White Paper cups,
Brown liquor,
Late night conversations
and early Sunday ***;
Perfection is what we say it is.

While The Day Away,
Dance The Night Away,
Make A Wish Upon A Star,
This Time, I Hope You'll Stay.

The poet is a master deceiver
And a hopeless optimist.
Searching far and wide,
Reaching beyond what the oceans
Have to offer

To find glowing words
To string together,
Forge a beautiful sentence:
A stanza. a passage. a poem

Describing the most deepest of pains
In elegant, haute words
Potent enough to ****** strong Samson,
And deceive wise Solomon.

I know not whether he knows it,
But the winemaker is not impervious
To the effect of wine.
Perhaps -like us all he - too, is deceived

Children playing in the open field,
Aloof, a mother lovingly watches on
My dreams fulfilled

“Your heartbeat sounds like tragedy”, she said
Resting her head on the ruins
That lie beneath my chest.

“But don't worry”, she added
“I've always loved tragedy”

My Accent Is The Wisdom
Of My Gradmonthers,
The Resistance Of My Forefathers
And The Folly Of My Youth
Dancing Harmoniously When I Speak

It Is The Resistance That Boils In My Blood
When The Capturer Seeks To Make Me His Stock

My Accent Is The Mumbled Voices
Of My Ancestors Who Were Stolen
From Their Families -
Never To Return To The Land Of Their Birth

It Is A Reminder Of The Resistance
That Runs Deep In My DNA,
Of My Forefathers Who Are Buried At Sea

My Accent Is My Identity
My Heritage
My Culture
And A Marker -  
It Is My People

"I was here", the writing on the wall said.

Her cold body lying down on the mat,
Decorated in the lifeless blood
She was drowning in...
Her eyes almost seemed at ease.

Somewhere between the seduction of suicide
And the myriad of regret,
Before she let herself slip
Into the unknown,
She must've realised she'd never feel again

Pretty girl,
Known by all,
And loved by none.  

You chose to make death your saviour

I can still hear your laughter
When I told you life was beautiful.

You were haunted, gentle girl
But you were my secret lover.

If I were to write a letter
It'd be to the lowest of Jungle -
The **** of the world.

To those who find it difficult living outside
Of the shells they use to keep the world away

I'd use my dying breath to whisper warnings

"Trouble is on the loose!"

My darlings, the world is dark.
The hunter, the hunted and the haunted
Are on a murderous rage!
There's no peace in the land of the living
For those with a conscience!

I'd tell them to wear their shells tighter,
To hold on the silence of the woods
And heighten their defences

If I were to write a letter,
It'd be to myself.

"The shell is a cage", I'd warn
The vultures too will die
The wolf will one day feed the ground

Yes! The gazelle is killed
The meerkat lives in retreat
And all that does not eat is eaten,
But they shall have lived  

They shall have lived!
They shall have felt the rush of being alive
They shall only die once

In My Younger And More Noble Days
When Children Were Told Tales
Of Monsters Under Their Beds
And Men Slaying Dragons

A Young Angel Visited Me
“You Must Be The Purest Thing I've Seen”, I said

“Oh, Child!”, she sighed
“Purity Is Found In The Eyes Of He Who Seeks To Find It. I'm Neither Pure nor Evil. I'm What Your Fears And Beliefs Tell You I Am”

When She Was Perfect
Sinless And Humble
I Found No Toe-Hold
By Which I Could
Cling onto Eve.

But When She Was
Tempted By Her Flesh
Humbled By Her Sin,
And Redeemed By Her God

I Could Shout,
“O Sister Eve, Can We Have A Dance?”

I FEEL EMPTY

“Your heartbeat sounds like tragedy”, she said
Resting her head on the ruins
That lie beneath my chest.

“But don't worry”, she added
“I've always loved tragedy”

And We Danced Our Way Through The Night.
Clumsily Finding Our Way Into Each Other's Hearts.

We Were Like The Sun Still Learning To Swim
The Skies On The Second Day Of Creation.
We Traded Stories Of Love And Loss
Over 2am Coffee Sessions On Cold Winter Skies

We've Always Been Particularly
Romantic About The Winter
Because It Reminded Us That
Our  Hearts Were Not The Only Cold Place
We Were Trapped In.


And In The Silences Between Our Thoughts,
I Could Pause Just Long Enough To See
The Sparkle In Your Eyes
Every Time We Talked About The Things You Love

Books, Poetry, ***** And  [me]

These Are The Things That
Kindled A Fire In Your Eyes.

Through Fires And Storms
Through Rest And Long Walks
Through Silences And Wild Late Night Talks
Through Broken Hearts And Early Morning Calls,

We Discovered Life Had
No In-betweens
It Is Lived In The Extremes
On The Road Or The Seas
From One ***** Bottle To Another

From Coming In To Going Out
From Birth To Death
and From Pillar To Post -

We Are All Passing Through
And All Shall Be Swallowed By The Earth.