The first look:
Smiles in a stretched-out loop
Pretentiously masked in the glorious fold
Dark at heart but moony to behold
Sinister looks in powdery faces
And beaming above a black façade
Extending the fellowship we crave to see
To make an *** of any that falls

The second look:
Project is snatched, hallowed-hand atwist,
Big Rogue speaks, all takes a nod,
and pay is squashed for truth in a pod
As topman cons with honey speech,
Lily-hood alone appraised
Brotherhood a-tipped for fakes:
Rewarding the lies behind the stakes

The third look:
Cheat-man’s pay: a pain-in-roll
Filthy wages to snatchy hands
Gullible mates are left snail-tracked.
Contractor’s vaults are now for the wolves
So rotten fund will find its base
Taking up wings, and it’s a ‘bye’.
Alas, the burnt tale of the greedy.

I thought of how fair you are,
And a hue to dab on you.
‘Red’ would do a tinge or two:
oily drips on apple skin.

Cubic glass that sprinkles rays
Mixed with brilliant sparkling smiles.
That you are, in white as sun
Only sieved of scourging warmth.

Afro-brown has joined the queue;
Melon-bulb that’s packaged soft.
Mummy’s nurse that props my head:
Food and rest in dermal bronze.

In the night, your colour glows;
Leave me not in colour blind.
Pledging scent that cuddles me,
Shadow not your penal self.

As you pecked my cheek to sleep
Half way through some lullaby,
My eyes caught the snitcher’s love:
Just too real in whitish-blue.

The land of plenty and more,
Due north of latitude big.
So brackish by the beach,
Where rivers refresh my core.

The land of teethful laughters,
Curing smiles, and tickling fingers;
moulded calves that help the gray,
Wherein salute points on to age.

The land of rich black mud;
Liquid rock….the milk of nations.
Many natives, one in love.
Land of songs and peaceful sleeps.

Now plundered by many looters,
Dented pride, and cutting greed.
Left by muted titled brothers
Carousing off in Dubai’s inn.

"Uniformed" cries of innocent girls,
Forest-snatched by prickly hands.
Fainted mothers at husbands’ feet:
Warriors-in-wait for boiling stones.

Tearful moans in hinterland;
Weeping mums for wasted land.
On still act the raging wolves;
Their endless zeal…“the feast of death”.

‘Taking lead by dibia’s beads’,
Shameless “bold” is proud to say.
Loot in hand, the cameras flicked:
‘Faith is now a fateful day’.

Arise oh brothers, up and sit!
Come in circle and seek the ‘settle’
Posterity cries that she’s bothered;
memories too  have been murdered.

Act now for justice’s sake.
Do not lie at judgement’s gaze.
Be humane for nation’s peace
And toe the path of heroes past.

His worth endured a date.
At the corner of wooden low
Sat He, decider of day.
Himself a sacrament
Upon a wedding feast.

Adjudged a woodman’s breed
Came down to celebrant’s call.
Acts unknown in tunics white,
He sat amidst the local stones;
Health and wealth within His bones.

“O dear! the wine is finished.
The convener mustn’t hear.
His heart would lose the merry
And the bride may bridge a breath”,
…So said His mum divine.

“My time above is kept,
Why pull a string so tight?
That angels now on heels  
To do my bidding so.
…o woman! though my mum”.

“Tip the pots to top,
Dip from stream at spot.
Taste the cup from some
And send to chief at top
to taste the drip from crock”.

“Aha! the cheat is caught
That kept the best till late.
For we now drunk with waste
Have laced our thirst with liqs.
So sad our craves in kicks”.

Now, chief with all the guests
Hail bride in love with groom:
‘Dance at last for all is good!’,
But knew not how it worked,
Save mum and Son divine.

He promised help and loved us so.
Therefore, in Eden was dropped the Son.
Twice a brief….the return of hope,
A shine once lost in garden fine.
That we ease Him in anew;
Erase the spell and make a sphere
That can never ever be smashed.

Now, the ‘Life’ is Eden’s plus.
For the humble folks that know
And repentant folds that knock,
…. golden is the brazen gate
That awaits their honoured gaze.
For twice the gain of life
When He rises yet at dawn.

Good men keep the light:
Stars in the darkened world,
Seen below the clouds
As the mighty shepherd peeps.
How ripe a time is it
for the trumpet’s rippling hit?
When the last is gone,
Then, surely it would be.

