Your smile, the first shaft of dawn’s light to innocent or weary eyes.
Your laughter; ringing ripples of silvery chimes
in the wind,
Stirring the hearts’ desires
of weather beaten men.
Your sadness; burning tears in a flood of mangled emotions –
Words too inadequate to express.
Provider, nourisher, nurse, teacher, comforter;
nation bearer.
I am Woman – A Universe of Light
Respect Me … Love Me … love me …
Millennium Years
LAST NIGHT’S STORM
It hounded, pounded, whistled and cried.
I didn’t sleep a wink last night.
It rattled, complained with driving
sheet rain;
Heard a mighty explosion
like cannon firing.
Even now it’s howling in the street,
The pressure bowing trees;
sucking up sodden leaves.
A cat screamed meow,
someone shouted out loud;
Pinned in their doorway,
couldn’t move out.
It’s still bellowing fierce,
a talkative force
Buffeting planes
over London’s cloudy course.
Nature, nature, sounding, sounding:
Something’s changing,
a lightning awakening ...
LIVING IN A 21ST CENTURY UK CITY
They ripped and kicked
and tore her clothing
It near caused a night of rioting
And they declared she was a witch
For complaining of behavioural antics
The law expediently locked her up
It was easier then to treat as such
For it was to them black on black crime
For such, why waste their precious time?
They treated first everything as such
Our taxes never counted much
A camel would easier pass through a needle
Than to tackle such domestic riddles
And elsewhere where they left to fun
The youth to run amuck as one
With ignorant parenting too
The problem over time just grew
One shot injustice to another
Where is the love you say for brothers?
And where the line you draw as colour
Reflecting hate so altogether?
MAPPING IT
By sea, air or land, a map is at hand
To find your way through
Beat motorway blues
GPS locate, not wanting to be late
Motorway lanes and signposts for speed
To A roads and B routes,
destined to lead
Atlas for certain the world it will open
With continent size distorted for guise
Longitude, latitude, GMT atlas use
From trains track the scenery
Through towns, cross a river bridge
By day or by night, if moon is in sight
North, south, east, west;
by stars you can trek
Chart journeys together
in all kinds of weather
Driving by car when thinking of marriage
Or maybe preferring a horse
drawing carriage
By rail, road or tube,
there’s a map you can choose
Distance, time, ask
where you arrive or depart
For travelling plans
A map is your friend
SPARROW
Sparrow, sparrow do you know
From where the seasonal winds do blow?
See you darting in the skies
Up and down the British Isles.
You perch and hop low and high,
I hear you chirping morning time.
Be you tree or house sparrow,
Streaky black ‘n brown, beware of owls.
Sparrow, sparrow do you love
Countryside or city hub?
In holes in trees you build your nest;
Spy you feeding seeds to chicks.
Sparrow, sparrow will you tell
Where rivers run and otters dwell?
I do delight, I tell you true
In watching sparrows as I do.
FLIP FLOPS-A-KENTE
These were no ordinary flip flops
But an epic culmination of history,
a story-a-Kente.
These were Asante Ghanaian flip flops,
Acquired on a life changing journey of a Returnee: me.
Over a decade old, red, gold, orange, brown and green,
With a pertinent hint of blue on the straps;
These overcame my resistance to wear
flip flops.
As a child I found floppies tacky,
uncomfortable ‘tween my toes;
Well worn in Africa though
So in Ghana I rediscovered them
Under an African sky and sun.
No ordinary flip flops,
the Asante Ghanaian,
The colours and stripes told a story lost to illiterate European eyes.
Africans read them when I brought them home,
when the sun was out.
Africans stared up at me and looked to my feet and back to my eyes.
They smiled, understanding probably my ignorance to read floppy lines …
West Indians remarked:
“Oh they’re nice …
Where’d you get them then?”
No ordinary flip flops,
the Asante Ghanaian,
They travelled with me to countries afar,
Brought relief in hotels and hospital stays,
Concealing traces of sand
straddling far off lands;
Embedded, ingrained in the fabric of straps.
