Pretty Heels

Walking in her pretty heels,
Surety in her stride,
unseen pressure points
and pain hidden that
only translate to varicose veins

Life, one big test- a parlay
To the party, initiated at first breath
Trials giving way to testimony, leading
to testament at death.

Her unfolding story is mine
of boulders crashing down
tempests unresting versus the calm
spectator and actor amidst the rise and falls
A tumultuous mind, groaning existence

Stings ease with each silent scream
Suicide- won’t welcome the hand that
suddenly ends the huddles, the runs,
crashes and burns, the rumps, the bumps
and turns- Puddles of mud laying in front,
…So tired of the jump

Her life- a misty mirror with its many cracks
Tears mapping her yesterday
and in that same distance, trails of
“honey-coated” memories- strengthening
 here and tomorrow, .

Brighter days just up ahead,
Rays soon to pierce through the gloom-
in hope she spurs on
heart focused on a multicolored dawn

Calm waters, sweet sea breeze, blue skies
wind and sea bird cries
the taste of salt, the feel of sand grains
marking her almost naked skin – “a daydream”

In reality, life’s current rages on,
She’s super girl- “S” on her chest,
taking on the world with music in her steps
In her pretty heels, walking life’s yellow brick road,
They still sting yet her expressions will never show.

Really, every woman is an example to me, because as women we go through so much pain. We have to live this perfect life when we are messed up inside. We all go through trials and tribulations.
Mary J. Blige

Child Soldier

Arms weigh upon an innocent chest
  Hands no bigger than my vexing fist
  I vex for  wasted innocence
  Children  of  War, to
  violence  Tabula rasa exposed
  Morbid scenes causing mental overload
Monster turned by circumstance
  Not far long a living seed
  Raped prematurely of compassion,
  No feeling- Not for breasts from which weaned
  less for tears and mercy cries of a stranger
Cold eyes, such beautiful eyes
  turned cold
  Cold heart, what promise once held
  now frozen
  Cold soul...
  Who will drag them in from the cold?
  Who will LOVE and redeem them?
Yet with opened eyes and souls restored
  The weights upon them - heavier than the gun!
  Once violent hearts now grasping "Truth"
  of their wasted innocence
  and futile youth
  Puppets for political gain
  Urchin's past- A tale of pain
  Scarred forever with unbearable shame
 Damned be the Elders, the ones to blame.

 “But if you cause one of these little ones who trusts in me to fall into sin, it would be better for you to be thrown into the sea with a large millstone hung around your neck.”-Mark 9:42

Broken goddess

Slipping into his skin ...
 Her kicking and screaming won't wake him
 "Mr Hyde"  overtakes him- Beast let loose
 by fermented hops and barley juice,
 Man's wasted form he puts to use - Woman's
 fragile form left to feel the sting of his abuse
Gin and green fairies tonight, one too many
 No green eyed monsters to cause the Angst
 that ends in Violence- No its not jealousy,
 Just 48 to 75 percent alcoholic
 influence, liquid content only!
Distilled liquids letting him slip from reality
 Spirits giving him a false sense of immortality- Allowing
 uninhibited movements of his fists and feet across her body
 ...She left wondering "was it him or was it me?"
Dear Broken goddess, beaten black and blue, 
Yeah that's right, I'm talking to you! 
Be of courage and stop being the victim! 
Become the wiser - Break away from the system! 
You want love so why settle for a drunken woman beater?! 
Walk away and allow yourself be loved by someone better!


My Dark Muse (My Muse is Black today!..)

My Muse is Black today!..

She is black today…

She weighs upon my chest
words that make no sense,
Much nonsense put on paper
with the many blip-blips to censor
dark expression flowing from a broken center

My muse damns me to this inspiration,
Choke-filled with life’s putrid manifestation
Vexed from the stings of bites not felt
yet heard and seen…

I am ANGRY! because its Death for breakfast,
War and Anarchy! My pain is palpable- come- cut,
taste with me- This muse is ours,
Awakenings to life’s woes she showers us constantly

Even in the comfort of home, exposed
by the media drawing my attention to the next bomb
that explodes, Reports of wars-disasters and poverty
Oops! This just in, more fatalities…
Fake- ass governments and their bullshit policies,
Resolute terrorists making God seem the enemy…

Her essence causing these scales fall- BUT resiliently,
For lies will always be sweeter than honesty, now
lying naked to the truth and left questioning,
Existence!… is it Hell or is it Purgatory?

Personification of the “Genius”

A lot of us hear the word “Genius” and the first thought that comes to mind is “a person with an abnormally high IQ”- True, …but how many  of us know the original meaning of the word?

According to ancient Roman mythology the Genius (plural in Latin genii) was said to have been the guiding spirit or Tutelary (a deity or spirit who is a guardian, patron or protector) of a person, family, nation, culture or occupation… Well it can be said that in today’s world blogging has become a sort of culture and to some extent an occupation for most. Sadly a lot of bloggers (such as yours truly) tend to battle a lot with “Writer’s block”.

