Wednesday’s Girl

Lips parted, poised

Whispering over the noise

Heart on sleeve

Cleavage released

Watch the rise and fall

Of glowing breasts

Visible beneath see-through vest

Trying to regulate breath.

Adjust expectations

Avoid undue exasperations

When hopes of deep love

Are replaced with only Wednesday night

Love in a glove 

Deep in the seat of expression

Lies the lesson

Betraying the blessing

As bounteous bodies pressed

Close

Removing clothes

Baring souls and arses

Passion flows. Love passes

Through veins

All in vain. As his intent

Is for pleasure.  Much to her pain.

Her intent is for love

But she’s playing his game

And remains neutral to his advances

Instead she dances

The slow grind

Slow burn. 

Another lesson learned

And promptly forgotten

As wet drawers 

Wash away rational thought

He enters her state.

Warm, slippery, tight

Immediately contemplates his fate to night.

Fight or Flight?

Fight: Love and Stay?

Flight: Cum and go?

The former is tempting

The latter is the usual pattern

Latter wins.

Panting begins

Before she arrives

He’s gone!

Lips parted, poised.

He took the noise

On his departure

Breast swell, under the heavy spell

Of his ever fleeting nature.

She sighs

Tears sting eyes.

As she begins to realise

She’s just Wednesday’s vice.

He’s gone without a trace.

Next week.

Same time.

Same place.

Filthy Cash Money

Filthy cash money

Stains hands bloodied

From the menage game:

Gain. Stack. Churn.

Watch as morals burn

Holes in veins

Then stash cash in falsely named

Offshore estates.

The flies buzz round

As the stench rises

Causing a crisis

While naive money lovers

Hunger for inflated interest 

Free loans

Secured on homes

Where fiecies dipped papers

Can camouflage in designer pieces.

Children starve.

While nuclear arms

Bomb their houses.

A trillion dead Queens

And Presidents

Exchange hands

For a mother's sons life

On the oil-mine

Fighting on the front line

To secure more filthy

Cash, money

Brother!

Why suffer when the 

Squillar

Is in conflict diamonds

To drip off necks

And fingers

Not just of rap singers

But Hilton's daughters

In Senators quarters

Innocent women slaughtered

When caught with a diamond

In their love storage

Cavity search gets it back

Into the wrong hands

And forced entry to

Their vaginal tract.

That'll earn 'em!

But husbands will spurn them

Sell mothers and daughters 

Into Whiteman slavery

Won't put much food with his gravy.

The pimp will eat high off the hog

Though.

As he forces women to

Shake their ass to

Save his soul

Dirty.  Sexy.  Gold.

Gets sold, brought with filthy cash

Crisp, clean notes

In Gucci totes

To fund the airline industry.

Fly a mual in

Wait, while he passes out

The sin within

A latex skin

Get two kilos in

Street value

Two million  

Plus, a private jet

Better yet

A condo in Barbados

And a private education

At Eton

Or Harvard.

Old money escapes prisons

Flossin'

As a thirty storey glass building

Home to the hedge fund division,

Honey.

Washing and rinsing

Filthy. Cash. Money. 

Status Junkie

Getting high on approval

Get your knees dirty for a

Better job title

Got a key of validation

Light the pipe of 

Adoration

Where are you heading to'?

Grand Delusion Station?

Won't feel good unless

Somebody's blowing blue smoke

Into your Grand Anal.

Just one more hit please...

Give me a Pay-rise 

In exchange for family ties

A big toe on the next rung

In exchange for a young one

What!  My own office,

Six hundred and sixty six above street level?

Damn! I'll gift wrap my soul

And present it myself to the board of De'Vils

Status Junkie

Super-Symbolise-me

Upgrade me to celebrity

Up-weight the arsenal

To obscure reality

While I  snort Fabulosity

And  shoot-up on  'licious 

Rise to the Funk

Room swells so sweetly

Smoky atmosphere of blues

Working it’s taboo

Floetic fusion of 

Funk-a-delic filigree

Designed to entwine

Around your melancholy

Listen carefully to each 

Melody

Taking you back to

The days when women were bare

Breasted, baby rested 

Strapped to backs as they 

Danced tribal style to a

Tight sheepskin drum rap

Can’t help feel the bass-

Player and the high-hat. Nod

Your head to that. Sip

From your juice and re-lax

Saxaphone on alto 

Is about to answer back.

