First published on the 24th May 2009
What is it about life that makes us keep going on for another day, a hope for a brighter day, a better day? What is it that makes a man and a woman fall so deeply in love? What makes thenm fall out of it? Why is love always equated to an imbalance (falling in love) a mental health condition (madly in love, love sick, crazy in love) or a state of incoherence (I love you, I am in love with you, I love you) (need I say more?)
How do you keep love and sex apart? Is love between two people possible without an expression in sex (or for the delicate at heart- love making)? can two people who really love each other and want to be together really stay in a room without touching or ending up in bed, the side of the wall, on a chair, clothes off or on (take your pick) when it all goes tits up, where do all those emotions go? What do they leave behind?
What makes us? Breaks us? Defines us? Redesigns us? What makes us aware of whom we are, what our values are, what our core beliefs are? What makes others aware of us?
What is this life if full of care? (Thanks Hillarae Belloc' Leisure'-I hope I got the name right) do we have time to stand and stare?
Hmmm, there goes a butterfly.....
In between my breasts
is a fire stoking quietly.
Awaiting cool fingers, wander near
Stroke as a match, set all ablaze.
In between my breasts
is a river, flowing wild.
Inviting a plunge into depths
rediscovering in approaching climax.
In between my breasts
is a mystery, holding truth.
Of all that men, being beasts; beasts, human;
Human in the illusion of gods.
Wednesday 16 February 2011
Eden- the continued story
These are more thoughts on the sides of love:
First published on the 17th of April 2010
This poem is put here at the request of my dear friend. It is a missing link in the 'Contrast of a Telling Heart' note.
Love like life is a gamble. The best we can hope for is to hold a good set of cards and play a good game.
God help us all.
Eden
I don’t know, how despite
the signs I married him.
Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami
His love is tight.
I stay here by decree
of his telling glance. His
warning touch of perceived endearment.
I daren’t move, gritted smiles.
Laughter torn from deep in my soul,
laughter,which follows the mandate:
Mirth or pain.
Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami
His love is hard.
His soft word placed in my twisted ear,
‘This hurts me more than you’
I’m a child, waiting certain punishment, then
the apologies flood my lap, as my
punisher blames regretful tears on me.
My fault for being not so right
‘See what I make him do?’
Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami
His love is deep.
Colours banned from my palette
Gold is sallow, silver is crass
The query of who’s mating dance I wish to attract
makes the peace of drabness comforting.
I am a bird of paradise made for one
garden, the flaming swords are for my protection.
Does it matter that my feathers droop and fall?
Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami
His love is constant.
Vows are taken seriously here,
there is only one god in this house and he's not above.
I walk and hear clinking gently
reminding me of no escape.
I am a gold-ringed prisoner.
This union is till death, accident-prone,
my sure feet unsteady, I will walk into
another doorknob, trip down another stair.
I am certain of this truth.
Osa bo le gbe mi
J’owo se mi bo se bami
His love will be death.
I don’t know, why despite
the signs I married him.
First published on the 17th of April 2010
This poem is put here at the request of my dear friend. It is a missing link in the 'Contrast of a Telling Heart' note.
Love like life is a gamble. The best we can hope for is to hold a good set of cards and play a good game.
God help us all.
Eden
I don’t know, how despite
the signs I married him.
Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami
His love is tight.
I stay here by decree
of his telling glance. His
warning touch of perceived endearment.
I daren’t move, gritted smiles.
Laughter torn from deep in my soul,
laughter,which follows the mandate:
Mirth or pain.
Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami
His love is hard.
His soft word placed in my twisted ear,
‘This hurts me more than you’
I’m a child, waiting certain punishment, then
the apologies flood my lap, as my
punisher blames regretful tears on me.
My fault for being not so right
‘See what I make him do?’
Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami
His love is deep.
Colours banned from my palette
Gold is sallow, silver is crass
The query of who’s mating dance I wish to attract
makes the peace of drabness comforting.
I am a bird of paradise made for one
garden, the flaming swords are for my protection.
Does it matter that my feathers droop and fall?
Osa bo le gbe mi
Se mi bo se bami
His love is constant.
Vows are taken seriously here,
there is only one god in this house and he's not above.
I walk and hear clinking gently
reminding me of no escape.
I am a gold-ringed prisoner.
This union is till death, accident-prone,
my sure feet unsteady, I will walk into
another doorknob, trip down another stair.
I am certain of this truth.
Osa bo le gbe mi
J’owo se mi bo se bami
His love will be death.
I don’t know, why despite
the signs I married him.
Contrast of A Telling Heart
There are so many sides to love, here are two ways I've explored. I'd love to hear your thoughts.
First published 29th March 2010
Many things happen in a girl's life and boy! Have I had my drama? I'm back to not sleeping again, as you can see by the time (please pray with me) not being able to eat and this is serious ( I mean I went to a £9 chinese buffett and I was looking at the food like schwepps, even though I was hungry fa!) so it is serious and just general fatigue (I've been in my 'Lord change my life for good' status for so long, I need a new song)
Well in all that jambolaya, I've been writing! (At least one thing stays constant!) And here are two poems. I wish to hear what you have to say about them. I performed them at the Tower of Babel organised by CAN but I can't seem to be able to upload the video. As soon as I can, I will. I also want to give a massive shout out to a friend and brother Lookman Sanusi-Thank you for the honest edit in The Recall. I am grateful that you don't look at my toes; I must learn to walk in sturdy shoes. Thank you.
The Recall
Iwo ko, emi ni
Emi ni, iwo ko
Iwo ni, mo ni, mo fe
Ni okan mi yan.
The recall of your skin
On my memory is loud.
I haven’t met you but
I see you.
The image of your eyes
Beckon me to pleasant dreams.