Good men keep the light
And doom's day pushed afar.
In presence and in speech,
Peaceful men can have their seats
And war is stopped at words.
Let then the leaves be green
While their stay may ever last
For ‘thy holy kingdom come’.

Good men keep the light.
Let earth enjoy their taste
While the salt endures.
Candle-stand upon the top,
Bringing hope upon the lost.
Dearest beings of the Master Up,
But when their souls are gone
Then, surely it would be.

Good men keep the light.
Let’s churn out more of them
That grace may linger still
Against the angel’s horn.
That day of doom and gloom
That siesmizes the heart,
May be bidden far today,
Till very far away.

I see people and then… ‘revelations!’
Things of them ‘out’ standing.
So also I have understood,
I am being understudied.
My life is now a thesis,
But I leave proofs of unspoken deeds
In secret places.
That the seekers of truth
And the trailers of lies
May search out for themselves
And be proven worthy.
While the game is sweated out,
Volumes are being written.
Life is but a game
Where true friends are revealed.

The look; true care
The definitive act
Lies not in mere gaze,
But in deep seated passion,
Fostering emitted forgiveness.  
Evangelistic and empathic.

A mind in love, counts no pebbles.
It connects its concern
Sensitive and deliberate
… it drags still a cord
Of compassion along.
The wavelength of patience
Uninterrupted by hasty conjecture.

To have no warm desire
For the all-bright sunny rays,
Is to accord that inner cold
The dignity it does not hold.
It is only an ugly thought;
Shadows behind the door,
A cloud to be blown away.
Just give a current of breeze:
A rub-on here and kick-out there.
Set the plain and stake the dreams,
And your heat is back again.

Life is gorgeous but rugged
At mountain tops and valley troughs,
Finely shaded here and there.
At noon, it’s snow and white.
Light green across the veld
Like orange and cream at brunch.
Then pink and peach at lunch,
So grey and off at dusk.

Life is gorgeous but rugged
A valley of medals and “slaps”.
Mended will that fill up bones.
A prop above wrecked bottles.
Then, a skip to prevent a bleed.
Ahead, though troublesome lane
For rewards that’re nearer than far
Thro’ success that’s netted by zeal.

It is true, its walls are heftier than I feel.
Its map appears when good self disappears
Away from the cosmos,
Than Einstein’s formula could reach.
Lighted up by Him who made it so.

Its track thereof, on the path of good deeds.
Gold slabbed roads starring the carpeted ground
And crystal streams snaking by healing trees.
The one who had gone before
was nailed before He could speak.

Lover of strange books,
Spoke thus in nasal flow:
'Tell me you babbler boy
Where does this lie lie,
Its geography and its scape?'

And the wise sayer spoke thus:
'Every night the eye’s shuttles are drawn short
For the mind to practice its end.
Then, distance between seconds,
He works in York and parades in Paris.

When the nights are dark and thick,
He knocks the memory still.
By moving through black holes
To unminuted meetings,
Returning in the mornings
To sit by sanctuary’s hope'.

That “you” in you knows his path
And by riddles describe his home.
When he is finally free,
He shall tell you where it be.
But this earthy ear may not be
To hear it in this realm.

He is neither hue nor leucoplain.
No, not mean, just humane.
Hatch to good codes
And harsh to misconducts.
A delight to the grey; a connecting figure.

One of a kind, non-gossiper,
Door keeper to secrets kept.
Not proud of pride.
Cardiac chamber…mon ami:
succour for the low.

His every step is marked on slates
whispered around in shadowy sheds
The grandson of a devout
Who stood his ground
against the horseman and his sword.

Reviled by the sharers of same chalice.
His good, their acrimony;
His smile, their scowl.
“Why spread his hand thus?
We too are Abrahams”.

He feared not for his blood
‘cause the Lamb is on His post.
A slap to Prophet False
who creeps into innocent homes
And peeps through frail shrouds.

Dark apprentice PF called “daddy”
Drunk in mystical drinks: green-eyed monster
Whose sneeze had been snuffed
By his knees that humble not.
Chained, yet darts at the dear.

But the lonely believer staggers on
Eyes gazed on the path.
His conscience, a witness.
A clean heart he offers
To whom his spirit answers.

