Breathe all over me,
Secure your arms around me,
Say you'll belong only to me,
Build all your love...around me.

There is no one like my woman to me,
No matter how poor she may be,
I will want her enough to make her wealthy,
And love her into a remarkable somebody.

Roads paved with sweat and dedication,
Making for free and unhindered motion,
This deliberate act of civilisation,
Is one vision shared by the entire nation.

The dark side of life,
Everything's got a price,
If you can't pay up,
Kindly leave, please.

I welcome failure,
Like I bid a departure,
It's always not intriguing,
Until success comes begging.

Wounded by life's knocks,
She built a wall around her heart,
To guard against disappointing shocks,
Yes, that was a good start;

Until he came with a smile,
Some kind of magical style,
And pictures of walking down the isle,
Vowing, never to leave her, in a messy pile.

With bags of gratification,.
We sell to them four years,
And live through the pain and tears,
Not learning, we go through the motion.

Charity ended there,
All they are, an will be,
Stashed in foreign lands,
The very, very clever fools.

But who will bell this monstrous bush cat,
Gorged on the sweats of the lowly trodden,
Whiskers curled in the till of a million poorly afflicted,
And claws on the jugular of the southern dark lady?

This right here,
Is one piece of shocking news,
That a promising young man,
Has sailed on beyond the living;

Moonlight activities, nostalgic,
The days of our childhood,
Looking forward, every evening,
To folktales, to those lores of old.

He came around every Thursday for alms,
This old ***** beggar from the North,
Father would host him under the tree,
He never missed his weekly sadaka;

But father breathed his last on Sunday,
Mother was distraught, besides herself,
Everyone said one good thing or the other,
Plenty tears to last his eighty earthly years;

So he ambles in like he would,
Sits under his usual shade,
Then someone says to him, "Baba yamutu..."
And he jumps up in raw exclamation!

Never seen such genuine show of surprise,
He truly expected the old man to live forever,
Much later, in quiet sorrow, pays condolences,
Picks up his satchel and stumbles into the sunshine.

This one is around,
Just for the bread and butter,
The other kisses the ground,
And is more than a mother.

Presented in plain sight,
For all eyes to see,
Yet you're flying a kite,
Trying hard to drain the entire sea.

Nothing's right with this one,
Everything's wrong, begone!
That day I walked the wrong turn,
With you, I knew that I would burn!

The fifty-five-year-old toddler,
And her daddy of seventy-two,
Played, "I am a soldier,"
So, what can you do?

The older woman smiled,
As I was seated at work,
"You remind me of my father,"
"Your receeding hair's beautiful."

Child of necessity,
Born on a blanket of hope,
To a mother who can barely cope,
And a father who roams the city;

With so much tears,
Mother gathers a few rags together,
Prays fate will find one better,
To love him all his years;

Tempered by harsh realities of life,
Scavenging on scrapes and bits,
Grows leathery skin to survive the streets,
Each sunrise and sunset a renewed strife.

Never known bread or butter,
The comfort of a warm meal,
A very, very distant deal,
What is more real is a cold drink from the gutter,

Now twenty-one, can neither read nor write,
Wise only in ways rather dodgy,
Would lay ambush for money,
Just for a pleasurable night;

Looking back at time wasted,
Old and grey, a gentle smile plays,
Memorable tunes of weather- beaten days,
And all those horrible monsters proudly bested.

When the impossible happens,
Even with god on their side,
They believed, never to give up,
Knowing they will never walk alone.

I stopped looking,
Many moons back,
Then I started hooking,
Up, and around, the lunar  track.

Hunters of vulnerable daughters of Eve,
Preying on weakened virtues,
Randy pedagogues  in the temple of callousness,
Eating forbidden fruits, ripe or unripe.

Hunters of vulnerable daughters of Eve,
Preying on weakened virtues,
Randy pedagogues  in the temple of callousness,
Eating forbidden fruits, whether ripe or unripe;

But this shameful act,
Has come at a great cost,
One scape man is now in fetters,
Ruminating over matters of his itchy crotch.

The day we are born,
And when our job is done,
Between is a grey mix,
Of fix and break; break and fix.