I don’t know you but
I see you. I see you so well.
Iwo ko, emi ni
Emi ni, iwo ko
Iwo ni, mo ni, mo fe
Ni okan mi yan.
Your lips caress the edge
Of my mind as I imagine
The ecstatic response my
Sighs will convey. Your hands
Teasing the secret thoughts in
dark recesses.
I’ve never touched you but
I feel you ease in, deep.
Iwo ko, emi ni
Emi ni, iwo ko
Iwo ni, mo ni, mo’fe
Ni okan mi yan.
In the muted lights of my desire
I will picture you as I deem fit
You will be my blaze of genius
I, your restless artist.
You will be
Known, seen
Touched, felt
Be.
Iwo ni, emi ko
Emi ko, iwo ni
Mo’ni, mo’fe, mo’yan
Ni okan mi yan.
Abuse
Just so you know...
Eti kan, Oju kan, Owo kan, Apa kan
Atori ta fina ‘yale, wa l’orule fun ‘yawo
He took me like pieces of barbecued beef
Slapped me within the thighs of his bread
Plunged his salami in.
Squeezed his mustard on my weakened, marinated flesh
Clamped me tight between his fleshy hands and bit.
I oozed, fought in rebellion
Toughened gristle hiding within his teeth to prove a point.
There are many ways to have a woman but
I’m not telling.
Eti kan, Oju kan, Owo kan, Apa kan
Atori ta fina ‘yale, wa l’orule fun ‘yawo
He took me like slivers of onion rings
Crushed me in the creases of his grater
Stirred his pickle in
Drizzled his olive oil on my roughened, coarse skin
I clumped together, denying him his desire
Maybe I would be left alone,
Surviving this night, escape perhaps, finding help
Tell all.
Eti kan, Oju kan, Owo kan, Apa kan
Atori ta fina ‘yale, wa l’orule fun ‘yawo
First published 29th March 2010
Many things happen in a girl's life and boy! Have I had my drama? I'm back to not sleeping again, as you can see by the time (please pray with me) not being able to eat and this is serious ( I mean I went to a £9 chinese buffett and I was looking at the food like schwepps, even though I was hungry fa!) so it is serious and just general fatigue (I've been in my 'Lord change my life for good' status for so long, I need a new song)
Well in all that jambolaya, I've been writing! (At least one thing stays constant!) And here are two poems. I wish to hear what you have to say about them. I performed them at the Tower of Babel organised by CAN but I can't seem to be able to upload the video. As soon as I can, I will. I also want to give a massive shout out to a friend and brother Lookman Sanusi-Thank you for the honest edit in The Recall. I am grateful that you don't look at my toes; I must learn to walk in sturdy shoes. Thank you.
The Recall
Iwo ko, emi ni
Emi ni, iwo ko
Iwo ni, mo ni, mo fe
Ni okan mi yan.
The recall of your skin
On my memory is loud.
I haven’t met you but
I see you.
The image of your eyes
Beckon me to pleasant dreams.
I don’t know you but
I see you. I see you so well.
Iwo ko, emi ni
Emi ni, iwo ko
Iwo ni, mo ni, mo fe
Ni okan mi yan.
Your lips caress the edge
Of my mind as I imagine
The ecstatic response my
Sighs will convey. Your hands
Teasing the secret thoughts in
dark recesses.
I’ve never touched you but
I feel you ease in, deep.
Iwo ko, emi ni
Emi ni, iwo ko
Iwo ni, mo ni, mo’fe
Ni okan mi yan.
In the muted lights of my desire
I will picture you as I deem fit
You will be my blaze of genius
I, your restless artist.
You will be
Known, seen
Touched, felt
Be.
Iwo ni, emi ko
Emi ko, iwo ni
Mo’ni, mo’fe, mo’yan
Ni okan mi yan.
Abuse
Just so you know...
Eti kan, Oju kan, Owo kan, Apa kan
Atori ta fina ‘yale, wa l’orule fun ‘yawo
He took me like pieces of barbecued beef
Slapped me within the thighs of his bread
Plunged his salami in.
Squeezed his mustard on my weakened, marinated flesh
Clamped me tight between his fleshy hands and bit.
I oozed, fought in rebellion
Toughened gristle hiding within his teeth to prove a point.
There are many ways to have a woman but
I’m not telling.
Eti kan, Oju kan, Owo kan, Apa kan
Atori ta fina ‘yale, wa l’orule fun ‘yawo
He took me like slivers of onion rings
Crushed me in the creases of his grater
Stirred his pickle in
Drizzled his olive oil on my roughened, coarse skin
I clumped together, denying him his desire
Maybe I would be left alone,
Surviving this night, escape perhaps, finding help
Tell all.
Eti kan, Oju kan, Owo kan, Apa kan
Atori ta fina ‘yale, wa l’orule fun ‘yawo
Monday 14 February 2011
What This Woman Wants
This is a follow on poem to the previous poem. Wishing you light, hope and love. God bless x
First published 7th of September 2010
Safety
All I want is to be
a woman.
Sweet mud sucking between my toes
Grass, itchy fresh tickling my back
Strong touch holding yet
Letting me free-fall as my head
Tilts back, eyes squint in the sun
My eyes watching God.
I want to be a woman
Subtle sand seeking secret crevices
Wind tugging my hair, teasing
Asking me to join in play as
Rain peppers my skin with wet kisses
Showing me how love can
Come down as I lift my lips, my eyes
Firmly opened watching God.
All I really want is to be
A woman.
Jumping in the river as currents
Envelope me with wet desires
Tendrils, trail around me, caress
Softly , set me on fire
Call me to the deep, asking
To let go, be free as the waters
Bathe me , my eyes gaze to the
Sky tenderly watching God.
