So I may have to give you up.
I will give you up
Unless you tell me how you want to be with me.

If lovers need not be together to love each other then Together transformed into truth and luck
And I would give you up
Perhaps say, do not ever take him away.

My love, I want to say (Can I say) don't roam so far away from me
A moment without you is a year to drag aching shoulders with long fingernails
A sleepy guest unwelcomed after midnight, that is your goodbye.

Because, you are part of the forgotten voyages made of strawberry seas and orange trees
But I have to give you up like how trees give freely our breathing.

What was given, returns and arrives in your speak drifting, steps gliding, search farwinding, slow stroll, such is your gaze.
The way you have lingered is mine, how you looked at me is also mine.
Tears you gave me are diamonds that fell lost deep under the earth nobody else knows where to find.

Time for you to seek a love like mine, the seeking of an adventure.
An old fashioned romance historian love
Rivalling of an old century over the millenium.
Only you (in this moment) know my contribution to this world that which is only you.

Pods routed back and forth
Inside
Cells linked to the central nervous system
Soulless

The cry of a sapling
Lush, primal sounds
But deaf to the neighbours
All distracted by a stream
A tweet

"Doors closing..."
Repeated beeps
Launching sprints
Rivalling Olympians
But not all pass the finish line

The end of the line:
School
Work
Leisure
Three modes activated
Upon the opening of pod doors

A hurry
Never stopping
Never hearing
Never open
Of hearts
Wallets

A song from yesterday
The flower withers
Pulp for pennies
The flower withers
Only so much could be done
Outside the system

Meet me under the 'Clock Tower'.......’you said’ cold....
The missing sun hibernated, could not melt your denial
Your promise smudged, felt its docile absence
And I knew....gathered in moss, under the stone of lies.

Mistrust hung itself, swung above the entrance....rivalling
My happy cove.  It creaked to a heartbeat....b-bump, b-bump
Shelling out memories like peas. I recalled the very first time
I captured your eyes, the hesitation we felt......to blink and turn away

A thief stole and robbed the essence of you ......no stone
Unturned...I absorbed the waiting, dragged my heavy soles
Where is your foot print? Your imprint prescribed for my wellbeing
Two to be taken each day....preparing the cradles that rock my feet

Absurd, now I look back, that your word of promise...pretended
You named her "Constance", or was that the 'She woman'
I glimpsed you attached to last week.  When huddled
Together under your 'love' umbrella, soaked in one another

Why this quietness?
Why this seriousness?
Why this modesty?
Has the old lizard
Grown another tail?

Oh, my immutable love,
The impalpable pure-scented
Dawn that impales my thoughts,
Have thou reached an impasse?

For the clouds have gathered
And there is nothing more
To expect but the storm,

My sliding helpless slick rhythm,
Thy words are always covered with
Stitches of honey in my heart,

Who is this impious imp?
Rivalling with my angelic heart?
Indeed, you love is wet and slippery.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com

Crowds gathered and the noise of disobedience shook the neighbourhood whole. I was in the southern part of the city, where sinners sinned and the practitioners groomed the bars and off licenses solely to quench their thirst for liquor. It was almost midnight and hordes of young and old alike chanted and sung merry making song that rang through city; and what a noise it was. And it was on this night I met a lad who dressed as if the night belonged to him. A tall, slender fellow who hadn’t a care in the world. His Caribbean afro would bob up and down as we giggled to anecdotal stories of the past. We were rebels of the night, breaking away from the fragile unity that was the friendship circle.

A few stragglers in the form of Chavs had joined. Many of them formed bonds with the pretty girls, rivalling us out in the end. Deciding momentarily on what our next plan was, we split away from the group and continued midnight drinking into the Holy Lands. We could hear the barking of neighbourhood dogs tangle with the distant explosions of fireworks in the sky. It was beautifully chaotic. But as midnight sinners it was like music to our ears.

“I’m off mate, take care of yourself.” The fellow said as he guzzled his last remainder of his bottled Budweiser.

“You heading home, aye?” I smirked, clearly egging him on to stay out just a tad longer. But, this was to be it. With a hug and a good luck, he was off, towards the mystic backstreets and towards the Ormeau Road. I never caught the young lad’s name, nor did I ever catch his age. It was a strange meeting between the two of us. As if, for one singular night we knew everything about each other yet knew nothing at all. I recall sitting back down on the sidewalk and smiling, before looking up towards the decorative sparkly night sky. And, what turned out to be a spontaneous and random night ended up as a completed final chapter, to a superb little story.

