Category: poetry

Busy defining
who am I
Wondering
who am I

Busy living
who am I
Striving
who am I

Busy vibing
who am I
Stomping
who am I

Spiddly wondered if he could
He was lean and short
Bent to the left

Spiddly thought he had
He was undersized and selfish
Skinnie little binnie

Spiddly dreamed he would
He was ambitious and hungry
Fed on fantasies

Spiddly knew himself a nomad
He was alone and lost
Killed by will

Inspiration with morning song
His best time stood,
In harmony with 
His morning glory,
Something  about a rush of blood
Two heads engorged
Two heads inspired.

Time to set-off and
With the birds chirping,
He knew he could
His mind sharp,
Words at his beck and call
Like the morning mistress beside him
Ready to drain,
Take him inspired.

I joined 
One drop amongst many
Each with our passprt
In hand
All of us a tide on
New shorees
Washed up and tired we arrived
Empty and evaporated
From the journey
Where were the ones we loved
Where was the 
Mazowe
I had crossed a boarder
I deserved it
Where was the 
Tanganda
I had crossed a continent
I needed it
Where was the 
Royco
The cold  tore  at
The vestiges of my sunny
Camphor

I looked into watery eyes
Eyes of my father
My brother
My sister,
My mother looking into the wall
Her shaky voice,
At discord with her words
"Go and make it",
Her success farewell.
There I was
A young man who dreamed
Of a house in the 'burbs
Where a carpet of Jacaranda blooms
Would welcome October,
Now I was a young man  
Burdened
By his fears
By his guilt
By his need
"To make it."

My feet grudgingly stepped
Through the door,
My tongue remained behind
Tasting mama's cooking
Samp,
Rang out its buttery call
To a successful rainy season
My toes inched forward
Journey oblivious
Beckoned,
As the final score in street soccer
There would be no tomorrow
Just today's steps
I was convinced I had 
"To make it."

The boy within,
Confidently chatters
Prattles on about,
His
Virility
Ability
Dragon slaying defiance
The man without wears,
Warpaint
Where he should wear, 
Armour.
It races his heart
Tightens his muscles,
Empties his gut
Of fear,
Warpaint
Shown to the obstacles
In his life,
He is here to win
On his side he has,
Warpaint
Battles in the world of work
Hustles through the day,
A small victory 
At the ATM,
A positive balance,
He thanks his wins,
Warpaint
But it cracks and peels
Along the lines,
Of  his grimace and smile
They share the lines,
His weaknesses and fears
Revealed throough the lines,
He went to life with,
Warpaint
He should have had
Armour.

Shards and pebbles.
With games played
By broken bones,
Childhood lost
Your abandoned soul,
Staggering and tripping
With mined fields,
Promise no tomorrow.
Little man
I lord, over
Your boyhood
My whip
Splitting 

I looked into 
Myself
All I could see
Confusion
A mix of 
Aspiration
A sprinkling of
Desperation
And realisation
I needed more
Than me
But I had to
Find me
Whilst I was less
Than me.

Her sexy body swayed by
My mind cut off
All of me an instinct,
Damn I want her.
Her name,
Irrelevant
Her face,
Irrelevant
Her personality,
Irrelevant.
All that mattered
The femine essence,
My masculinity,
Rose on his hindlegs
Beat his chest and bellowed.
That was me,
To the world I kept silent
Looked down
At the  husk,
Of my manhoood.
Casting a decrepit shadow
The world killed,
My masculinity.
Replaced it
With self-loathing.