I just want to be a woman
Sunrays warming my back as
Sweet salty trails run from
My back down my legs. Intimate
Marking its way down territory
Wind blowing coolness as salt dries
On my upper lip. I lick, tasting
Love, life. A bird flies with cry,
Smiling , I gaze up, the clouds
Sanguine in the sky and there’s
God’s eyes watching me.
First published 7th of September 2010
Safety
All I want is to be
a woman.
Sweet mud sucking between my toes
Grass, itchy fresh tickling my back
Strong touch holding yet
Letting me free-fall as my head
Tilts back, eyes squint in the sun
My eyes watching God.
I want to be a woman
Subtle sand seeking secret crevices
Wind tugging my hair, teasing
Asking me to join in play as
Rain peppers my skin with wet kisses
Showing me how love can
Come down as I lift my lips, my eyes
Firmly opened watching God.
All I really want is to be
A woman.
Jumping in the river as currents
Envelope me with wet desires
Tendrils, trail around me, caress
Softly , set me on fire
Call me to the deep, asking
To let go, be free as the waters
Bathe me , my eyes gaze to the
Sky tenderly watching God.
I just want to be a woman
Sunrays warming my back as
Sweet salty trails run from
My back down my legs. Intimate
Marking its way down territory
Wind blowing coolness as salt dries
On my upper lip. I lick, tasting
Love, life. A bird flies with cry,
Smiling , I gaze up, the clouds
Sanguine in the sky and there’s
God’s eyes watching me.
Old time Nwantintin
Recently a friend of mine http://www.facebook.com/nuggetzman on Facebook wrote this statement [
I will meet you at the path
with the best of nkpokiti dances
Ululating your ancestral names, so your father’s line
can hear and be proud
I’m aiming for the back-hairs at your neck,
hoping they encourage your head to swell
Then I’ll lead you up the cement steps,
into the house, strip off your dust weary clothes,
chanting the songs you suckled to, remind you of your mother’s smell
Lead you in to the bathroom where
a pail of warm water awaits, and as you pour,
I’ll wash your back with black soap and tickles
Then clean and fresh, you sit before pounded yam
with fresh fish soup and as you eat, I’ll recall songs
that will transport you to the fields of nostalgia
When you finish, I’ll await your burp of satisfaction,
show you the raffia chair prepared for your resting
And as you lie content, I’ll lay my head on
your lap and rub your stomach
The trees and winds joining the gentle chant
of my heart-mine, mine, mine.
I will meet you at the path
with the best of nkpokiti dances
Ululating your ancestral names, so your father’s line
can hear and be proud
I’m aiming for the back-hairs at your neck,
hoping they encourage your head to swell
Then I’ll lead you up the cement steps,
into the house, strip off your dust weary clothes,
chanting the songs you suckled to, remind you of your mother’s smell
Lead you in to the bathroom where
a pail of warm water awaits, and as you pour,
I’ll wash your back with black soap and tickles
Then clean and fresh, you sit before pounded yam
with fresh fish soup and as you eat, I’ll recall songs
that will transport you to the fields of nostalgia
When you finish, I’ll await your burp of satisfaction,
show you the raffia chair prepared for your resting
And as you lie content, I’ll lay my head on
your lap and rub your stomach
The trees and winds joining the gentle chant
of my heart-mine, mine, mine.
Sunday 13 February 2011
Whispers
Does the lady protest too much? I don't know, I'm no lady! Just a question though. How does one really know?
First published on Wednesday, 11 February 2009
Misread things and February
Again, the month where we fall, get out, think and hate love is here and already I'm sick of it! Why one month has to have so many emotions tied to it is beyond me but since I'm slowly converting to the whole idea of this love thing. (I have good examples around me...its rubbing off) here's something for people enjoying the magical experience of that crazy thing called love. Note though, that I put my personal abilistic spin on it.
Sunset.
In your shadow
Comfort looms
I am wrapped tight like
Kola nut in shell.
Fingers trace outline of
Lips, eyes, lashes, dimple
I stick a tip in, tickle;
Bubble of laugh from
my stomach
Tumbles up into
my chest
Out of my throat. I. Am. So. Happy.
Sunrise.
In the cast
Shelter stays
I am cocooned like
Fish in deep water, there is safety
Freedom at once.
Lips graze then
Part and tongue flicks
Picks up salt, grit
Familiarity
Pucker, press, imbibe essence of
Deliciousness, which is you.
In here
I am whole, found,
alive, true, sane, complete
filled, loved.
Yours.
I absolutely love this song and I think it fits with the poem-feel free to enjoy!
First published on Wednesday, 11 February 2009
Misread things and February
Again, the month where we fall, get out, think and hate love is here and already I'm sick of it! Why one month has to have so many emotions tied to it is beyond me but since I'm slowly converting to the whole idea of this love thing. (I have good examples around me...its rubbing off) here's something for people enjoying the magical experience of that crazy thing called love. Note though, that I put my personal abilistic spin on it.
Sunset.
In your shadow
Comfort looms
I am wrapped tight like
Kola nut in shell.
Fingers trace outline of
Lips, eyes, lashes, dimple
I stick a tip in, tickle;
Bubble of laugh from
my stomach
Tumbles up into
my chest
Out of my throat. I. Am. So. Happy.
Sunrise.
In the cast
Shelter stays
I am cocooned like
Fish in deep water, there is safety
Freedom at once.
Lips graze then
Part and tongue flicks
Picks up salt, grit
Familiarity
Pucker, press, imbibe essence of
Deliciousness, which is you.
In here
I am whole, found,
alive, true, sane, complete
filled, loved.
Yours.
I absolutely love this song and I think it fits with the poem-feel free to enjoy!