I hate being up in the morning
every morning the same,
rising with no hope of relief
I mean, why bother?
There's no warmth to nestle in,
no dark to slip into
no sweet scented dew
to take this ache from my head.
Frankly I feel mocked,
as though old beady eye is thumbing his nose,
laughing maniacally at my frustration
He deserves a beating,
to be pounded with fervour
but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
So I sit and smoke
giving my best thousand yard stare
rivalling Clint Eastwood,
while he stands proudly smirking,
defiant, unyielding
a stand off, silent
as I ignore his twitchy responses to my stoic suffering
His resolve only stiffening mine
as I refuse to make his day.

The prayer from a distance
a fusion of illusions, a summit of delusion,
the lustrous tones binding hopes--dissolved.

The prayer from a distance
Again a vivid desire,
too uncouth to confront.
A rivalling mist searching
amidst,
many mouths' discerning noises,
looking for a crescent
to leap down,
to grasp
what is fading;
a solemn soul's core
of another's loving prayer.

Courtesy handy dandy
palmar hyperhidrosis
impossible mission to defeat
except poe wet tickly
even courtesy drysol.

(Me slippery fingers slither,
slip and slide splashing ala
Jackson *******), sans slap
dash experimental, swiftly

tailored and harried writing
style, yes on par with purging,
spewing, venting...unexpurgated,
unexpressed, unexplained...
words, which this Engelbert

Humperdinck singer/songwriter,
(whose name inexplicably popped
into the mind of this Dadaist)
offers "FAKE" apology for any

self inflicted, or sadomasochistic
flagellated cranial contusions
out of utter futility to make sense
regarding following gobbledygook!

GOOD LUCK!

Mine groovy palmar flexion creases
forever moistened by porous size
**** leaking levees provoking deluge
outranking Biblical flood - handy history
(in miniature) replete with Ark keel

logical artifacts discovered by hall n
oats marked wainwright - about 10 stone and
5 pound huckster, circa Fin de siècle,
when callous ten hooks (calisthenics,
eh) caught without Noah shadow of a

doubt proof positive by Matthew Scott,
(amat sure his surname) linkedin to storied
testament rivalling epic of Gilgamesh,
nee the entire spoilers alerts since
dawn of civilization writ small impossible

mission to decipher indelibly etched,
(what appear as Egyptian hieroglyphics),
methinks his perspiration contains
preservative agent, (a natural formaldehyde
like substance) generated nsync to maintain
eternal youthfulness, which stumps

medical community, and earned him
hashtagged "hotmail" (eagerly sought
after human commodity), a blessing
and curse palms plagued with chronic
wetness, yet lines (little flushed streams

of consciousness) rowed by itty bitty
teensy weensy merry daydreamers harkens
back when life held faint promise for
scattered (contra) bands of bipedal
hominids fiercely competing with trumpeting

(Taj Mahal sized) beasts (donned tousled
windswept hirsute trademark) Euclid
heir'm barreling along barren steppes
all around the one straggly mulberry bush,
where one pensive monkey (protohuman)
chased the weasel all around the world wide web.

the boy scout in you died
when you were 16.
the creatures of the wilderness
of the brush and bramble
the mountains and basins
held vigil at the low-lying ranch with its
wide-brimmed eaves casting shadows
on the lake in the evening light
the viper slithered solemn
the mockingbird warbled wistful
the frog croaked creaky
the monarch flittered fretful

i couldn’t care the way you did
you wanted that freedom because
you were never afforded it
not by the crucifix nor your family
you wanted to be able to go
anywhere, anytime, at your own will
so you logged your 30 hours,
did the lessons
you earned your freedom

i wonder if you’re a good driver:
if you shout and swear like my parents
when cut off on the freeway
or if road rage takes a backseat
to the sheer pleasure of coasting on
highways and night air
breathing syncopated
with your heart beating in 6/8

i want to be in your shotgun seat
no maps, i want to get lost with you
miles? we’ll quantify distance with time:
five hours in any direction,
smug with the knowing that
wherever we’ll end up
texas’s blazing lone star
will still shine overhead

sheaves of hallowed rays gathered
like threshed wheat
sun biting the rolling golden plains
of our faces, mother of pearl spittle
dribbling from my lips in ecstasy
(i could never stop drooling
while napping)
an almost imperceptible
etch-a-sketch grin
betraying your apparent enjoyment

