Category Archives: Poetry

For Luce…

They will tell you to be still
Those who have yet to see
beyond words they haven’t begun to speak
They will tell you to learn silence
And patience
And truth
But they know not honest
They have yet to meet her scene

When they come to morning songs
Be the one who shrieks
And seeks
meaning in the ways of the sunrise
Be loud with your moaning
Sing psalms heavy with feeling
Glow as the burning amber
colour that clothes the sky
But be still
And silent
And honest in your knowing
That when dawn comes around again
You will be first to herald her praise
Be, Lucinda.


The Things We Shouldn’t Have Been

We go in many directions, you and I
Lines blur and hearts disconnected getting harder to detect
We break into many pieces, you and I
Collage of stitched tatters no longer makes for fine art
I weep into empty barrels
Collection of many weeks worth of promises unfulfilled

We force too many stories, you and I
Complicated plots and unpolished theatre-tricks becoming our refuge
Did you forget your lines, honey?
Did you miss your one shot to be prince?
And knight?
And light! Bright light!
But there you are, an assortment of black
And dark
Too many colours all mashed up
We are too many colours, my love, you and I
Yet to learn to mix them right
We are all the wrong sizes, you and I
We are all the wrong colours, honeyfall
We are everything we swore we would never be
You are your father
I am my mother;
loving your father in all the wrong ways

No Title (Because I Couldn’t Find One That Fits)

Because I haven’t posted any ‘creative writing’ here in a bit…

What accent is that? I’m often asked. And for many nights after, I try to remember where I picked it from. You do not sound African. I’m often told. And for days on end I try to remember home. Where did you learn to speak like that? Someone today inquired. And for a few seconds, I swallowed a stutter, fought an unease and still couldn’t find a rejoinder.
Whose words are these? I was once queried. You write like you’re afraid. Another accused. You’re too nice. A friend offered. Do not speak about the hurt. My mother warned. Do not speak ill of the dead. No good can come out of reminiscing about the past. You must move on, that is what strong women do. She adds. And for a lifetime, I am left wondering what to do with the memories.
Where do you feel it? A doctor once examined. Does it still hurt when I do this? Uncle T once again probed. Who is responsible? Aunt Nwinze grilled. We mustn’t let your father hear. Such things are dealt with in the dark. She convinced. And for many years I have learned to keep my secret wrapped up in leaves buried in my grandmother’s kitchen.
Who taught you to do that? Big B prys, but with a smile so wide, and a glimmer so bright I could tell my response wasn’t really required. Therein lied the confidence with which I tried to carry on and remind myself that I could only be good enough for one thing, until I couldn’t help the buckle. I thought you were good at this. He flipped. Tell me you are worth every penny paid. And for minutes I struggled with the realisation that this was only an act. No matter how well rehearsed, I still did miss my lines.
How do I explain it? That I do not recall from whence I came? That my past is a well kept secret, and the only people who are privy to it no longer speak with me? That my voice is this way because it cannot afford to be another way? That I speak like this because I might have broken pieces of yesterday stuck between my teeth? How do I tell you that my accent is made of a little bit of this and a lot of that? That I am nice only because it is the one thing I never experienced? That I only write to stop the demons from tumbling out of my mouth?
Of course I am afraid. I am afraid to feel it, to say it, to write it, because it is the truth. I am afraid to speak in a language you understand, because I fear that you will see that I am not strong like my mother. And the women like her. I am afraid that I still haven’t learned to smile without a care. And so I have an accent that covers my shame but really just sounds like my tears.


Just Words.

I tried to write today. You know, just another post, answer some other random question, be okay with all the evil in the world, see the future through the tears… I tried to do that.
I wrote 500 words, like the assignment said, ‘500 words or more’. Gbam! There you have it professor, neatly typed. Would you want it bound too? I wrote your 500 words. Yes, your words. I realised after the third read, they weren’t mine. Then I smiled.
I smiled that smile B calls lazy, and N says shows the sadness in my eyes. It’s funny, she never notices the sadness until I smile like that :-)… They are supposed to hide the pain, I tell her. You’re not very good at it, she replies.
I don’t hide my pain very well, do I? V says it’s that way with writers. I laugh whenever she says it. She’s a writer. A fantastic one! So it probably does apply to her. I’m not. I have words that just struggle to come out. Or thoughts. Random thoughts. I can never quite find the words. A few ramblings does not a writer make.
I digress.
I do that a lot. It’s a legitimate form of escapism, I think. Anything to take my mind off the sharp pain in my chest. And the voice in my head screaming, broken! Broken! Broken! Broken! I focus instead on P!nk’s voice. Not broken, just bent.
Na condition make crayfish bend.
Hahaha! I agree. Conditions beyond my control, I like to believe. Conditions that force me to use clichés like, “it’s life”. These things happen. C’est la vie. Moving on…
Where was I?
Ah, yes. Words. My words. I’m trying to find those. Trying to figure out exactly what they are. So I’ll scribble. In the meantime, scribble.
A says it’s gets easier. Maybe not better, but easier. I am earnestly waiting for that. Easy. Easy is good. Easy is safe. Easy is…easy. Until it gets hard. But what do I know about these things? I’m just a rambling insomniac currently craving ice-cream and conversations with a random stranger. My random stranger. Haha! Easy, Kov. These things get messy. Easy. Easy. Easy. New mantra.
But easy is boring. And I’ve endured twenty something years worth of that. Not exactly, but that’s my story. So maybe we won’t do easy. Maybe we’ll take another leap from yet another cliff and maybe this time we will fly. Maybe we will fall into the sea. That’s not terrible either. I could learn to breathe under water. Because you know, that’s what I do. And then I’ll write about it. Or I’ll try to, at least.
Tonight, I just might settle for Perks of Being a Wallflower, smile my lazy smile at more clichés, and take notes.
But these are just words. All 500 of them. There you go, Professor. 500 words not too neatly typed, bound with strings… The same ones tugging at my heart. There you have it. Five hundred words. My words.