When Love Comes
I'm using the term 'Love' here very loosly since I'm not a person who does PDA (Public Displays of Affection) well. I always want to slap people who just do all that kissy kissy stuff in public! Call me a prude, but I believe that love-(I think my last post settled what we call love, or rather what I call love) should be a private, beautiful thing, it should be graceful, gentle and tender, something people consider a priviledge to see. However, what do I know? Maybe I'll be one of those irritating women who coil around their men at every given opportunity, trying to stamp their lip imprint on him so that everyone would know, he belongs to her! I shudder at the thought.
First published on Thursday, 27 November 2008
If- More Sham Lyrics
I'm still going on the theory of what love might feel like, so here's another poem.
PS I'm working on the hate theory too, just must get the emotion right. Cheers!
Breathe
I am tucking my nose
into that indent your head
made on my pillow,
catching every scent of your skin.
Its wood, grass, wind, rain
mud. Fresh, clean, spicy.
How I adore your smell!
I inhale deep, wrap myself in
the towel you left, lie
half asleep, wondering if you
have your face tucked in
something of mine,
remembering.
First published on Thursday, 27 November 2008
If- More Sham Lyrics
I'm still going on the theory of what love might feel like, so here's another poem.
PS I'm working on the hate theory too, just must get the emotion right. Cheers!
Breathe
I am tucking my nose
into that indent your head
made on my pillow,
catching every scent of your skin.
Its wood, grass, wind, rain
mud. Fresh, clean, spicy.
How I adore your smell!
I inhale deep, wrap myself in
the towel you left, lie
half asleep, wondering if you
have your face tucked in
something of mine,
remembering.
Whatever Love Is
Really...what's love got to do it? This is a question noone's really answered you know? I've heard so many definitions of relationships and one thing remains constant, especially those who have been married more than a year, 'its not about the emotion of love but the discipline'! This didn't make any sense at all initially but a friend kindly broke it down-it means all that mushy gushy thing you feel will not stand the test of farts, stretchmarks, flaccid "nkannkans",unreasonable behaviour, bad habits, hairy chins, skidmarks, body odour, mouth odour, receding hairlines,inappropriate scratching of intimate areas in public, picking the nose, sickness,disease (haba!), not in the mood, complete loss of libido, lack of money excetera, excetera.
What will stand is that two people like themselves enough to say through all the above and more, I have decided to stay by you, with you and love you.
Love is not soft, rose tinted and rainbow hued! It is hard, tough and constantly forgiving, it is graceful, humble and in many cases beyond belief. So I ask those who are 'celebrating' their love and valentine; really...what's love got to do with it?
First published on Wednesday, 19 November 2008
If- Tales of When Love Strikes- Sham Lyrics
The question has always been 'when love hits you what will you write?' I have had the good fortune to come close to the emotion, never been a true disciple, but a good acquintance.
I would like to believe that love and I have gone beyond mere shaking of hands and nodding across the street.
I think we have reached the stage where, we stop and say hello, give each other the outstanding penny at the check out point in the supermarket, we know the area where the other lives and stuff like that, we are not close but we're not far either.
So I give you these tales, tales of what I would write if love struck, I call them Sham Lyrics.
This thing is deep, rich
It makes like butter, warm places
Happy feelings joy and fear
At the same time, unequal measures
Smiling, fearing, it is all
Heady and I love it.
This thing is dark, light
It makes like red wine, chocolate
Those nice things that make you smile
And your pockets bleed
It is beautiful, radiant
Disturbing, cheesy
Not me, all of me.
It is a misty place
I am beckoned to its quiet edge.
There are no promises, no theatrics
Just a simple ‘come’
This invitation is potent
Enticing. I am of two minds yet
I find my toes tingling in eager
Response, gently levitating to follow.
What will stand is that two people like themselves enough to say through all the above and more, I have decided to stay by you, with you and love you.
Love is not soft, rose tinted and rainbow hued! It is hard, tough and constantly forgiving, it is graceful, humble and in many cases beyond belief. So I ask those who are 'celebrating' their love and valentine; really...what's love got to do with it?
First published on Wednesday, 19 November 2008
If- Tales of When Love Strikes- Sham Lyrics
The question has always been 'when love hits you what will you write?' I have had the good fortune to come close to the emotion, never been a true disciple, but a good acquintance.
I would like to believe that love and I have gone beyond mere shaking of hands and nodding across the street.
I think we have reached the stage where, we stop and say hello, give each other the outstanding penny at the check out point in the supermarket, we know the area where the other lives and stuff like that, we are not close but we're not far either.
So I give you these tales, tales of what I would write if love struck, I call them Sham Lyrics.
This thing is deep, rich
It makes like butter, warm places
Happy feelings joy and fear
At the same time, unequal measures
Smiling, fearing, it is all
Heady and I love it.
This thing is dark, light
It makes like red wine, chocolate
Those nice things that make you smile
And your pockets bleed
It is beautiful, radiant
Disturbing, cheesy
Not me, all of me.
It is a misty place
I am beckoned to its quiet edge.
There are no promises, no theatrics
Just a simple ‘come’
This invitation is potent
Enticing. I am of two minds yet
I find my toes tingling in eager
Response, gently levitating to follow.
Wanting Needs
Valentine's Day is very nearly upon us and is there much love in the air? Restained emotions abound this year I think, every flamboyant thought being thrown into uproars of people seeking political freedom. I think this is good, I know this is good, no one should be oppressed for whatever reason, no people should be used as political pawns to suit a nation's or leader's greed.
However, enough of that slight steam and back to the issue of l'amour (God help us!). I have no investments in this except my words, words which protest attimes and which cave in some other time. So in the spirit of February, Here goes for broke...
first published on Thursday, 15 October 2009
Besetting
A) Skin.
Smooth builds into
Rough, melds into dips
Depths, curves.
