when purse allows

There’s nothing that makes me crazy

like your writing.

I find myself wanting to be near you,

I find myself wanting to be walking

next to you.

I even find myself wanting to know

more about people living next to you.

How about people leaving close to me?

I don’t care about any of them.

They’ve called the police on me after

I’d slapped one of them loud the other

evening when I thought no witness saw

me,

when in my self indulgent state

I thought I was Lord Almightly and that

nothing on this earth could ever stop me

from being who I’m

who I’ve always been;

a violent person with a scar,

a set of big rabbit teeth of which when

my purse allows,

I’d like to have them fixed.

And don’t you ever forget that every woman

who leaves me is called a tramp not because

she is but, because I’m so scared of the world

that I find it hard to cope with being by myself.

I had to burn a woman’s house to make my feelings

known almost a decade ago because I didn’t want

her seeing other men.

My friends call me an arsonist but I don’t care

because I, like them, we’ll surely burn in hell like

the devil and his satanists.

Do I hear any of you devils say amen?

Well, sure, amen.

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we’re finding it hard.

They tell me;

You’ve been listening to people saying

that they love you.

But, deep down in your heart you know that they

do not.

You’ve been in at one of those occult places

of which a lot of people are in but,

aren’t sure that they’re until things get bad enough for

they to be considered for consultation.

It’s like that item that you buy at a shop

only to find out later on after you’d

washed it more than three times,

that it wasn’t worth the money you had spent on.

And the last woman you had your eyes set on,

was the woman you should’ve lost your livelihood on

because she, herself was nothing but an eleven ‘o clock,

tick-talk, set-up.

And we’re finding it hard to advise a person

Who seems not too keen in listening to our advice.

There’s nothing wrong with how you live your life today.

However, we’d like you to stop writing poetry online.

Especially on your blog because it makes us teary when

We remember teachings of our forebearers which we’ve

found intriguingly hard to listen to.

We’re people who think majority should rule in our favour.

Yeah, that’s who we’re!

prime example

his life was riddled with bullet  holes

from guns of violent women.

women he had approached and,

brought upon himself–
then blamed God when
their actions became too much
for him to bear.
though I feel for him,
I’ve learnt a lot from his past.
especially when I’ve to accept
that sometimes my eyes gets me into
trouble.
and satan knows what us men like.
what our dreams and aspirations
contain.
my friend became a live,
prime example in his prime
on not how to live life.
he had varrious addictions but,
women were the worst of all.
when he opened his eyes,
he had lost all things that
he had spend most of his
life working hard on.

I warned him but he told me;

to mind my bloody business.

I had no real business interests

in this life but lots on his life.

 he chucked me aside knowing

all too well what his life meant to I.

we didn’t had to be like spouses but,

he was someone I could spend some

time with,

discussing how we should live this life.

women was his weakness.

I’ve some weaknessess too but,

he took them with him to the graveyard.

I’d like to know

I wanted to be something
but I became nothing.
I wanted to raise my voice
but out came hot air.
Yes!
I’ve become nothing on this earth.
I feel that besides God,
I owe me big time.
Small timers live for a moment
and I think it’s just me.

small and looking for some space to fit in.

but it’s never simple.
It took me forever to realise that
the only person who is me,
has rubbed the world off the
wrong way and finds himself
having to reassure that his
mistakes are in the past.
By his,
himself,
I mean me dammit!
I’ve come to realise that the more
I call God’s name,
the more priests feel like they own me,
the more congregants feel like they’re
way better than honest me.
That they feel like;
If he has no qualms why don’t he keep
quiet and let God take over his life?
They don’t realise that one could be
taken without no man knowing.
For now, I feel like I’m right there with
God.
Feel like I shouldn’t waste no more of my
precious time worrying about trivial things.
I’d like to know how all of you feel.

if you

If you listen to yourself carefully,

you’ll realise how boring your speech is.

how people around here

are tired of listening you speak.

I looked at you on the first day,

searched for answers but found none.

On the second day;

people began nudging me,

I pushed their hands off of me

because I thought they were

like you,

of no importance.

On the third day it rained and

you found love but a man died.

You ran home and hid under the

bed.

Something that has become part of

you since you were a teenager.

Now that we’re all men

and all paying rent money,

I had thought that our environment

might change you.

None of that happened.

You saw him pull out a gun

and emptied a cartridge of all

eleven rounds on his frail body.

But you and your new love opted

for concealment of death instead.

It was cold and I could still see

visions of him hitting cold tar

and gallons of his blood being

swept away.

I know that I wasn’t there but,

if I keep reminding you about it,

people may start thinking that maybe

you and I are one like toe and nail.

and I advise you on all of  this;

on day seven because I hear

church bells ringing on my head,

ring tones on yours and your

girlfriend.

I also am listening attentively to your

heartbeat as police sirens wail–

as the choir in my radio speakers

sings.

I know you wish that I’d stop

talking and save you from your blushes.

The police are laughing at you because if

there’s something they’d like to hear from you,

they won’t waste any more minute wondering.

whether to lock you down for a night,

make you confess all of your sins.