Because He Is

I don’t know how anyone would see art in all its manifestations and not recognise the existence of God
How you can watch a baby grasp your little finger and not feel like you’ve been touched by Him
Is there a way you can feed a homeless little boy, watch him grin in satisfaction and not remember the words, “whatsoever you do to the least of my brethren…”
I don’t know how you can see the sun rise, gasp at the magnitude of its setting, notice its magnificent display of colour, gaze in awe at its splendour and not marvel at the handiwork of its creator
How we can walk under the rain, sometimes drenched beneath its strength, at other times feel its tender caressing, and not long to be loved by The Lover…by Love Himself
Is there a way you can see the smile of a stranger and not experience Yahweh’s warm invitation to feel
The rivers, seas, lakes, and springs… Expressions of His love, extensions of His romance.
How do you not see Him? Have we become so wise in our own ways, citing precedence of the (im)possibility of His existence?
What do you expect? What more evidence do you need? He’s done them all, big and small. He’s shown His majestic ways, and I’m awed… but always I’m caught up in His gentle whisper of true realities.
I’m blown away by His whispers of affection when He says, “consider the lilies…” And I do consider them. So much beauty! So much attention to detail. So much care to something that is here today and gone tomorrow.
How can we not see God in that? How?
Is your vision impaired? Or do you still need Him to prove Himself? “Proof beyond reasonable doubt”, you scream. Yet, the doubt is your own doing! Why does He have to pay for your inadequacy? “Show us a sign!” You’re no different from your fathers, and their fathers before them.
He is everywhere. In everyone. If only you’ll open your eyes to see…
How do you not see Him poetry, in words, rhymes and lyrics
How do you not feel Him in dance, in the greatest leaps and bounds
How do you not recognise His voice in music, singing, striking keys and chords on heartstrings
How do you not believe?
I wanted a grand ending to this. Something to make you ponder… Now I realize,if you don’t already see it, that is not my doing.
Open your eyes… God is!

Needs fixing + Off The Playlist – Make Me New

Empty spaces…
Blank sheet.
Broken vessel…
Fix this.
Abba, the hurt hasn’t healed
The band-aid has been ripped off
Uncovering years worth of love unrequited
The stitch is coming undone
The smile no longer holds the seam
Hurting people hurt people
Broken vessels don’t hold love
Or anything else
Fix me.
Make me new.
Heal me…
For you
For me
For the others
Not for him.
It’s gripping, the anger.
It’s familiar, the pain.
It’s uncomfortable, the sneaking emotions.
It’s random, the memories.
It’s frightening, the thought that he’s still in here
My chest… What lies beneath
We’ve passed this place Kov, why are we back here???
Not sure which of them is to blame
Cocktail of emotions.
Broken. Broken. Broken.
But not beyond Your repair
Potter, fix me. Please.
Abba, make me whole.
Use this mess
Spin the gold.

#NP Make Me New – Mali Music

Father it’s me, please hear me my king.
I know I am unholy, so unworthy, unclean.
But I yearn to know you, my soul thirsts for you.
And my temple is broken down, oh take me and make me new

Oh Father (Father) hear me (hear me),
God who rules (God who rules everything).
I’m not asking for blessings (not for), not your hand Lord (hand Lord),
but to know your heart (know your heart)
So show me (show me) the way (the way),
Without you Father (without you I’m nothing)
I’m patiently (patiently) waiting (waiting) oh for you lord (for you Lord)
To take me and make me new.

Take me, make me new.
Take me, make me new.
Take me, make me new.
Take me, make me yours.