Lovely. Musk, sweat
Primal coma, secret
Places invoke, invite.
B) Hair.
Flutter, flick
Lightly sting, caress
Heavy glides over.
Sheen. Digging in,
Drag lightly, let
Pain collide by pleasure.
C) Caves.
Moist promise warmth
Strength plunge deep
Dark, pan-ic, still
Stroke, stride, slide
Call plump, plunde
Sink. Lift. off.
However, enough of that slight steam and back to the issue of l'amour (God help us!). I have no investments in this except my words, words which protest attimes and which cave in some other time. So in the spirit of February, Here goes for broke...
first published on Thursday, 15 October 2009
Besetting
A) Skin.
Smooth builds into
Rough, melds into dips
Depths, curves.
Lovely. Musk, sweat
Primal coma, secret
Places invoke, invite.
B) Hair.
Flutter, flick
Lightly sting, caress
Heavy glides over.
Sheen. Digging in,
Drag lightly, let
Pain collide by pleasure.
C) Caves.
Moist promise warmth
Strength plunge deep
Dark, pan-ic, still
Stroke, stride, slide
Call plump, plunde
Sink. Lift. off.
Sunday 6 February 2011
Wisps and Dreams
Going on the love theme, it is clear that the average person's mind is a bit lke a maze, hard to negotiate and you eventually get lost somewhere, somehow. Now I've been called both difficult and easy to please. I guess I have my days. There are so many rules to live by, either rules made by yourself, society or family. They are hard to break loose from and sometimes a dangerous noose by which we tie up ourselves and hereby prevent ourselves from moving-anywhere!
I'm not too certain where I'm going with this as I'm still trying to process it in my own head, but this is not the first time, I've been here, so there is a certain assurance that I'll walk this maze again.
First published 26th January 2007
It took me a while to decide what I was going to put in my journal, I was meant to write in it sometime ago but I kept on putting it aside ‘cos the flow hadn't come but then I thought (oh, oh) wait a minute, I’m a writer ke! (Yes ke!) Why not put up some of my work (so that you people who think 'does she think she's Wole Soyinka?' would know that I’m chasing his pen).
So here is a little something, something, a poem, written for that imaginary guy who warms my bed, loves my body (love handles, turkey wings, buddah belly and all, ah yes and corns) loves my mind and wants to spend his days and nights with me irrespective of my moods (ok, I know I’m asking for a lot but hey! a gal can dream)
'how my love is to be'
Not for me the clichés of the past
They taste bitter at the back of me throat
I don't want my romance in
The sweet by and by
I want my love, nay, I need my love, now!
I want to snatch my kisses
From his lips like apples from a tree
I want to look across a room and
Stamp my signature on him
Like a branded cow
I want to pull myself into
His arms like a whirlwind in a barn
To be wild, wicked and free
Not for me the clichés of the past
They taste really bitter at the back of me throat.
Instead my love ...
Draw me
Draw me into this union
Where your arms wrap
And I am safe
Where your lips smooth
And I am whole
Where your eyes seep
And I am reborn
Where your heart is
And I am loved
Draw me into this union
This sweet, wholesome union
my loneliness leaving into the night
I becoming 'some' of a body's
Yours .
I'm not too certain where I'm going with this as I'm still trying to process it in my own head, but this is not the first time, I've been here, so there is a certain assurance that I'll walk this maze again.
First published 26th January 2007
It took me a while to decide what I was going to put in my journal, I was meant to write in it sometime ago but I kept on putting it aside ‘cos the flow hadn't come but then I thought (oh, oh) wait a minute, I’m a writer ke! (Yes ke!) Why not put up some of my work (so that you people who think 'does she think she's Wole Soyinka?' would know that I’m chasing his pen).
So here is a little something, something, a poem, written for that imaginary guy who warms my bed, loves my body (love handles, turkey wings, buddah belly and all, ah yes and corns) loves my mind and wants to spend his days and nights with me irrespective of my moods (ok, I know I’m asking for a lot but hey! a gal can dream)
'how my love is to be'
Not for me the clichés of the past
They taste bitter at the back of me throat
I don't want my romance in
The sweet by and by
I want my love, nay, I need my love, now!
I want to snatch my kisses
From his lips like apples from a tree
I want to look across a room and
Stamp my signature on him
Like a branded cow
I want to pull myself into
His arms like a whirlwind in a barn
To be wild, wicked and free
Not for me the clichés of the past
They taste really bitter at the back of me throat.
Instead my love ...
Draw me
Draw me into this union
Where your arms wrap
And I am safe
Where your lips smooth
And I am whole
Where your eyes seep
And I am reborn
Where your heart is
And I am loved
Draw me into this union
This sweet, wholesome union
my loneliness leaving into the night
I becoming 'some' of a body's
Yours .
Divorced Intentions
Do you sometimes wish you could hear God's voice directly? I know I do. I'm not afraid for I don't think He'll use the big boom voice of the Ten Commandments, but rather the still small voice of calming Elijah's personal storm. In matters of the heart, there's no greater time, I need to hear His voice than then.
For we humans are SO complicated and our lives are so tangled up and when one is trying to live in a straight way, somehow a curveball is thrown and splat it all goes. Its in this craziness and stupidness that I really wish I could hear God speak directly to me, in my ear straight down into my soul and I sit straight and sure for I know.
But God being God wouldn't do that, would He? Besides His Word speaks His heart loud and clear and if we all knew the bumps and lumps ahead on our journey through life, what would be the joy of living? There would be no angst, pain, anguish, joy, relief, happiness, contentment-all these emotions that tingle us into awareness and then what would be the fun in that?
First published 13th April 2010.
