attend strange masquerades,
Breathing wasn't formal.

Let me take you back
Down the spiral stairs,
When holding rails
Was common.

Would you,
Go back,
To that Brave Old World,
Where we have the poor,
Wars are raging,
The environment's in peril,
With despots engaging.
Hoarders cheat,
Ice-caps retreat,
Animals compete
With billions at the table.
Oceans over-heating,
Egos are defeating
The food chains of our world.
Forests burn bright,
Crops rot from blight,
None treat us right.
And a hundred thousand unsolved queries,
Compounded by some glorious leader.

Let's not go back,
Take small steps onward
Into our Brave Newer World,
That compels us forward.

They romp on hour glass beaches,
Tee-up North and down South;
Pack ****-straps in bleacher bags,
And gutters in ten pin alleys.

They're raging at the crosswalks,
Flail arms at intersections,
Like scarecrows on the Yellow Brick Road;
They foment insurrection.

The thick won't mitigate.
The thicker congregate.
The thickest dissipate.

I know death.
Incensed with all of it.
The weighty strain of darkness,
Eyes closed, stopped ears, stuffed nose.
I was petrified while the world stumbled,
My wordless mouth gapes like a maw
Needing stitches.
I lounge in a toga,
Motionless as alabaster.
I was born to die,
But not like this.