The ways of life are numerous
Each way displays its own districts and streets
Some bear “…the junction of slothity and poverty”
Others carry attractive posts, the likes for gullible minds
“…wine and dine with the best of time wasters”

One way screams with speakers at pride’s plane
Above terrestrial comprehension
“…junction for all smokers”
It adds “…all those are welcome
who silt to their fill and pipe like chimney”

Observe enough and see folks encroached
Battered and weathered by wrong decisions
Having gory tales to tell.
Why are you blaming them?
It was not their fault, everyman had a plan.
God, they loved for leverage and so had no plans for Him.
In turn, He made plans without them.

It is dusk so soon, but the pleasure they sought
Have tarnished into sorrow
Now they have gathered from their destruct
Reared by those who were yet to begin
“What is the way forward?”
A question not too late but waned.

The sage bent by age, suffocated by their sulphur
Forerunner of their presence
Mixed with perfumed breath of the ‘holics
Smiling though, on the surging crowd
His lips made twitches….then failed.
His hands took over….but frailed.
Then pointed his digits
Fingers that have served all prodigals

That way that looks rugged at the entrance
With no welcome sign
So narrow that your slings must be parted
That is the way, the way of the Blood and the Cross.

Solomon…, Solomon…, kingly grace
Imperfectly coordinated with she-mind twisters.
Wild chelation:
Some cofactors, some inhibitors.
One lesson too many.

It comes in vertical embrace,
Upward journey into the wee of night.
London bells, like I have heard.
Sweet sleep perturbed by zazzy waves
And tick-tock race, chasing my dreams.

It comes so soon as it fades so fast,
Racing tracks to no end.
Talk yester-in, then the reach.
Splattered sweated ink on whitened blank
With plans to feed to it.

Plan for it, work by it and rest in it.
Think headwise and not waistwise.
Head seed first, ends in fame.
Waistful thought, ends in pain.
Aborted tomorrow is fathered by ignorance.

Those that fore-look, rejoice in it.
Those that wish-watch, regret in it.
Today’s seed is its tree.
Take the pill for its pain
And tomorrow is all gain.

Was it not for joy they praised your ‘fairest’ birth
And plaited hair unend, your weavy piggy tail
Like lily grown… on alluvial plain?

Was it not a hallo placed on your rosy head
As mother pulled on end, and you leapt on holy ground
Like Papal’s pet… and sanctuary blessed?

Was it not all “yea” they nodded to agree,
That a future bright and temple well garnished
Will break the curses…earned in decades past?

How the heart of stone did oust the flesh of good
Prided deluded beauty, hewed for filthy dogs.
Saying with all zest…“it’s now my life”

Is it not a shame that every Jack has seen,
Foiled and ployed with fille, so tender and so dear
Like roses red… plucked at ease and will?

Is it not a shame that every Jack has caused
Unwholesome dent on flossy smoothy silk,
Unspeakable merch…deeds of rusty spite?

Is it not a shame that every Jack has felt
Fair Angelina faded from filthy crusty perks,
Angelic at birth… but fallen down to grass?  

Is it not a shame that every Jack has seen
Pure flow of red and sealed treasure robbed,
Previously bloomed… for the worthy “he”?

Live a public life in a private room
Like you would not dare in all senses full
Beckon on crawlers with witless fun
Credentials exposed and signatures unzipped

It is only a stage…so they say
Showcase an act…reward some friends
Punish the fiends…in **** pretense
false rewards for borrowed talents

Real friends in life…may not emoji click
Real wolves in mind…but friends by finger flick,
Hallowed patronage…perfect in falsehood.
Pictures and status…served to dangerhood

Blade the stitches that once were mended
Crash the home…popularity cheapened
Enlarge the circles of fishers hookers
Full in foolishness and wisdom killed

More pound, the techman…and less, the player.
Seekers of fun from peppered ghost
Hookers’ desire and vultures delight.
Awake o e-man and protect the real man.

In the olden days when Odin was here...
Ancestors, I heard had bat for a toast,
But from a roast.
Generational gap in pages flipped
Covered by the new breeds in reads
Have discovered death lurking in the dead.
What do we have here?
A clime. No, a county,
No, a country, but a people of all colours
Upon a boast not to roast the toast,
Fishes out death with her teeth.
While the creature performs the dance of death,
Strangled between unfriendly roof and tongue.
The column, the elution, the ****
The filter, the blood the virus
The mouth, the cough, the mask
The cold, the fever, the plague
Cries and accusations...
The forbidden must be forfeited.