i imagine you splayed on
limestone and shale
toes tickled by mountain water
or balancing on the bow-legged
boughs of some mighty fallen oak
swollen strawberries skinny dipped in
marshmallow fluff
blistering over open fire
mottled black and praline brown
sticky chocolate between our fingers
all in our very own golden afternoon

i imagine your lips on mine in a
humid school locker room
choking back bile and something else
as i succumb to your gnawing
an indomitable wildness emanating
from my skin, fierce, foreign, fickle
like the stubborn shimmer of pollen
caked on my leaden eyelids

i imagine your neck making
sweet amends with mine
carotid against carotid,
lifeline on lifeline
tracing cherry-red capillaries
with fingers that could speak to wood
protruding from carpenter’s palms
soft and creased like origami cranes

the little love you can spare me
broils me alive
what bitterness in my bone marrow
maillard-sweetened as the days pass
burn fast, burn bright kindling
summer eats me alive and it's glorious

i imagine that you fight for this
(because i refuse to fight any longer
for a love that i'll never receive)

your mirth, you sacrificed
in the name of growing up
because you knew **** well
that with happiness came
the certain promise of pain
the boy scout's compass,
the adventure, the calling,
tucked away neatly in a box
and traded for more classes,
extracurriculars, exams,
time spent withering behind screens
more, more, more, something, anything,
to plug the gaps and fix the leaks
because things are better this way, right?
you don't stop because running towards
the unreachable is familiar, comforting

my mother can attest to the fact
that i have no sense of direction
but my heart has always
stood strong and pointed true
i will be your due north, your polaris,
with a quiet majesty rivalling a
thousand sunsets and moonrises
bearing sharp as the bite of june
asphalt on the bare soles of feet

still, even below our tie-dye sky
we found even darker corners
to sequester ourselves in
when threatened with the
possibility of light

i want to share milkshakes with you
in red-white checkerboard-clad diners

i want to stargaze among bluebonnets
the breath of the creek thick in the air

i want to bake cookies upon cookies
until you are fragrant with chocolate and toffee

i want...i want...

The centre-point of life
is not out-rivalling
others but rather self-overcoming

Palm history awash with drips
unballed fist humboldt
splayed fingers vamoose releasing
wrist took rat release sing psalm
palm history awash with drips.

(Me slippery fingers slither,
slip and slide splashing ala
Jackson *******), sans slap
dash experimental, swiftly
tailored and harried writing
style, yes on par with purging,
spewing, venting...unexpurgated,
unexpressed, unexplained...
words, which this Engelbert
Humperdinck singer/songwriter,

(whose birth name actually
Arnold George Dorsey MBE
inexplicably popped
into the mind of this Dadaist)
offers "FAKE" apology for any
self inflicted, or sadomasochistic
flagellated cranial contusions
out of utter futility to make sense
regarding following gobbledygook!

GOOD LUCK!

Mine groovy palmar flexion
creases forever moistened
by porous size **** leaking levees
provoking deluge outranking Biblical flood -
handy history (in miniature)
replete with Ark keel logical artifacts
discovered by hall mark wainwright -
about 10 stone and 5 pound huckster,
circa Fin de siècle, when
callous ten hooks (calisthenics, eh)

caught without Noah
shadow of a doubt proof positive
by Matthew Scott,
so don't Harris me
(amat sure his surname)
linkedin to storied testament
rivalling epic of Gilgamesh,
nee the entire spoilers alerts since
dawn of civilization writ small
impossible mission to decipher

indelibly etched, (what appear
as Egyptian hieroglyphics),
methinks his perspiration
contains preservative agent,
(a natural formaldehyde like substance)
generated nsync
to maintain eternal youthfulness,
which stumps medical community,
and earned him hashtagged "hotmail"
(eagerly sought after human commodity),

a blessing and curse palms plagued
with chronic profuse wetness, yet lines
(little flushed streams of consciousness)
rowed by itty bitty teensy weensy
merry daydreamers harkens back
when life held faint promise
for scattered (contra) bands
of bipedal hominids fiercely
competing with trumpeting

(Taj Mahal sized) beasts
(donned Johnny come lately tousled
windswept hirsute trademark)
Euclid heir'm barreling along
barren steppes all around
the one straggly mulberry bush,
where one pensive monkey (proto-human)
chased the weasel
all around the world wide web.