Reminds me of the waves from

The rough crossing. Tossin’

‘mongst those crammed in. Only the

Strong survived by keeping the

Rhythm. Sax removed the shacklin’

Hear the high octaves

Of the C-trumpet player, 

Man that man can play a

Haunting harmony to the 

Saxophony. Lips kiss it in

Cheeks blowin’ out and suckin’ 

In again

As I reminisce 

On the days when we were

Slaves and blowin for our life

Under Mas’as strike. Blow for Blow!. 

“Swing low sweet chariot”

Ye-ah ba-by play for

Me. Ignite the chasm 

Between my ear and my bossom

Create a prism of orchestral

Funk-o-gasms. Spasms 

That journey through me, running

Wild like a crazed banshee 

Not unlike the days

When we tried to flee slavery

At the cover of night, moonlight

And drums to guide we. Singing

The blues to charter the way

Help cover the footsteps of one

More runaway. Brave soul

“Coming for’ to carry me home”

Oh yes I confess 

I don’t understand a word 

She’s saying. Seems “Skoo-da-le-bap-bap”

 Is a new expression. A 

Better way to rid the pain. 

Immerse yourself in this wild

Deity before we. This 

Sultry songstress complimentin’ 

The blues quartet 

Reverberations

Of loveliness the day slavery 

Progressed to our own

Emancipation. Still waiting

For forty-acres and a mule

Reparation, repatriation!

Heck, at least I got an education

Out of Uncle Sam and Queen Vics

Institutions. The guilty

Graduation of tribal drums

To Jazz, Blues and Funk Stations

Put Black Men firmly

At the root of musical

Civilisation

Lets explode under the jazz

Firm-a-men-tations. Pick stars 

For our pockets, to pick our 

Souls and unlock it, to

Remind us of the journey

When music carried we from

Homeland to slavery

And then set us free. 

Shab-bab-skoodle-oo-wwee

Now ain’t that some kinda funky!

  

Dear You Know Who (a love letter poem)

Date: Today

Dear You Know Who,

I fought against the temptation to pen you.  Because putting you into words, might be the worst thing I could do.  But I’m doing it anyway. As someone as smooth and delicious could easily stray, unless I pen you right now, here, my way.

  In just a few days you’ve got to me.  So sincere.  So gentle. So manly. At first you were only electronic… an email, a text. Next: a voice, whose dulcet tones and non-premeditated choice of words, was all I waited up to hear... every night…at the end of the line. And in the daytime, I found myself steeling against the temptation to.bombard.you.with.a.deluge.of.SMS.messages.to.your.phone. Didn’t want to scare you off, or come across uncool.  I’m no fool! And although I don’t like playing games, sometimes you have to.  Till you don’t need to any more.  You know the score.

Then when we finally met. Stop.  Let me tell you how much I wanted to meet you: As much as the mountain wanted to meet Mohammed; as much as oxygen needs to be carried by the bloodstream; as much as labour pains want to scream. I tried to avoid a scheme.  Instead I wanted you the right way.  With you wanting me as much.  Never thought my luck would lead me to you. But it did.  And although I hid at first, my pleasure in your smile, your eyes, your embrace; you saw through me all the same. “You checking me out, girl?” You said as I walked your way. And YES I WAS.  Cos you looked FINE. And from there the day progressed.  Score: A Perfect 10, over ice.

Lunch was nice… check that… lunch was delicious.  As I wished to be the sauce on your lips for you to lick and “mmmm” as it slid over your tongue.  But that was to come.  ‘cause we left our Italian and walked and talked and learned about each other sons; past loves, past dislikes; how to avoid future spites. I could sense every sinew of you.  My sweet, icrecream dipped, coco flavoured lover to be. Then you kissed me.  

Two atoms collided. I was divided into twos and threes as you pleasured me passionately. Hands on the nape of my neck, just the way I like.  You never went further than that. A gentlemanly touch. Instead you drank ever-y-thing up that I had to give back, with my kiss.  Right there in the park. Sighs, like love starved teens. Grass between my thighs. I creamed. You hardened. Our souls shared the urgent burden. And I knew when my spirit took my steely will and made me whisper “Giving him something he can feel” – that. This. Was. Real. 

Now don’t get it twisted.  I’m not just a lustful sista.  I can see the vision of our future, of you and me in life together.  I can see so clearly that I am blinded by faith. Hope is my white-stick that is feeling for you, leading me closer to you in mind, in body, in spirit too.

See, writing this is tempting fate.  But it’s too late! I’ve already released it to the urban universe.  Let it do it’s best or worst and then be done.  I’m gone.

