a shard heart
heres the bend
before the break
where the light
bright passes through

dont cut your fingers
as startled the thick
wind of a ravens wing
swoops overhead
and the shadow
obscures
and fear ignites
before exploding in wonder

just a small bead of blood
like ink for scribing
the tender point
like a flint blade

I'll write love Haikus
across your delicate
chest just below the
bow of clavicle

i.

Your lips wound me
with the beauty of your poems,
parchment-thin my heart
must always listen,
I do not know what comes over me,
even now
is it my shallow art?

The moon rising near the end of August banishes me
to the hinterland,
sea to sand,
we were destined to meet.

"There are better uses of time.", I protested
you said nothing
and left me
with
a killing frost.

ii.

Bar me not from gazing on
the form which sets my blood on fire
and has done so for many a year.
Don't reward my gaze with flippant ire
in attempt to quash growing desire.

That mirror you depend on so
only shows a flawed reflection.
It never shows what I behold
when I chance to look in your direction,
stealing a glance of near perfection.

One time
I tried to use krazy glue while assembling a model,
and it got lodged in between
my left thumb, and forefinger.

Another time,
some anonymous smart-ass said somehing to me,
and I couldn't for the life of me
think of anything at all, to come back with;

then, there were other times,
where I was but, ignored
and life just went on, and on without me
because, I was put on pepetual pause.

Run to the market
Buy some garri home
Here is the money
Take a sack along
The pot has some soup
Waiting for the garri
Three and twenty cups
For sweet smelling soup
Run to the market
Bring some garri home
Six cups of garri
Was all he could bring
What about the rest
Seventeen cups short

‘Where u bai de garri’?

The moon rises in the twilight.
A pale orb in the dark.
Illuminating all in its phantom light.

Silken cream beams,
Mutilate the black velvet veil.
A terrible shriek of wind pierces the night,
A shrill and mournful sigh.

The moonlight leaches the trees of their color.
The wind strips the branches of their leaves.
Pale, skelletal cut-outs of wood contrast sharply with the onyx sky.
Like ink on parchment.

Last you knew I was a wreck, alone again
Lost my heart in a fire that grew from sin
Held her hands to my face, she pulled away
Captured my soul with nothing to say

Last you knew I was in love, alone again
Left my hands in the fire of love and then
Pulled away from the ones who cared for me
Sheltered my heart in selfish ways, you see?

And then I knew, I was lost in the sea
Caught in the waves of love and jealousy
Pulled by the currents that lead you to me
Drowned in the dark, in misery

There is a rage that dwells within me, white hot and flowing vibrant, living crimson through my burning veins.
I want to tear, to scream, to shout.
I want to get all of this anger--OUT! OUT! OUT!
--No, no, fury has no place within this broken body.
Sadness wells within me, swirling uncontrollably, whirling me down into its soft blue grip.
Gently, gently it overflows and tears begin to spill--down, down, down.
Tumbling over my skin, sliding across my lips.
No, no! Sadness does not belong near me.

Oh! Goddess of Peace
have mercy on the mortals
do save our souls

(Please read "last few words")

why are you so enraged
leaving all in your trail
frail, fragile, screwed?

are you a nymph
aroused by titillation
of amorous waves?

Bah! you symbolize
feminine beauty and beast
in such stark contrast

once you sate your lust
you will breeze upon the ramp
like a beauty queen