stills only my heart
a perception of
both green
and forever red
in water reflected
on the table spilled
as the bowl cracks
splinters through
the half eaten flesh

When you fall asleep I will still kiss your upper back.  This does not take place in hope that you will wake up, I want my kiss to seep into your nerve endings and find myself in your dreams. Dripping my kiss into every ounce of your future.

oh my baby
expectant seeds of memory
and truth do surge in unanticipated but ******
flows

surge and bring thee closer;
no, into my realm; devolve mysteries
resolve the unsolved, evoke and revoke my stain, my misery

be my home: forlorn as i am I stand proud
as your knight
and you my Queen.

They repeatedly boasted aloud
of conquests and victories
for a short period between
their  palmy days of youth
and unexpected quick death;
a mad rush of adrenaline
before thought could wake up reason,
nothing more than a basic need
for impulsive violent action,
few drops of poetry could have changed direction,
a death wish triggered by moments of darkness
that invites a chain of tragic consequences.

But thoughtful they were
to  hire overzealous writers,
being aware of their need of arming future.

The writers extolled the futile deaths
embellished words, made it look  heroic
which really pointed only to a ****** end.

Look at each tomb stones lined
here in the cemetery, once more
see, if the names extolled once are still not eroded.

Your heart is the echo of your loneliness, it sets the practiced flow to your poetry and the undeniable sorrow of your prose.

Your unrequited love seeks out new partners with the deranged need of a ***** looking for the next score and with the same pathetic results.
Your crash between lovers' highs may lack the sour stink of the vagabond's putrid sweat yet the addict had the good grace to hide his broken soul behind doors, however flimsy;
You would rather celebrate your fractured heart, dressing your wounds with your words as the cheap ****** dresses her bruises with makeup and glitter.
She hates her john and dreams of a better way,
You idolize your ex and yearn for his or her return some day.

Yet I think we can all agree; drugs were the best thing to ever happen to the substance abuser...

Do you feel strong now?
Do you feel different?
Do you see him lying by you?
Do you remember his name?
Are you happy now?

Happy, you woke in a different bed?
Do you feel empowered?
Powerful by that lie, forsaking your marriage bed?
Did you find yourself with him in you?
Your nails ripping his back.

Did you find him different to the man who gives you his all?
Or the same as any man?
Any shame? Did you come with love?
Did you scream the right name?
Are you happy now?

Did you remember his vows to you? Yours to him.
Do you remember writhing? Screaming? Scratching?
Pouring with sweat and lust.
Did you see him as you clung to the other?
Did you feel dishonest? Unclean?

Multiple questions go with multiple *******.
You have to answer them in time.
But, for now collect your clothes off the floor, slip quietly out the door, and remember how this started; with a row,
And ask "Are you happy now?"

Sometime today...

I look up at the sky
It is cloudy and dark
Flickers of lightning
And growling of thunder
Threatening the day's work
With uninvited wet showers
Bad for business, these rains
Keeping our customers indoors
Filling our potholes to the brim
Drenching our zeal to work
I look, as the drops fall down
In their multitudes
Clattering against my window
Bearing down on my roof
Intent on washing away my hopes
I miss the sunshine and its rays
I miss the warmth of sunrise
I miss the comfort of sunset
And with all my heart
I loathe the rain
Yearning for the sun
Soon a remembrance is awaken.

Somewhere in the past...

I looked up at the sky
It was sunny and dry
Debris of dusty winds
And a hot tempered sun
Worsening the day's labor
With unfriendly heat waves
Bad for farming, this heat!
Keeping our seedlings underground
Drying our boreholes to the bottom
Smoking our will to work
I sweated, as the rays blazed
In their fury
Burning through my window
Melting down my roof
Determined to roast my vision
I missed the rain and its showers
I missed the chills of the storms
I missed the drizzles of dew
And with all my might
I despised the sun
Praying for the rains
As if that would quench my thirst!

Yet I wish it away as soon as it comes...*


© Raphael Uzor

I ask you for a smile and you hand me a crushing blow.
I turn to you for comfort from the pain you have caused in hopes that you will embrace me and erase the tear stains from my face, you run a blade of anger and bitterness in my heart.
And then, for only a moment, you will reach to me with the promise of love, you are in need of love, support and encouragement.
I will not hesitate to freely give it, even knowing that you will turn savage once again and devour the heart that lifted you up.
I hear your voice please to me for patience, understanding and guidance; all of which are immediately delivered and once you feel result you decide I need to be punished for loving you.
I offer you repeated opportunities to quiet the raging storm of agony and anger, but I am struck until I bleed for being so arrogant to assume that I could help you with love.
If you loved me you would stop whipping my already shredded skin and heal my wounds with the love and peace you keep promising......some day.
I beg you for mercy and give you unconditional love, and your response?
Ultimate rejection coupled with one more emotional assault.
Have I not bled enough? Are there not enough gaping wounds in my soul?
Where is your heart burried that you refuse to see me lying weeping on the floor asking for mercy and only for you to accept my heart and me?
How is it that you could find my soul's deepest desire insufficient?
I mourn the death of my hopes for us, and have only dreams left of the man I fell in love with.
Broken

I was a toddler lost in the
Woods at night, awakening from
Sleepwalking.
Mud on my pyjamas,
Leaves and twigs on the head of
My teddy.

My mother's voice stronger
From the front door; crumbs
To follow into warm arms; each
A piece of poetry paving a path
From the opposite of Heaven
To Heaven.

I've seen them in the mouth
Of a Great White breaking surface.  
Heard them in the sandpaper
Sounds of a mother's tongue against
A stillborn kitten's wet fur;
Wake up. Move... Wake up...

I've found them swept under rugs, or
Left by the last boy to climb
The tree to the top and carve
About the view.
I've smelled them when monster-
Biting the tummy of my friend's
Screaming daughter; laughing
Herself to an unavoidable  
Diaper change.

Pieces of poetry  
On centuries old headstones
And toilet cubicle walls. In old
Eyes regaining faith in young people,
Like yesterday on the bus:

A little old lady getting up.
A wave of helping hands to
Support, secure, show respect; every
One of them a piece.
Each finger a letter; each hand a
Word, a complete poem
In the shape of an

Everyday moment witnessed by
A busload of commuters and a
Poet with busy eyes,
Gathering all those little pieces

Of poetry
Into
This.