Well I've been thinking how we as humans say one thing, yet act in the total opposite way. Take me for example. I say I love all music, but I really am a snob, I can't stand rap and R & B. A friend says she's lonely and would take any guy's offer , as long as he's tall, light skinned and works in a bank. A man tells you he wants you desperately in his life but has absolutely no interest in you or your life.
The mouth says one
The heart another
If only the night would speak truth
I should be so lucky.
Words pull,
Actions push
If only the night would speak truth
I should be so lucky
Time passes
Failed hearts sigh
If only the night would speak truth
I bloody well would be so lucky!
For we humans are SO complicated and our lives are so tangled up and when one is trying to live in a straight way, somehow a curveball is thrown and splat it all goes. Its in this craziness and stupidness that I really wish I could hear God speak directly to me, in my ear straight down into my soul and I sit straight and sure for I know.
But God being God wouldn't do that, would He? Besides His Word speaks His heart loud and clear and if we all knew the bumps and lumps ahead on our journey through life, what would be the joy of living? There would be no angst, pain, anguish, joy, relief, happiness, contentment-all these emotions that tingle us into awareness and then what would be the fun in that?
First published 13th April 2010.
Well I've been thinking how we as humans say one thing, yet act in the total opposite way. Take me for example. I say I love all music, but I really am a snob, I can't stand rap and R & B. A friend says she's lonely and would take any guy's offer , as long as he's tall, light skinned and works in a bank. A man tells you he wants you desperately in his life but has absolutely no interest in you or your life.
The mouth says one
The heart another
If only the night would speak truth
I should be so lucky.
Words pull,
Actions push
If only the night would speak truth
I should be so lucky
Time passes
Failed hearts sigh
If only the night would speak truth
I bloody well would be so lucky!
Waiting for Him?
As we're in this 'lovely' month, I've been going over my previous writings and guess whay I found out? My poor taste hasn't changed! Maybe I shouldn't use the term poor taste, maybe I should use 'illusion'. My illusions still stay the same. Still the same desires, wants etc. Some might call it determination, others a lack of growth.
Call it what you will, I'm a bit downhearted by it cos I'm now thinking, if after 4 years, it hasn't come to pass maybe I need to 'reshuffle the cabinet'? Oh what do I know? Nothing apparently, but one thing I know is that there wil be a right time, place and person. There has to be or so many of us are doomed! Oh dear!
Don't listen to the ramblings of a very tired old goat! Hold on to your dreams, they will happen.
First published 14th April 2007, here was my take on men, love and the whole shebang
I have found recently that I write about really elusive men, I mean men that don't exist for me, fine, handsome, intelligent, humorous men. Ok I lie, I have met some of these men but only in passing, either they are moving swiftly to other women or they are too absorbed in just how wonderful they are!
Yet I find myself making mental homage to these men that are only mine in a dream state where I reign supreme as 'The Desired' I have actually thought that if I were ever allowed to choose a name for myself it would be Desiree, the extra 'e' showing the extent of longing, but it would also show what strong narcissistic whims I enjoy.
Moving swiftly on, I look at many of my writings as a homage that that man that will never be and I don't feel bad about it anymore, I used to really feel angry when I was much younger (yeah!) That I couldn't find any man to fit that mould I had carved but now I'm not resigned, just accepting, that truth is really further from fiction, but...fiction is good, that is why so many millions of copies of 'Mills and Boon', 'Vogue' etc have sold, fiction is appealing and we would still get our noses stuck in it, just so that we can, for those 84 minutes (the longest it's taken me to finish one) just to indulge in that elevated reality.
I have taken to writing my own fiction, its familiar yet strange, shallow as a cup of water but deep enough to quench my thirst, it's mine so I can make it to be whatever I want and I do.
I'm rambling, so I'll just put in my latest offering to that man in the pages of my reverie and float away again.
HE
He is a dream
He is an easy dream
A delightful dream on a lazy day
Beautiful eyes let me lounge
I'll gladly lie eternal in this sleep
If you'll let me.
He is a tree
He is a graceful tree
A grand tree in a buoyant field
Wonderful hair let me roll
I'll gladly skirmish in your lush fragrant mane
If you'll let me.
He is an eagle
He is a majestic eagle
A strong eagle gliding in a blue sky
Graceful beast, let me fly
I'll gladly soar the winds with you
If you'll let me.
He is a river
He is a raging river
A strong river rushing out to face the sea
Splendid man, let me swim
I'll gladly be submerged under your will
If you'll let me.
He is a man
He is my man
A man worth writing slushy poetry for
Beautiful, wonderful, graceful, splendid man, let me be
I'll gladly move to whatever rhythm you beat
Just let me.
Call it what you will, I'm a bit downhearted by it cos I'm now thinking, if after 4 years, it hasn't come to pass maybe I need to 'reshuffle the cabinet'? Oh what do I know? Nothing apparently, but one thing I know is that there wil be a right time, place and person. There has to be or so many of us are doomed! Oh dear!
Don't listen to the ramblings of a very tired old goat! Hold on to your dreams, they will happen.
First published 14th April 2007, here was my take on men, love and the whole shebang
I have found recently that I write about really elusive men, I mean men that don't exist for me, fine, handsome, intelligent, humorous men. Ok I lie, I have met some of these men but only in passing, either they are moving swiftly to other women or they are too absorbed in just how wonderful they are!
Yet I find myself making mental homage to these men that are only mine in a dream state where I reign supreme as 'The Desired' I have actually thought that if I were ever allowed to choose a name for myself it would be Desiree, the extra 'e' showing the extent of longing, but it would also show what strong narcissistic whims I enjoy.