                                           

I feel you, You Know Who.                                          

Love, Me

A Favour of Sleep

Get me a bed

Make it fit for a peasant

To rest head

And weary soul. No 'stead

Is necessary

For this dilapidated sleep

Candidate is steady

On back, or front, or side.

As long as bed

Resides in the dry

And dark, away from stars

And cheery Moon

With her full intent to

Make me 'bey

Lead me now to slumber

I succumb.  Surrender

My thoughts

Remove them with my dusty

Clothes and timeless watch

And dreamlessly

Collapse.

No chance perhaps of

Cover? To blanket out

The stray ramblings 

That still wander aimlessly

Through the fields of thoughts

Like lost sheep.

Counting them never did release

The sleep

Instead it lead to more

Pointless counting 

And thinking

And rambling

And -

Dear God if sleep keeps a man sane

Then mad me not!

For simply sleep is my calling...

Not eternal. Just till dusk

Is dawning and shaking off night,

Carelessly sprinkling his dew

While pulling on morning.

No other mourning is required this night

Thank you Oh Creator.

And with eyes heavy with sleep

I bequest You

Forgive this demanding peasant

Who till now has done nothing

But ask favour.

At las-

Half has never been told

Luna light was shining at crescent mask

Hiding half the truth of nights intent

Stars feed the sky with ferocious force

As did his thrusts into her womb embed

She complied to his pleasure bent

With legs astride and soul in shards

And as Luna gave way to Ray to lend

Him sky, he too shone with strength at half

Instead precipitous clouds brought forth

The means to fertilise the seed now sown

Although her heart was closed while he forked

Her soil (and soiled her thoughts with his own)

She was open now to bear the fruit when grown

And as the day evolved and rain and tears 

Stopped their flow, then rude awakenings

Forced flower buds to shoot and appear,

The blossom scent was missing, taken

By the many curses whispered into heaven’s ear

When day and night eclipsed and brought another him back

To her with the same half truth of wholesome love

She knew her fate was sealed and steeled her lack

Of trust for him’s against her magnitude of sheer bad luck

Again the nightly whispers of one sided lust

Filled half the air, whilst the remaining half was divided

Into stifled tears and silent prayers of “God please stop

This nightly torture, stop breath, stop spirits colliding

Bring this writhing of unholy union to an end. God please stop –“

And on and on went prayer, silence, moaning, whispers

Until eventually the sky was immersed in stars

And fruit of the womb too bruised to cope these half pleasures

Was returned to earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Half her life was over, or so it seemed.  Not from a want of

Half measures and nightly pleasures to him, half moons

And precipitous skies.  No child will bless the caverns

Of a barren woman who sold her soul to pay for a room

A bed and rocks to fill her head and veins with a star filled night of lies.

Sniper Pen

I’ve been in dormant await

My pen posed in a permanent state

Of readiness

Like the finesse of a sniper

Under heavy overgrowth

Of words.  The longest

Silent sentence I ever wrote. You never heard

Me watching you.  Reading you.

Listening to

Your moody blues

Reinterpreting your moves.

Got you in the crosshair

Of my viewfinder

Target on lock

Single blue dot

On the chest of your page

Waiting to engage in

Literary battle.

Hear your pen rattle

Out scant thoughts

Sssshhhhhh.  I don’t want to 

Compromise my hiding position

Be on alert.  Listen.

Heard you whispering my name

Thought I’d lost my game

Laughing at me from the shadows

Hoping I wouldn’t step back into the jungle.

Well the jokes on you Jack!

Cos I’m BACK! You ain’t seen nothing yet

Better protect your similies

And metaphors

Before my scatter gun approach

Leaves you breathless. Choked.

Flaying arms like a semaphore 

Flag. Count to 10 while you grab

Your wordproof coat and your inferred pen.

Got a perfect aim

So run now.  Don’t make me maim

Or kill you

Want to just stun

With my wordplay gun

Set you pelting through

The poetry jungle

Panting.  Blinded. Humbled.

Constantly looking over shoulders

See if I’m catching up some how

You’re numb now.

Make you question your identity

Wondering who sent me

Wasn’t a Prime Ministers call

To this word-army

I came of my volition 

Following my own mission

Bringing a coupe

Knock you down in one fell swoop -

Freeze…

Camouflaged behind trees.

I breath.

Sniper pen on grid lock

Ink trigger on cock.

New vocabulary loaded to inspire.

Ready. Aim. More FYRE!