Tag Archives: poetry

A Toast To Anything

Clinking glasses of red wine in hands on rustic wooden planks ba

Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to the comfort of unemployment and humility of empty sugar dishes, to absinthe and innocence-eyed cougars, to landlord notices, to music, to cold nights and warm bodies, to contraceptives and missed periods… and to the good life, whatever it is and wherever finds you, to sighs of missed calls, to serenity of nature and positive vibrations it brings with it…

Let’s toast to pretty faces and big asses,to supple lips and seductive eyes, to smitten pastors and falling bibles…to rumbling stomachs and naked tissue rolls, to missing left socks and stripped bible pages, to blocked drainages and grey water, to missing family members, to absences found in presence of nagging wives, to weed and chimney noses, to thirst for righteousness and magnetism of pornography, to failed attempts and soiled hopes, to bodies torn after deities’ duel, to life in fullness; what you consider it to be!
Thank You, God for simplifying life
Thank you God for a chance to right my wrongs
Thank you God for Nesta or Isabella
Youtube, Thank you for another euphoric sound escape!

Bad Ones

There comes a times when all you do backfires on you
When she keeps mum and hurts
And still blames you for not knowing her problem
When your hi sounds bye
And your laughter mocks her
And your love just hangs there
Waiting for her to be the girl you knew
And she drops you an sms
” you can never make me happy”
And you feel your balls melting under the weight of self-loathe
Your heart doesn’t respond, it’s dried
The only proof that it lives on is the fact that you’re still alive
Your patience reserve isn’t rich
But you try to give her space
And pray, that you will change
For you’re always the bad one

pages in history

History is present
Troubling us with repeats of yesterday’s mayhem
Blood didn’t dry
And ground wasn’t barren
So seeds of hate sprouted
Watered by sycophancy and greed
What’s right isn’t profitable
What’s profitable isn’t right
Like freedom fighters who lost all while freeing the nation
We have been looted by those we paid to protect our wealth
And they’ve killed us for defending whats ours
Big cars they drive
Fuelled by our thin wallets
And soon they’ll back to shed more blood
For the gods they worship
The nation isn’t ours
We dont belong
We’re pawns on a chessboard
No life of our own
But just items of trade
And bargaining chip for political supremacy
So slavery isn’t dead
Just a page in history
Embeded on the present

😒😒A Letter to the Living Dead😒😒

I have written before
But, I will write some more
My letters do reach you and I hope you’ll answer

My dearest husband, this isn’t the life we dreamt of, and that doesn’t cause me pain. What hurts me is that you created us and broke us when you sighted a virtual petite half your age.
I now live in permanent fear because I dread the question, what will I tell them when they begin asking about you?
Should I lie?

Or do I just make it clear that my thighs weren’t warm enough to bring you home? Will these children understand? Because I have seen the question in their eyes, it just remains unspoken.

Forgive me for not beginning with a greeting of any kind, for 9 years are too long and a lot have changed in this life and so are my priorities. This is a microwave age, you hit the spot, no dilly-dallying. Plus, wouldn’t greeting you unearth the beautiful memories I’ve buried in our backyard?

I don’t want to remember you, at least as the man I married. These memories are razors too sharp to cut, so they burn: all the dreams of our children, all the promises we made to them in the hospital, and all the longings of my heart for the man you were before short skirts short wired your brain.

I had seen it coming, the siren was loud enough to awaken the dead but it wasn’t loud enough to enlighten a fool in love. The nights were lonely and sleep was elusive, the nights you locked yourself in your study and wore your thick glasses and began your lessons, only for sexual noises to flood my room hours later.

And I would hear you unlocking the bedroom door and slink into my sheets, you’d spend the night moaning strange names and shit talking. It might have taken long but I knew the internet woman had taken my place in your loins.

And I hoped, prayed, and wrote letters to heaven to give me my husband back, but all the while you had gotten used to flawless thighs the world had to offer, albeit virtually.
I wasn’t a woman enough to satisfy your sexual needs, but d’you mean to say a motion picture is warmer than me? It would be different if you cheated with a living female, but I swallowed my pride and prayed some more for things to change.

Every night as I tucked my children, I hugged them tighter, and in every hug was a whispered prayer that they might have a taste of the man I married. The loving husband, the caring father and the foundation of our home but you were too busy making love to your virtual women to chorus the Hail Mary refrain.

The morning you left, I cried. It seemed like any other day but my intuition told me otherwise, deep down I knew there was no conference, but I still waited for the two weeks to elapse in the belief that you couldn’t desert your children. It’s now 9 years and the conference isn’t over yet.

I have heard rumours, of sworn affidavits and changed names. I have also heard rumours of short skirts and young women and late night diners, I was happy when I heard the latter for I knew you were learning to be a man again.

Just so you know, I haven’t been idle, shoot, I’ve got children to feed and school and though we were thrown into the streets like wild dogs, heavens opened its gates and ushered us in. I now have a job, my children are learning with white kids, perhaps they’re taught how to be men.

But wait?