Moving swiftly on, I look at many of my writings as a homage that that man that will never be and I don't feel bad about it anymore, I used to really feel angry when I was much younger (yeah!) That I couldn't find any man to fit that mould I had carved but now I'm not resigned, just accepting, that truth is really further from fiction, but...fiction is good, that is why so many millions of copies of 'Mills and Boon', 'Vogue' etc have sold, fiction is appealing and we would still get our noses stuck in it, just so that we can, for those 84 minutes (the longest it's taken me to finish one) just to indulge in that elevated reality.
I have taken to writing my own fiction, its familiar yet strange, shallow as a cup of water but deep enough to quench my thirst, it's mine so I can make it to be whatever I want and I do.
I'm rambling, so I'll just put in my latest offering to that man in the pages of my reverie and float away again.
HE
He is a dream
He is an easy dream
A delightful dream on a lazy day
Beautiful eyes let me lounge
I'll gladly lie eternal in this sleep
If you'll let me.
He is a tree
He is a graceful tree
A grand tree in a buoyant field
Wonderful hair let me roll
I'll gladly skirmish in your lush fragrant mane
If you'll let me.
He is an eagle
He is a majestic eagle
A strong eagle gliding in a blue sky
Graceful beast, let me fly
I'll gladly soar the winds with you
If you'll let me.
He is a river
He is a raging river
A strong river rushing out to face the sea
Splendid man, let me swim
I'll gladly be submerged under your will
If you'll let me.
He is a man
He is my man
A man worth writing slushy poetry for
Beautiful, wonderful, graceful, splendid man, let me be
I'll gladly move to whatever rhythm you beat
Just let me.
Wednesday 2 February 2011
Teardrop-February Blues
I have found that I have a lot of angst with regards to February. It is a month I wish to wish away ASAP, so we can get on with the business of living. I am so not a fan of February! Many have their theories as to why-my response is 'to each , his own' I don't have to have a reason for not liking something and that's that.
So this month, I'll be posting the many angst-filled lines I have written over the years in this particular month, who knows , maybe it will all make sense in the end.
First published 24 February 2008
If I have learnt anything recently, it is that everything is never quite enough. there will always be the hunger for something more, there never really can be perfection, so we keep reaching forth, and the most content people are those who know how to pick their battles. I am learning.
A wise man said to me once, and I must point out that he was a bit fed up of the world and in particular, with my whinings about my expectations of others. He said 'blessed are those who expect nothing, they shall not be dissappointed, but will always open to the possibility of being pleasantly surprised'
Think about that. So here is 'Teardrop' Enjoy
Teardrop
Wind against my face.
Heartbeat echo fear, passion, hurt.
I am stretching, my hands in front of me,
as the waves from the keys hit my fingertips
Heartbeat echo fear, passion, hurt.
The tune of blood rising to the surface of my skin.
My legs lift from the ground, toes pointing down.
Its crescendo rises from the earth, tumbles into my thighs.
I am stretching, my hands in front of me.
'Take me back', I cry, to the place of my innocence,
where I wandered on virgin plains, a precocious child,
sucking rhythms from the nectar of the grass.
As the waves from the keys hit my fingertips,
I learn anew, "love is a verb."
My teardrops hit the fire and fry.
Broken down by the climax, I am dust in the air.
"Water is my eye, most faithful mirror"
It crashes as I melt into sound.
So this month, I'll be posting the many angst-filled lines I have written over the years in this particular month, who knows , maybe it will all make sense in the end.
First published 24 February 2008
If I have learnt anything recently, it is that everything is never quite enough. there will always be the hunger for something more, there never really can be perfection, so we keep reaching forth, and the most content people are those who know how to pick their battles. I am learning.
A wise man said to me once, and I must point out that he was a bit fed up of the world and in particular, with my whinings about my expectations of others. He said 'blessed are those who expect nothing, they shall not be dissappointed, but will always open to the possibility of being pleasantly surprised'
Think about that. So here is 'Teardrop' Enjoy
Teardrop
Wind against my face.
Heartbeat echo fear, passion, hurt.
I am stretching, my hands in front of me,
as the waves from the keys hit my fingertips
Heartbeat echo fear, passion, hurt.
The tune of blood rising to the surface of my skin.
My legs lift from the ground, toes pointing down.
Its crescendo rises from the earth, tumbles into my thighs.
I am stretching, my hands in front of me.
'Take me back', I cry, to the place of my innocence,
where I wandered on virgin plains, a precocious child,
sucking rhythms from the nectar of the grass.
As the waves from the keys hit my fingertips,
I learn anew, "love is a verb."
My teardrops hit the fire and fry.
Broken down by the climax, I am dust in the air.
"Water is my eye, most faithful mirror"
It crashes as I melt into sound.
Rattle my Window-Part 2
I have been threatened with broken limbs if I don't put up the rest of the story (so LM, I hope I can come into London without fear now?) only to find that its not the first time, I had been in this particular situation, So here it is, first published in December 21st 2007, it is 'Rattle My Window'
As Joko got in, she saw two of her husband’s colleagues and his immediate boss. Another neighbour was there. Bewildered, she frowned. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘Madam,’ it was Rele’s boss who spoke. ‘I’m so sorry…your husband was sent to Benin to do some things for the office…but…he had an accident.’
Immediately, her neighbours moved closer to her and stood near. She looked at Rele’s boss. ‘Accident? How? Where’s my husband? How is he?’ Joko couldn’t understand.
Her neighbour was already crying and Rele’s colleagues were looking at the floor. When his boss couldn’t hold her gaze, she understood. ‘No!’ Joko screamed and all went black.
Seven days later, Joko woke up. She was thankful for the blessedness of oblivion, but she had to wake up to life. She woke up on her wedding anniversary and cried bitterly through the day, she refused to see anyone and when she remembered Rele’s promise to come back, she clung to it and urged him to do so. When she became hysterical about it, the doctor had to come in to sedate her to sleep.
