Why is it that all artists and poets,
are at their best
after sex
It’s a natural thing all enjoy
but still younger ones fake
while the elders do make
and
the artist puts his experiences at stake
then upon a canvas reveals
the artful deals,
as poets lament
but readers fail to comment
Oh! why can someone tell me?
the effect of abject nudity,
that energizes the human mind
more than subtlety

Villages were sacked
Houses burnt, men killed
Boys and girls taken away
Tears poured like August rain
In Freetown and up country
Sa-lone, my motherland
Reduced to rubbles
Helpless populace displaced
We are now refugees

Death has come
And it isn't
By knife or gun

Dragged burned
And stabbed
What have I learned

Not bandage,
Injection or elixir
Can cure loves vestige

Anger is bound
To this hollow space
Where the heart isn't found

Love lingers
In a empty vessel
Feeling deaths fingers

Far down without light
Squeezing every ounce
Left of loves fight

Twinkling far above
Is a place of hope
Flying high as a dove

curveness
done in pretti
aubergene
and l abythe
green as
satans eyes
say shadow
do you sate
what abates
and you call
me babycakes
and melt my
show
like a full decked
fickle whore

and you told me
all you wanted
was more
more
more

You looked through a keyhole
and saw the sun setting between rows of winter houses and bare trees
you were oblivious once
I was too

peaceniks lined the street
and we sang refugee songs

under the lamplight we searched for
keys to each other's imprisonment
we were blinded by the light
and read Molleire to medicinal plants
we grew to exchange truth for something
to eat and bite into, the moon was much younger
then....

Roses are my fave...
they make one brave...
upon the button holes of kings
and
upon the graves of mankind...
roses we all find...
yet do we know...
Roses never die,
in the book’s pages in the shelves of time
they lie
and...
that's why roses never ever die
When you open a page of time...
roses come to your mind ...
the fragrance remains
and
love doesn't stain...
roses, as roses even though dry ...
come alive and forever remain......
roses never die ...

" Valentine's Day,
this world is out of kilter,
and they, they are more than deserving,
for there is no god, no woven magic
and everything is permitted."

He hadn't always thought this way,
before the fire it was ten years old
and all is well.
He could still hear his father's voice
from the foot of the bed,
" This night, we are the deserving".
Both parents consumed, his older
brother too, and him

Excuse Me , I Thought You Could Write(Splash Pool Submission Working with titles)

Confusion flies across the page
As if the words have lost their way
And originality has died
A run on sentence fell off the edge
committing suicide

you know not your assonance
from your consonance
Yet the script still prattles on
The coherent thought that should be there
Has all but left and gone

Your words look great upon the page
Roget would be so proud
Who cares about their meaning
Or how they sound aloud

Grace,
You kept me together when the sky was falling
Some anchor in the sea, a hand that feeds
You said “watch the skyline, soon there will be wine”
And that’s all I’d need.

The ships sank at the center of the ocean
And I was drowning, half way to being free
Some say, at the bottom there’s heat
Others that there’s nothing left to see

Tear a hole in the sky tonight
Pull the stars and place them by your eyes
And lay me by your side
Make everything all right

Dawn- slayer of pretense, usher of youth-
you, born anew as passing season,
wield those luminous swords, sharp and uncouth,
and absolve ignorance of reason.
Are you not the mother of sweet knowledge?

Dawn – light of tunnels, well of Saharas-
You, of divine hue, alive in Dark’s death
when all that’s fair is stripped of myrrhs
And Life’s Eden is, fast as youth, but heath.
Are you not the promise that Hope is nigh?

—Mini-anthology: Hepatica—