No ordinary flip flops,
the Asante Ghanaian;
It was sunny this year and as my feet love to breathe,
It was time to subject them to more arduous wear
But as the days grew sunnier my pounded floppies frayed
Till one day when shopping they suddenly gave way …
(Sigh …)
I sat with my shopping,
made a desperate call:
“Where are you? You need an address,” the cab firm said firmly.
Where indeed was I, I asked myself?
I sat on a wall and thought what to do …
Many taxis now cutting through this undefined
back road.
I asked passers-by the name, but some ignored or looked at me and laughed.
I sat and pondered the chance of a
Good Samaritan passing by.
Soon loads of taxis began rolling past, more people too rushing.
Then a black cab pulled up,
I hobbled and asked:
“Are you free ...?”
“No” he replied.
“I’m just visiting my mum …”
with flowers in hand.
I thought how sweet …
I contemplated what else to do,
just soaking up the sun.
When he emerged again he shouted back:
“What you still here?”
I waved my Asante Ghanaians with broken hint of blue straps – he laughed.
“You need to travel with a spare pair – come on …”
I unceremoniously threw away
my Asante Ghanaians,
Just flip flops after all
Having served their purpose,
allowing me to meet
a Good Samaritan.
Kindness has no wear and tear …
The memories poetically live on …
Faith more enduring than anything you wear.
(Smile)
SOME WORDS ECHO
Yet some words echo through time
&n
bsp; These tongues of dust revive
Their speech lash corrective
Through dubious translations
Reframed, marking the here, the now
As empires crash and quake
The Trojan phoenix is engulfed in toxins
Of its own insatiable drive
The lustreless standard bearer’s eyes
Stream mother’s liquid gold
With rants of how great this Babylon
A blood soaked banner flutters in the coldest night
Devourer of nations
Commanders of fear fall upon their knees
As wounds fester in burrowing denial
But some words annihilate death itself
For iron and clay cannot support
But Daniel, your words transcend
your dust
Your breath survives as pages turn
And still the nightmare is not yet spent
THE LUNCH
The women met up as planned: Divorced, Separated, Abandoned and Betrayed. The children were at summer camp. It had been a while since they had a chance to get together. Those were the days, when time was your own. At thirty-eight, Betrayed was the only one without children. She’d been a bridesmaid at all their weddings.
Divorced turned to Betrayed and asked how come she never made it up the aisle. Not that her own experience had been anything to write a symphony about, looking back at what the future had withheld.
Betrayed answered that she just never found a man worthy enough and she definitely had not wanted to marry in order to divorce. The men she’d loved hadn’t displayed what it took inside to be mature and sincere within a sustainable relationship.
Separated and Abandoned waded in with, they wished she had explained it to them like that before now. It just might have saved them a lot of heartache. Betrayed replied she didn’t think it would have made much difference in all fairness. Back then it would have just fallen on deaf ears, love having everything going for it. They ordered more wine.
OUR VICES
We wait on you Yeshua
Now worldliness brings strife
As the mysteries of ancient times
Unveil within our lives
The wantonness of greed abounds
So that hunger stalks our lands
Our fields far less than bountiful
As tremors scatter men
There are wars and rumours of more wars
They fight for gas and oil
Our leaders put our taxes up
And there’s little wage for toil
We pander to idolatry
Our freedoms are depraved
We pollute air, sea and countryside
Treat our neighbours still as slaves
Men rape, steal and are envious
Our promises are lies
We make guns, grenades, such weaponry
While children play on mines
Of science we pose questions
In these prophetic times
There are trees and bees less plentiful
Below a blazing sky
We have faith, belief and confidence
Sustaining through these trials
Tested in these dark hours
Yah’s grace we recognise
Love sustains when hope prevails
Though storms, the torrents rage
The remnant of thy people shine
Beneath our flaring skies
We pray come soon Yeshua
For we cannot trust in men
We wait on you Yeshua
Mashiach, love, our friend
REFLECTIONS
She is daughter, mother, friend and lover;
She shines in orbit like no other.
What kind of beings did you wonder,
Would tear a planet near asunder?
And did this in so short a time;
Did rape and pillage, pollute, malign.
This world does not exist to serve
Market forces, economic curves.