A month later, Rele was buried and Joko went home. She made it a ritual every night to call on him to rattle the window, but nothing happened and she would cry in frustration. Her belief in his ability got stronger when Iya Agba came to visit. Wizened with age and sorrow, she pronounced that she could feel her son was still in his house. Instead of Joko being frightened, she became strengthened and she continued to stay in the house. At first her friends came to stay with her but she craved for solitude and mercifully she was soon left alone. At times, in her quiet moments, she would call for Rele and times when she needed the arms of her man; she almost became crazed with vexation at his absence. She hated him and loved him, she begged him to return and cursed him for leaving her.
Then as the months flew by, she lost faith in him. She started to smile again and she stopped calling for him in her dreams. She stopped laying the table for two and she stopped talking aloud to him. Later, she stopped wearing black clothes and started wearing bright colours. At first she was afraid and yet hopeful that he would take offence and rattle the window, but when nothing happened for a whole day, she threw her widow’s weeds away. She started to use make-up and she started to find her banker attractive especially after the way he helped her manage her money after Rele’s death. She went out with him several times and enjoyed the experience. He was very different from Rele but he was a nice person and the dating excited her.
Four and a half years later after Rele died, Dipo the banker, proposed to her, Joko went into her room and called for Denrele again to give him, his final chance to register his presence. She waited for a full minute and then turned around and left. ‘Well, it was stupid of me to have believed he would come back, who knows what goes on after a person dies.’ She thought to herself as she walked out of the house and went to Dipo’s house to tell him she had accepted his proposal. She had already put the house up for sale and moved her things out, ready for a new life.
As she drove away from the house, Rele became visible. He looked out of the window and rattled it in frustration. How was he to know that it took a ghost so long to perfect the art of appearing and tangible action? He had been there through Joko’s tears and pains and he had stood by her as she had voiced her frustrations. He had flinched when she abused him and he had wanted to explain to her that he would never have left her if he had the power.
He had been delighted to see her smile again and wear bright colours. He had loved her anew as she applied make-up and sang little songs. He had felt a little jealous as she came back looking alive after having dinner with that banker guy, but he had been truly happy for her that she was living life again. He only wished he could tell her how much he had loved her and wished her the best. How he had tried to comfort her with his presence. ‘Well Rele, she’s happy now, its time to go.’ a figure appeared beside him and smiled. With a nod and a little sigh, Rele held the figure’s outstretched hand and they disappeared. At last both he and Joko were finally free.
As Joko got in, she saw two of her husband’s colleagues and his immediate boss. Another neighbour was there. Bewildered, she frowned. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘Madam,’ it was Rele’s boss who spoke. ‘I’m so sorry…your husband was sent to Benin to do some things for the office…but…he had an accident.’
Immediately, her neighbours moved closer to her and stood near. She looked at Rele’s boss. ‘Accident? How? Where’s my husband? How is he?’ Joko couldn’t understand.
Her neighbour was already crying and Rele’s colleagues were looking at the floor. When his boss couldn’t hold her gaze, she understood. ‘No!’ Joko screamed and all went black.
Seven days later, Joko woke up. She was thankful for the blessedness of oblivion, but she had to wake up to life. She woke up on her wedding anniversary and cried bitterly through the day, she refused to see anyone and when she remembered Rele’s promise to come back, she clung to it and urged him to do so. When she became hysterical about it, the doctor had to come in to sedate her to sleep.
A month later, Rele was buried and Joko went home. She made it a ritual every night to call on him to rattle the window, but nothing happened and she would cry in frustration. Her belief in his ability got stronger when Iya Agba came to visit. Wizened with age and sorrow, she pronounced that she could feel her son was still in his house. Instead of Joko being frightened, she became strengthened and she continued to stay in the house. At first her friends came to stay with her but she craved for solitude and mercifully she was soon left alone. At times, in her quiet moments, she would call for Rele and times when she needed the arms of her man; she almost became crazed with vexation at his absence. She hated him and loved him, she begged him to return and cursed him for leaving her.
Then as the months flew by, she lost faith in him. She started to smile again and she stopped calling for him in her dreams. She stopped laying the table for two and she stopped talking aloud to him. Later, she stopped wearing black clothes and started wearing bright colours. At first she was afraid and yet hopeful that he would take offence and rattle the window, but when nothing happened for a whole day, she threw her widow’s weeds away. She started to use make-up and she started to find her banker attractive especially after the way he helped her manage her money after Rele’s death. She went out with him several times and enjoyed the experience. He was very different from Rele but he was a nice person and the dating excited her.
Four and a half years later after Rele died, Dipo the banker, proposed to her, Joko went into her room and called for Denrele again to give him, his final chance to register his presence. She waited for a full minute and then turned around and left. ‘Well, it was stupid of me to have believed he would come back, who knows what goes on after a person dies.’ She thought to herself as she walked out of the house and went to Dipo’s house to tell him she had accepted his proposal. She had already put the house up for sale and moved her things out, ready for a new life.
As she drove away from the house, Rele became visible. He looked out of the window and rattled it in frustration. How was he to know that it took a ghost so long to perfect the art of appearing and tangible action? He had been there through Joko’s tears and pains and he had stood by her as she had voiced her frustrations. He had flinched when she abused him and he had wanted to explain to her that he would never have left her if he had the power.
He had been delighted to see her smile again and wear bright colours. He had loved her anew as she applied make-up and sang little songs. He had felt a little jealous as she came back looking alive after having dinner with that banker guy, but he had been truly happy for her that she was living life again. He only wished he could tell her how much he had loved her and wished her the best. How he had tried to comfort her with his presence. ‘Well Rele, she’s happy now, its time to go.’ a figure appeared beside him and smiled. With a nod and a little sigh, Rele held the figure’s outstretched hand and they disappeared. At last both he and Joko were finally free.
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