Father it’s me, humbly on my knees.
I know I am unworthy, unholy, and unclean oh.
But I long to know You, my soul thirsts for You.
My temple is broken down, oh take me and make me new.

Oh Father (Father) hear me (hear me),
God who rules (God who rules everything).
I’m not asking for blessings anymore (not for), not your hand Lord (hand Lord),
but to know your heart (know your heart)
So show me (show me) the way (the way),
Without you (without you I’m nothing)
I’m patiently (patiently) waiting (waiting for you Lord).
Oh take me and make me new

Take me, make me new.
Take me, make me new.
Take me, make me new.
Take me, make me yours.

Wash my heart, wash my hands,
I want to worship You. I want to worship You.
Here we are, here I stand.
So make me new, make me new, make me new

Make me new

New Day…

Another one of the posts I wrote for MusedMinds… Enjoy.

Good Morning…
New day; new possibilities
New mercy with the rising of the sun
The crack of dawn, earth’s version of a smile full of hope
Our point of resurrection
Fresh opportunities
Life’s given us another chance to make right the wrongs of yesterday
Here’s your through pass
Today is a gift
Make the most of it
The days before don’t need to count
Press on and leave your mark
You’re alive, there’s hope
This moment is perfect timing…

Happy Birthday…
This is your fresh start
A new year of your life
It brings with it all the hope of yesteryears
Perhaps, this is the chance to get it right
The mistakes of before are where they are – past
Older and wiser here I come
And this time I’ll get right

Happy New Year…
Fireworks and kisses herald this do-over
365 days of plain sheet
The page is fresh, you write the script
And when you feel the itch from yesterday’s scars,
Remember that it’ll hurt while it heals
That pain has its own rewards
That it all gets better in time
And today is a reminder that time’s moving
When tomorrow comes, it’ll be a new day and a fresh start
It is today that the pain will end

Everyone loves a happy ending and even though we don’t admit it often, what we love more is a new beginning. So here’s your chance… New month, new week, new day, new hour, new minute; new possibilities. This is your blank page. From this moment on, what you ink is on you.
Good Morning!

You Are…

You are… My inheritance and my exceeding great reward
The One my soul longs for and my heart’s cry
My place of quiet refuge and my safe place
Lover of my soul and the reason for my being
My ever present help and hope for years to come
My symphony, harmony, melody and unending song
The overwhelming joy of my heart, dance of my feet, and my testimony
My keeper and my strong defense
You are my heart’s home!

I Miss…

I miss waking up each morning to the message you sent while I slept… Stopping by to drop a kiss in my dreams
I miss hearing your voice when it’s all groggy from not enough sleep… Good morning.. Have an awesome day babe
I miss bugging you all day, filling you in on the minutest details… My colleague just peed her pants! LOL! I crave carbs! Diets suck! Ugh!
I miss those unplanned visits… Surprise! Guess who’s in town? Picking you up from work in a bit
I miss the random messages… You’re beautiful, inside and out! Lucky me
I miss the not so subtle reminders to be better… Okay, time to get off the phone. That article won’t write itself. I’ll proof read if you want. 😀
I miss the chastising… You snapped at your mum?! Why?! Okay, I understand but you have to apologize to her
I miss making future plans… Small wedding, HUGE honeymooning! Lol
I miss helping you pick out an outfit… You should totally rock the brown shoes with that Tee
I miss talking about the little details of the big project… Email sent, one hurdle crossed. Interview with the big man in a bit, pray for me.
I miss the endless teasing and banter… Your head’s big, by the way.. We both know yours is bigger!
I miss the cuddling even when we fight… Oya shift! I want to cuddle
I miss the pampering… You look tired, lie down I’ll massage. You need to eat babe, please. A kiss for every spoon, deal?
Oh, I miss the deals… I get that work is crappy but if you go today and work enough to impress me, you get a gift.
And of course the bribery…
I miss the impromptu fun games… Let’s make lunch together, over the phone of course. You give the instructions and I’ll cook
I miss… Gosh, I miss everything!
I miss the things I can’t have because, well.. Because I’m single. And while being single has it’s perks, I miss the things I could have.


One step, two step, three step, four
It takes every ounce of strength not to reach for the door
The longing keeps pushing from within my core
I must get out, I must get out some more
That round-the-world ticket still clutched in my purse
Five step, six step, seven step, eight
A gentle reminder that he asked me to wait
Heart’s torn between his homecoming and my being late
One more try K, let’s give this one more date
He doesn’t understand that my soul cannot be tamed
Nine step, ten step, eleven step, twelve
A part of me is left in Venice, nay in Montreal
Maybe beneath the water, therein I must delve
An imperfect puzzle, that piece I must unearth
Somewhere out of here are all that’s left of my years
One step, two step, three step, four
I love you S, but I love me more
Twelve years later and a note you can’t ignore
You know not everyone who wanders is lost
And with that last strength, I push for the door