Isn’t that ironical? That the same whites who taught my husband how not to be a man can teach my kids how to be men? I think I need a new school.

Certainly, I didn’t write this letter to tell you all this, what I want is simple. Meet your kids. Give them a chance of knowing how not to be a father.

Don’t ask how I got your address, I changed my name too. And it’s a small world. I’m so sorry I couldn’t approve your tender, my corporation only works with real humans. 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂
black_woman_smiling_desk_phone-353x179

Cold Fireplace

I see them rodents gnawing at my toenails
They have eaten everything
The granaries are dry
The fruit basket is empty
And the fireplace has gotten cold

Women have taken to silence
Their territories invaded
They gave them cooking pots
But stole everything to be cooked
They give by the day
They steal them by night

I see their flawed system
Of suppression and oppression
Our sweat nourish their bellies
While we chew at their empty promises
We aren’t men enough to pay rent
We aren’t men enough to pay school fees
So our kids we groom
To work in their plantations

It is slavery
Woven in peals of false brotherhood
White man criminalized blacks for skin color
Now it’s black killing black with hunger
In this food chain everything is flawed
The arrow no longer points at the eater
But still, the prey takes blame for being prey!
Such is the story of my country

One Question

It’s a long way we’ve come
It’s a long way to go
But I see them barricading our path
As bonfires light
Fuelled by jealousy and ill will
They call us savages
Pulling chains to bind our limbs
So in fire we don’t even twitch
But dear,
Will you let them break us apart?
Or will you let them be?

They say we’re impossible
Like they know bits of us
We’ve never known
Like they’ve felt the heavens of your body
And marvelled at the depth of your thoughts
Like their hands have felt the glory in your breasts
Like their mouths still hoard the lava of your orgasm
They are becoming gods
Trying to fix our brokenness with
Should and should-nots
Just tell me this;
Will you let them break us apart?
Or will you let them be?

Do they know how far we’ve come?
When the ground was our bed
And rock stone our pillow (S.M)
When sunrise brought with it
Empty pots and cold fireplace
When doors banged on our faces
And friends became few
When providence never sojourned
And we lay destitute and desolate
Remind them, in these days
We found reasons to smile
I found home in your embrace
And warmth in your mons
And I gave you a promise
But, they won’t tire,
Dem loading their guns
Shooting our dreams
While time flees
So dreams will be dreams
They want to entice you
To pressure me
For them to oppress us
So tell me,
Will you let them break us apart?
Or will you let them be?

Zion Awaits your arrival

Dearest move with me
Don’t let my long strides
Leave you behind
Walk much faster dear
This place isn’t home
It has vampires and vermin
Baying for your blood
The vampires slither
Smoothly in darkness
Their fangs out
Walk dear, walk on

The rain will be here
Look at the sky
The dark clouds hang
Ready to spew on us
Everything is against us
No friends
No family
Nature hurls its storms at us
Just cling dear
Cling onto my scarf dear
It throttles me but hang on
It’s a small price I pay

Now move, your feet blistered
Ankles failing
Don’t give in
We’ll heal in our safe haven
Your mouth trembles
Don’t speak
Just move
For Zion isn’t for the weak
Let’s get to Zion
Let’s get to Zion
For glory awaits you there

But….

but
WTF you BUTT!

One of the transitions that break hearts,
Kills dreams and belittles everything
But emboldens incompleteness…

It was a delicious meal, BUT too much fat
She’s beautiful, BUT she’s got a small ass
He is very bright, BUT so hostile
He’s very talented, BUT damn broke
He earns a lot, BUT he’s mean
He loves a lot, BUT he loves the wrong people
……….Et cetera, et cetera………..
The last time my complement transited with a BUT…
I felt its end sour in my mouth before it was spoken
It’s worse when it comes from someone more broken
More desolate,
More beaten
Until you ask yourself who really needs a complement
So I ask can’t a sentence ever be complete without BUT?
Can’t we appreciate the good things
And make them bold enough
For others to see?

Death is late

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I will write a letter and toss it in the wind
Or strip your hammock and toss in the river
I might be dead when they reach you
Nothing has changed
Yet nothing has remained the same
The gods have been vexed
All this time they’ve held rain

Grass still grows
Watered by endless flow of blood
The valley has changed its appeal
The shades we once rested under
Now home rotting humans
And vultures feast
The freedom fighters have fought the system
Then rebelled against their prior motives
They kill anything in human gait

But still….
The government lives
Not counting the ones lost
They fly outside to drink and dine
Because this nation is rotten
Their appetite might wane

When they took you, bro,
I couldn’t fight them
That’s cowardice I know
But death isn’t for the brave either

Bro, this nation is rich
You could have seen their arsenal
Yet, war isn’t cheap
Neither is peace affordable

Remember the cave we hid in?
They blew it up
Hundreds died in there
And smoke and dust soared high
As the blast drowned
Their shouts of victory

My turn is coming
I’ve dreamt about it with eyes open
I saw its end…
Somewhere in a vultures poop
I’m still lying here in wait
I know the bullets won’t reach me in time
This hunger, cold and fear won’t wait