Talk to Me

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Talk to me about days unending
Dawning uncertainty that pinches your forehead
Cool darkness thinning into light
The faces, dead and smiling past
Pain etched in their palms
Clenched and holding tight to emptiness
The quiet retreat to sleep
To prayers, to grumbling homes
Hungry children and angry spouse

Talk to me about life
The golden gift tarnished with every breath
Grey drudgery for which we must give thanks
Dreams wrapped in mystery
Failures told as tales through missing teeth and tears
Eyes straining and peering desperately
At a future black and shrouded
Like a young bride amidst the northern sand dunes

Talk to me about hope
When, crushed by yesterday
We gather our ragged souls
And place our dreams in empty pockets
A fierce glint in the eyes of the living
Daring the sun to set on our strength
Does this make heaven laugh?
To see us struggle?
Chanting words of faith to hollow clouds?
Clutching charms and omens
Winds and stars to tell us
To answer us but they never do

Talk to me about fear
It’s in each creak in wooden doors
The cryptic call of night birds
The clap of thunder in a storm
At the doorstep of the new year
In the exit of the old
Shivering, stepping cautiously and murmuring
Prayers and dropping copious libations
Disease, death, want, all elusive spirits
Taunt us from behind their invisibility
Too scared to cast our bread on many waters
We cast our faith on many altars

This is hard, this lot of man
The sweat in glistening blisters on our brows
Old clothing and worn shoes
Looking out to this same shrouded elusive future
Shy like a young bride
Far and farther with each step
But talk to me about hope,
We keep on walking

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Storm

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This happened once, on a long day
Shuffling breezes stroking weary windows
Eyes of humble houses lining up
Like beggars on a busy street
An old man on the roof praying

Silent sacred songs bleeding slowly
Singing patiently to an impatient wind
That carried the songs away

Then it happened swiftly
Solemn clouds gathering in ominous circles
Threatening like stern fathers towering haughtily above
Tell me fear did not grip in deathlike vise
Unrelentingly tight, choking out prayers from the irreligious

If you never saw a bleeding sky like a wounded man
It was above us
If you never felt a trembling earth like frightened child
It was beneath us

Then it was gone again
Swift as a nightmare or a terrible lover
That comes and leaves you empty
And in its wake…
…nothing…………….

Storytelling

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Art like music
Music like storytelling
Storytelling under a dark blue sky
Shivering and listening

Listening to stories
Stories of people
People from long long ago like ghosts in a crypt
Crypts full of secrets
Not told in our stories
Secrets kept close to the chest
Then hidden and buried

Buried in oaths
Oaths that are broken
Broken like shattered little glass shards
Glittering and dangerous

Dangerous like poison
Poison like envy
Envy of women
Women watching love spring up new
Whilst they are greying
Greying like evening
When the colours fade away

Away into darkness
Darkness like the dark blue sky
Above storytelling

A song down below

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I’ve got a story I could tell you
But you have to lower your ears
Down to the dust so I can reach you
Down in the dust of fallen tears

Why is your head so far above?
Are you scared of falling low
But my tale is in the ashes
Of things bowed and settled below

I’ve got a song that I could sing
But it’s a melody of the earth
Of things creeping in the dirt
I’ve no wings to reach your dreams
Bow your ears for just a while

When my tale is done
When my song is sung
The sky won’t look so blue
When the ashes cover the skies
And your ears are near my voice
We’d stay here in the dirt
And sing my song again

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Wayward Passion

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Originally posted on The Author's Blog:

It starts with one
And ends with two
This love is wicked
And so are you

You play me like a child
A child with a gun
I am the one to suffer
You just aim and have fun

Like showers of the winter
You are fairly cold inside
And being the summer breeze
I just follow and abide

I like this feeling
And I like you too
But you keep playing me
Whatever I do

I have accepted your love
Its wickedness and perilous
Maybe you should accept mine
For it’s pure not scurrilous

View original

Watcher

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ImageI don’t know 

Believe me When I say I don’t

It was a crowd like a furry animal

A headless, tailless mass

Surging and teeming

Blood at their feet

 

I heard voices but it was all a massive tantrum

The rage and stamping

The triumph of bloody righteousness

And sin looked so innocent

Writhing under furious blows

 

A hapless devil begging, arms outstretched

Seeking mercy from flaming angels

Life streaming from his pores

He was so many littles offences

The thieves of sweets and phones and food

The young man that winks at young men

Lustfully in corners

The brazen woman in her short skirts

 

And this large animal crowd bruised and battered

Pouring holy sweat in this cleansing

While the big men glided past 

Swiftly in their rides slick and oily

Holding the soul of this crowd

Carelessly stuffed in their pockets

 

I don’t know

I shouldn’t, I can’t know

But since i have seen and know

With hands clapped over my mouth

I watched…quietly

Christmas in Lagos

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Christmas in Lagos

There is no snow or mistletoe

Harsh whining winds wailing loudly

Thick brown air laden with dust and smoke and the last breaths of an old year

Dying

 

It is Christmas in this busy town

No snow or mistletoe

Just the rattle clap clap of a yellow bus raging down wounded roads

Bumping and jumping to the tune of carols on the roadside

And there is you and me in this yuletide tantrum of man and earth

Warmth on our dry skins and smiles on our chapped lips

Riding to the end of this dying road

In this raging weather

In this furious bus

In this busy town

This brown christmas in Lagos.