Since beginning failed to understand
The Mother on whose crust you stand.
For she has certainly patiently borne
Your fierce assaults upon her form.
More than a third of trees now gone,
Leaving what for youth to live upon?
I write what I feel, what I sense,
what I’ve seen:
A living nightmare, not a dream.
Those who connect amid a trail;
Open curtains, remove the veil.
The changing times, winds whistle true;
A change is now spiritually due.
Such gifts to you bestowed from promise,
For daring hearts that plough through crisis.
And ones in time a sense may grow
To catch a thought that’s shared and flows.
Others still can’t go between
These intricately woven dreams.
The living and the living dead;
Consuming passions, bodies shed.
Some attributes will be disarmed;
Appreciating not guile, scorn or charm.
The seas have valleys and land enough
To bear those bodies to fire, to dust.
You fashioned bells, that apt name tolls,
For now they toll for those foretold.
The Bridegroom comes soon for the Bride,
To free from hate, war,
Love denied.
AUTUMN’S TREADMILL
Light is fading
It’s cold, abrasive
Facing longer nights
Green leaves mellow
Brown and yellow
Autumn has arrived
Misty mornings
Clock alarming
Body sense awry
Feel so jaded
Last night’s raving
Flashing through your mind
Drink hot coffee
Rush to catch the
Seven thirty-five
On the treadmill
Routine, thankful
Work keeps hope alive
Simply crazy when, every now and then
You want to bash your head against the wall
No longer feeling worth it all
Like you always thought you would
Or are you being used?
Now faking it, doesn’t raise a hit
You forfeit all or run with it
Lucky to be paid
And maybe later, dream of getting laid
Light is fading
It’s cold, abrasive
Facing longer nights
Green leaves mellow
Brown and yellow
Autumn has arrived
TRANSCRIBE
Will you touch my words by fingertips?
Or read them on somebody’s lips?
Will you hear by sign, so you can feel;
Your mind translates to sense so real.
One sits below on motor chair;
Has scaled challenging sum of fears.
As pages turn, to characterise;
Adrenaline pumps and tears are dried.
NATURE’S RHYTHM
Morning light breaks
to birdsong awake
Beetles seek shelter,
‘neath stones club together
Snails leave slow trails
to hide in the shade
Far busier bees,
choice flowers do tease
As squirrels hightail
on the fences they scale
A basking puss purrs,
having best of all worlds
The urban fox trots
for forests forgot
Butterflies dance,
a painted mute waltz
Grey skies grow dim
with a fluttering wind
The drizzle it brings,
glazing all things
Spiders weave tales
yo
u can read in the rain
Enchanting the eye,
as one can divine
CHAMPIONS SONG (lyrically)
(Spoken – Jamaican stylie)
Hey sport, wheh you ah goh?
Oh I gotta train sport,
timing to perfection an’ all dat …
Oh yeh
Yeh, relay like that –
come mek we run nuh …
Champions running free (relay, relay)
Champions all are we
Champion run for me (game on, play on)
Champions all are we
DancSing, dance and shout!
Ohh yeh hit the track let’s bolt (repeat)
Celebrate your life
Give thanks and praise
Celebrate your life
Give thanks and praise (repeat)
Record breaking, crowds awaiting
Game on, come on
Competition – who’s the best one?
I’m on track, sprint, bolt go dash
Did you see that?!
Looked like lightning, something – Wow …
Give thanks, jump and shout (chant)
DancSing, shout out loud
Give thanks, jump and shout
DancSing, shout out aloud
(Ending)
(Spoken)
You outa condition man,
lap you two time already
I just need to train more
Can’t discipline your body pon de streets like dat
You need to get trackin’
DOWNPOUR
Pouring down in bucket sheets
Inhale the smell of woolly wet sheep
As droplets trail on blades of grass
Or onto polished petals clasped
Blasting on my window pane
It is a howling shower of rain
DOUSING RAIN
The child in me was bathed you see
In swell of dousing rain
And I forgot what tempest tossed
From anger or from shame
For I did lie awake all night
As waves of water poured
And restless winds blew such a din
As ever could be heard