Nigeria

Buried under the prison
of twisted religion
lies the conscience of killers
that say God willing

A nation mourns the slaughter
aching
slowly moving on
In fear of tomorrow
there may be a fresh one.

Blue Magic

You soon learn
your true best friend
be a shade of blue that unlocks your pen

With grim gratitude
build on a mood
food's only fuel
pain be the food.

We bathe in dark
liquid currency
lathering up
before rinsing the art.

Dirt's prized product
we struggle with our strings
rebellious puppets
discontent
we brood on things.

Ice Water

In the dark,
her words are drained
"We're drifting apart...
.... you don't even..."

He feels the weight of her speech
knows he should be fixing
even now he neglects her
exploring her metaphor:

What if
when we die
we're like icebergs finally melted away

Apparently,
the space is empty
just memories...
but discerning folk know:

What came before,
remains all around
broken down
slushing 'round and 'round
interconnected parts
of the amorphous,
ever ready
to transform,
again and again
never remembering

Always wondering
what comes next?

Cry later

Dear god

What makes me
make them laugh
pins me down

in this strange place
in my dark soul
finally I see
the joke's
on me.

The ways of life

The majority paddle
heart content

to float
leisurely on the surface.

Few dive deep
for the treasure.

some struggle against the current
some lose themselves in it.
some drown.

some climb out.

Arrogance is old as the river.
Snapping and splashing,
the afflicted believe their stroke
alone is acceptable.

Caught up,
they claw and scratch
and won't be satisfied
till everybody swims
just like them.

Lost And Found

Some things you should never

lose 

control of emotions,

they will reliably betray you.

But lose the spark 

that ignites your heart

your dreams will curl up and shrink

with you.

Some loss is unavoidable

 

Old friends.

First love.

Honeymoon chapters.

Once upon a time, I found the truth,

as inhibition was lost,

it shot straight to my head.

As I chased old stories,

I lost my way. Burnt out, 

I found religion 

had lost it's grip.

Among other things lost

several half read books

a spiderman collection (by way of bet)

a cat, jobs, fights, weight, teeth, wallets

and keys (obviously).

I found my voice,

still I find 

I borrow the odd line.

"In her, I found peace, like Malcolm in the east."

I've found love

as it found me.

Like the time I found cash

concealed among leaves

sat still in my path  

just waiting for me.

When it's meant to be, 

you'll find a way -

so they say.

Now and again,

I find my bliss.

Red Kippah

In my eye
at the intersection of envy
and disdain

red velvet sits 

clipped atop his equanimity, like a cherry 

It commands my fickle fascination.

Whether leopard print hijabs,
emerald turbans 

or golden rosary beads
the tug is the same

All religion is born of magnetic passion
pulling
even after I have strayed its orbit.

Badges of piety

how they grate me
yet I remain endeared

Appraising elegant tangles of theology

cleaving away bloated,

congealed rules:

The useful
the whimsical, the abhorrant

clumped together

Underneath are modest bones
creaking under the weight of scrutiny.

The ligaments:

pride

purpose
protection

identification
with something grand
making sense of the madness.

I reason,
we must cling to something
might as well be tradition.