Tag Archives: poetry

Whisky Man

When love drips
I take a sip
Straight, on cold rocks
Gush, a rush
The hot steam
Flowing down below
Through tubes and hardened heart
Keyed in, ignition started

Then it hits
midnight clock
Thoughts of you
furnace of your raging youth
You in the middle
Red lips on glowing skin
A moth caught in the lime light
dancing with wings and thighs
Oh, woman from the coast
ever ever so close to you

When all is blurred
The skyline jack journeyed
plastered with stars and troubled hiccups
Streets full of night time strangers
all connected through vintage brew
all storytellers sitting on wooden casks….

And, In that haggard stance
When words come out freely and
hearts bleed out barley desires
Then, without much grumbling
I grab the fire and burn
knowing I must have you
Your scent I must smell
Someday, someday
Someplace far from the whisky man’s grip

Black Inferno

Every one trying to touch the sun
Forgetting we are of the sun
Us: children of the black star
Gold skin holding diamond hearts

The Mandated African

From the time of my awaited arrival
Into the shores columbus claims
Into lucy’s palace, I flew
Built by foreigner’s red tears now calcified deep into hardened soil
Her land once resident to flowing milk and honey
Now full of flying paper-debts and glory billboards
Her rules quickly stamped on my skin, chipped and tracked inside tendons,
so I may never forget her emerald ways
Her scripted orders scrictly to follow
Blindly follow and you will never know
the underground makings of this gold-plated city spoon fed by
those in white tees submerged in brown border-crossed sweat
Follow blindly and your sold-out ignorance will temporarily save you from the fire that rages within these walls.

From the time of my arrival
Into lucy’s southern parts, I strolled
Then times: a lesson, for an unseasoned traveler
With my survival skills now tuned just right
Every loop hole, I must actively find
For lucy’s mandates were never meant
for the poor ones,
what more, a continental adventurer from
the so-called Ebola ridden lands
Here, even my buffalo’s siblings roll eyes when our souls jam
See I must find a way out, for me and others
Those others without a kobo to hold near
Those others who refuse to break bread with the judge himself
Those others who refuse to lay in bed with the devil’s bride

From the time of my arrival
to my survival revival, throughout my living, toiling, beneath lucy’s always glittering palace
I have found ways to keep my sanity;
methods that hold my faith of a united sahara
In these ways, I always seek courage on days when my spirit bar goes low
From my family’s strength filled by God’s light, or
good flowing rhythms that strike and fill soul
To a pen and spread out canvass
From these ways, I write out my own rules
Orders of a new way of surviving in lucy’s lands
Mandates meant for any African lost in the sea

Running From Love

When the night is clear and the star’s up
Black skies, the wind violent enough
I sometimes call her the devil
Cos whenever I see her from afar
She comes racing arms wide,
shining; teeth grinning
Black braided hair flowing
Her oval face placed on her perfectly curated body
Hips-thighed intimately inviting me for a meal
Her eyes: milk and brown
piercing right through my dusty old soul

And when she somehow catches up
I, sweat pouring down like a donkey working hard for evening hay
Her scent, intimacy propelled
My young heart crashing head on,
barely any beep-able tune heard
She casually leans onto me and boldly whispers
her voice softly dragging me out
“You are mine, dark skinned boy,” her red full lips words out.
“What in heaven’s gates do you mean?” my eyes asks her.
Another grin and she bares all.

So again and again
when the sun’s just ripe
enough to fry egg
My bare feet on modern paths
I take race, back into the incoming sunset
She, I’m sure, amused,
watches that “dark skinned boy with his heart intact, running away from any signs of death”
Or love she might call it.

Diasporan Blues

Another immigrant
washing away leftovers from plates
He might have flown over the seas
or she, across the harsh desert
Over and across, don’t matter
Tall fences blocking aliens away
Long stretched out rivers.

We are all the same,
uniquely shaded for the sun
We of the gun-shaped origins,
eyes all crisp with dimly lit hope
Look into these voided pupils
Past these migrated dreams
Through these walls of memories
where our dead loved ones lay still
There, we of the African beginnings are stricken to forever hymn
an ancestral continental song called
“another day to build and create.”

Authors of our Destiny

The word was written
into those chapters from the Bible
Survival guide inscribed for us
Now we write
All words and emojis
for another time, another people

Don’t Play With the Devil

On the road to sin city
Drenched in full gold
Call the door man
Cos I hear the devil’s coming through
Watch the deck
Up high in this tower of babel
Lost souls, my people cry: lost souls
Burst them stars out
Pour more shots
Vodkar’d out

Red eyes, I see the devil now
Watch them, all them devils
Coming out, watch them

Red eyes, see the demon in the devil
I know, yes I know
He too fears for his own soul

Of a distant love, I was told

Of an old folk tale, I once heard

Back in my days of young

Eyes glued to the storyteller

Ears up, attention undivided

Mind settled properly to soak in folk tale

Of an old ancient city, I was told

A city bathed in pure gold

Streets glittering shiny yellow

City walls all covered by sunflowers

On the balance of clouds,

The city of gold rested

Behind its walls, inside the ancient city

On a certain cloudy summer time

Of a princess born with an infinite beauty, I was told

There above the dreamy summertime

Of her sparkling smile, I heard

Her flowing hair full of sunflowers

Of her eyes reflecting dreams, I was told

Her dress made of summer green

Lips pure with love untasted

Of her heart troubles, a tale was told

Of her love for a man, I think it was

Outside the sunflower covered walls

Below the moon-colored clouds

Of a certain summer, I heard

On the fields of a southern land

Of a man and his horse named Hercules, I was told

And in all things, I was told

Of his undying love for the princess up in the city of the sunflower

Of an old folk tale or so I once heard

People of Zion (Patience)

The beast with its eyes gorged out

Roams the streets, hungry

Feeding on the naked threads

The real ones continue

Cos the tower has fallen

Marred with dirt

Nature has cleaned its sins

And left us to search for our own roots

Our hands in sand, so we dig

Through the rocks and flowing fountains

We must fight

Stop, clean the puddle of war

Break the hate

For the beasts has bitten our throats

Blood spilling from the machines we create

Patience has the key but man has the eyes

So we look with our one’s and two’s

Consuming information without an effort to build

Mystical stories formed to create diversion

Fearless are the ones who go the other way

They drink from the wisdom hidden in gutters

Helping up those hooked in the red red ditch

These ones have forgotten the tongue

That holds the people back

So with a quest to roam without fear

They wear faith and show sword

As their flags, with the moon passes through

We must join them and form a pyramid

A union uniting all lost brothers

We must know that to be has its breaks

Also called seeing without looking

Patience is the key, you know this

Discover the city buried in time

Uncovered through our unarranged rhymes

Read my thoughts, and I’ll call you the devil

For my path has refused to stop for blackened oil

Phase in, breathe out

For the key is locked into the ways of patience

Withstand it, and the beast will break your neck