 

 

 

no man knows

 

 

 

All I know about house-pets like

cats and dogs is that they

love us men.

And I love them too because my

life would dull without any of them.

So whether one’s ancestry comes

from animals or not,

is a discussion for another day.

Meantime, I’ll keep on loving them

and cherishing every day I’m on

this earth with them.

Would you like to know why?

No man knows where pets’ spirits’ go

after they die.

We’re always seen kneeling before

pastors like they’re God Himself

begging them to show us the way.

It’s like they’re holding keys to heaven.

All while we know that they’re mortals

like us and though they may know all

secrets,

are dead scared of a place called hell.

A place of which they always warn us

about being careful not to be found at.

I’m in hell already.

Everytime I knuckle down and wipe

my brass knuckles;

the devil out there seem hellbent on

wiping me out of the face of this earth.

Like what obituary columns did to monkeys

when they got to different continents.

They wiped all of them off to build

towns and cities.

And got praise for having done that

because man can’t live with animals right?

They bring a difference in our lives.

We learn on them on what to or

what not to do.

Animals won’t invade our spaces if we

show them love and respect.

I don’t know how people view me

or my written words.

All I care about is making both they

and pets happy.

People try to separate themselves from

nature but,

whenever they’re happy because they’ve

survived a scare they boast;

it was due to my animal instinct that

I went through that unharmed.

If this doesn’t sum it up nothing ever

will.

 

 

 

I LOST MY VITALITY

I’ve to fight a thought so grim

that the devil is,before my eyes,

a pit full of nothingness.

Prior to I being sick,

I was a happy chap who always loved a chat.

Now I’m as sick as a pneumatic patient

skipping medicine at a ward.

At the expense of promising a nurse

a good life because his bank account remains

unshaken.

I on the other hand,

though I fear getting tubercolosis,

I’ve to confess to you that I’ve

given up on popping pills,

and you may soon find yourself singing sad

songs at my funeral.

My bosses pop-up at my ward frequently

like pop-up dolls,

Like they’re sure that I’ll be fine soon.

No man tells them how I bribe myself out

of medicine bottles.

How I flush all of it when no guard is watching.

I may be able to pay the state nurse to give me

a clean bill of health.

But, as you read on you come to realize how

my stupid actions worry a lot of people who

care not only about their well-beings but mine.

I may be robbing myself of a happy,

everlasting life with a wife and a bunch of kids.

So they say.

I may be secretly harbouring thoughts of betting

for the other side.

So they gossip.

They could even say it to my face.

I care less these days because

my coughing or sickness is of the chest

and not of the mind like they.

I’ve come to make friendship of evil nature

with the nurse because I’d wait and wait

on my self-made death bed but still I see

no visitors.

I only will decide what to do

with my life.

Everyday I watch them trembling,

Shaking like my medicine free lungs.

Over a man they never liked.

I have to self-destruct because they

fear a jovial me.

They’re just to happy to see a sick me

with lots of self-doubts.

A skeletal type of a man who

could hardly sit down or stand up.

I’m sick because of the environment they’ve

put me in.

I know a lot of me will just be happy at

they being able to point a finger at others.

I used to be healthy and when I was,

when I glanced at my wristwatch to

extablish what time it was,

then at their sad faces full of worry

and scepticism,

I found myself wishing either of us

couldn’t have been born.

They in their talk,

when they think that there’s no more birds,

that walls are just stones and hard,cement plasters,

that’s when I lost my vitality.

My willingnesse to go on living rests on their shoulders,

and I can tell you that if God gave them their will now,

they’d just be glad to watch me take my last breath.

I know this sounds ridiculous if not horrific to those

who aren’t accustomed to the fact that some people

like to tell the truth no matter how sad it

makes others be.

unedited for my fallen uncle

I had been with you just for a day.
A quite afternoon at a hospital ward,
you were very smiling,
And glad to see me.
There is never a good time to say goodbye.
Why did you have to leave me in pain?
I spoke in tongues the other night.
Shakingly asking the holy spirit about you.
A voice scolded me in front of an officer.
He saw what was happening and;
Wisely refused to get out of his patrol car.
I know you are right there with God,
when you left this unsacred earthly space,
I was in a building at a lake toing a tea line,
I saw the mobile number—
It was from my mother.
No word came out from other end of the line,
I was shocked about all of that and;
Switched my phone off.
I bought an African map from a street vendor.
Courageously rode a taxi back to town.
Bought airtime at a stall by a group of shops.
Made a call back to my mother.
She did not pick up her cellular phone.
I knew something must be very wrong.
I called my father’s phone and,
He sadly told me what has just happened to you.
Yes! That’s how I’ve learnt about your passing.
I don’t know if that’s natural but,
I can still feel his presence around me.
I know not whether to smile or cry.
My mood right now is sombre.
You are the reason families gather at home–
today.
I’ll not say rest peacefully.
You have always inspired me in many ways.
I’ve heared stories about you knifing fellow party goers,
I opt to believe none of that.
I scribble this right now online and unedited for my fallen uncle.
may he be an inspiration for generations to come.