Wiggly, wiggly Wollie,
Mattie makes monkey muffins,
Bad breaks blows buskins,
Pitching Patrick past Pollie.

Many green bottles lying on the ground,
Spilled beverage running down the road,
Piles and piles of ruin,
Litter the the holy landsacpe;

While they find joy is destruction,
But none in their contribution,
Should the state fund their ignorance,
With taxes obtained from abomination?

When the old die young,
And the young never see the dusk,
Know there is something wrong,
When the living, die, over dried husk.

Spirits, faceless vagabonds,
Cowardly ghosts that wreck havoc and destruction,
Spill innocent blood across our nation,
Now they starve us of goodwil and much needed funds.

Green, and red, and gold,
Merry chills from the Yuletide cold,
Oh, my dear, what is going on?
Behold the heavens! A child is born!!

There is quiet fire, raging,
A gentle tsunami, rolling,
Silent whirlwind, breezing,
Calm storm, brewing.

I'd rather not doubt,
Your good intentions,
Even ignore my perceptions,
Of what you're truly about.

This maker of craft,
Draws an angry blank,
Shakes off this annoying shaft,
And misses out on smiling to the bank.

Circumstances made you leave,
Instances of moments still cleave,
After the fallow comes refertility,
Tomorrow holds no uncertainty;

But Take this along with you:
I leave you better than you were.

I had kept my wits about me,
By penning everything I saw,
Now I am deserted at the shore,
Between sanity and the shallow, grey sea.

Take your eye away a second,
Or bat an eyelid,
And you will be sorry,
No story;

For out there roaming,
Is a mean fiend,
Ripping off female *******,
And leaving no tracies;

The story is awash,
In the pubs, on the streets,
Of desperate ritualists,
Getting into ****** fetishes;

That in used *******,
Is DNA for making money,
Deeply set in the fabric,
Is fluid that oils the maeveric;

So, watch out!
Fall not victim,
Of roving lunatics,
And their ***** antics.

Marriage is not a place,
Neither a destination,
It is not salvation,
But finding daily grace.

How can you, a loud despot,
A tyrant of mean reputation,
Now offer a democratic solution,
To the same problems you quietly  support?

Born with sumptuous advantage,
Can't be locked in a cage,
Monthly goes in a rage,
Yes, wants to cover every page!

Heaven, it's raining gifts!
Tired after working all shifts,
Dog, will do it in lifts,
Never stalling between gearshifts.

These curves are me,
They please you, or not,
Every voluptuous piece of me,
Will make you grunt.

For long they had waited,
Many years for the patter,
Of little feet and joyful screams,
The morning seemed long from dawning;

Grandma never stopped praying,
Grandpa, too, as much a could be offered,
Then Grandpa left for the heavens,
Soon after, Grandma joined the celestial train;

Not long the news broke,
Adorable bundles of sweetness,
Sounded their cheerful arrivals,
In what remains the wonderment of several decades.

Glorious moments of pure pain,
But with everything to gain,
The night may endure long,
But the morning comes with brilliant song!

Don't start what you can't finish,
Don't begin what you can't end,
Don't initiate what you can't shutdown,
Don't conceive what you cannot execute.

Craaaaaaaaash! And whaam!
Everything goes ham!
But after the cast comes off,
It's like riding the biggest surf.

When I stand in the shadows,
Of the ancient ruins of,
The grand old pyramids of Egypt,
In the same colours of their makers;

I wonder at the magnificence,
Of my ancestors in all their glory,
As they wrote their legacies,
From everlasting unto the very end.

Whence art thine brownskin cast?
Down to the pits of ignominy and scorn,
Isn't thine form after the divine's?
And portions of glory adorning thine existence?

So, why play the fool,
To they that once were savage,
Whose history is replete with blood,
And orgied in the corpses of hunched maidens?

The woman for me,
The mother of our children,
Beautiful like the open sea,
Mysterious beyond what the eyes can see.

Truth is the neighbour,
I have not reconciled with,
We had a date at the harbour,
And I left her, screaming, in the empty street.

Moulded in brown,
Built of ebony,
Wired with sinew,
Derived from coal.

Aye, you take away,
My livelihood with a wicked smirk,
Know ye, today,
The heaven multiply your sorrow's birk.