I was introduced  to the video below about a month and a half ago but never really paid attention to the power of the message until today-  In it Elizabeth Gilbert, Author of the Book “Eat, Pray, Love” gives a TedTalk titled “Your elusive creative Genius“, educating people on the power of the Artistic Genius.

It spoke to me as a writer and poet …well not the aspiring professional writer/poet type, just the type who posts what she can, when she can 🙂

I hope Gilbert’s presentation speaks to you too….


Now did you REALLY watch it? 😉

Perhaps I should throw in a pop quiz just to be sure! 😛

Anyway, after listening to Elizabeth Gilbert’s message I basically developed a whole new perspective of the term “Writer’s Block”, and a less defeatist attitude towards it.

… Be it Muse, Genius or Tetulary, I prefer the idea that we writers of any kind aren’t the ones carrying the burden of creativity,  we just need to be open to the spirit(s) that guides us towards the path and when they don’t show up to inspire us when expected, we ought not despair! It only means they’ve got something super HOT steering, thus patience is required.

However, this form of logic also makes me wonder… “What spirit guides me when I write my pieces?” … Do you know what spirits guide you?… 😐

Thanks for stopping by! And thanks “Genius” for such a wonderful contribution …hehe!

Cheers yal! 🙂

Who’s counting with me?!

Hi guys!

Forgive the silence 😦 – I’ve been busy selling off all my worldly goods and getting ready for the 2o12 Apocalypse … NOT! Just a slight, OK… MAJOR case of writer’s block 😛

I just saw this picture online and thought I’d share it with y’all…

A little comedy relief to suit the festive and yet apocalyptic season 😉

Step aside New year’s day!

We’re counting down to the 21.12.2012… And if all goes according to the Mayan’s supposed prediction then this is me signing off finally 😉

Season’s Greetings from ME to YOU!!! 😉

Untitled: In reaction to the World Toilet Day report

google image

Worlds Toilet Day
making known my country’s shame…
The tally,
34 million taking a dump on the streets!
Where then do we put our feet?!
… In fear of stepping on shit

How can the leaders deny
development? Still a far cry…
Citizens watch with eyes blood shot as
state wealth streams amongst lesser gods

These lesser dogs,
Tearing away at the meat
Won’t even invite us beggars to the feast
So we lay out on the streets
Watching for scarps from their tables to eat
I even hear a spiritual leader’s got a gold toilet seat!
Probably passes out holy shit

O well,
The whole world’s gone to hell
so why am I bemused?
…Totally confused!

Country surrounded by water,
A hydroelectric dam,
yet my people defaecate in gutters
hardly any power in town

I swear, I can’t stop babbling
The whole thing makes me pissed
I can feel them defecating on me, these
thieves for Politicians filling their
already full pot-bellies,  no plans of recompense…

A shout out to the lesser gods  dogs

As Nigeria joined the rest of the world to mark this year’s World Toilet Day, a joint UNICEF and World Health Organisation 2012 report has revealed that estimated 34 million Nigerians practice open defecation.

According to the report, Nigeria is amongst top five countries in the world with largest number of people defecating in the open… 😦 #Coveringmyfaceinshame (VANGUARD Newspaper: World Toilet Day – 34 Million Practice Open Defecation #Nigeria)

Still Bemused! 😦


Colored by Strangers
 I am
 Jaded perception
 False conclusions
 All illusion
 All seeming
 Zero understanding
 Fools rush in...
 Creating abstracts
 Their interpretation
 of me.
Shades undefined
 Marred repertoire
 The unconventional-
 Predictability required-
They draw straws
 The shortest stick-
 I get the shortest stick
 Yet proud
 Being misunderstood
 Damn their judgment!
 I stand unique
 My true colors ethereal
 ...Here stands the TRUE Stranger

BOX by Dan Robert

Prologue- Remember?

Hold my hand please.

The rain doesn’t feel like rain anymore. It feels like…

Hold my hand.

When I moved, it moved; it swayed this way and that just like the car in that crash. Remember the car crash? The rain poured, and we watched, and the car came, and we watched, and the car swayed this way and that, and we watched. Remember the car crash?

Hold my..

I really want to, but what if it sees us. It thinks its had us, finished us for good. When I moved, it moved; it shifted this way and that. Why don’t we remain like this, shut our eyes and think thoughts? Don’t think about the car crash, think other thoughts. Close your eyes. Remember last spring when you..


You were exceptionally pretty that spring, Anastasia. And we went to the lake. Remember? We sat on that large rock. You named the rock Sir Wobbles because you believed it wobbled whenever you weren’t paying attention. I kept telling you I couldn’t feel it wobble. We had to agree you were imagining things. Just like you to think your imagination could move a rock. I never told you this: Sir Wobbles actually shook. I planned on telling you but I must have forgotten. Remember when the rain came and we rushed into the tiny shed and lit the stove? You looked beautiful in that light, Anastasia. Remember? Remember, Anastasia?




Meet Dan Robert,
Dan Robert
Apparently a pseudonym but none the less the character in question, real. 🙂 The piece you just read is an abstract from a writing project of his.
Get to know more about Dan Robert at by clicking on his photograph, and for more from his book “BOX”, kindly click on the picture above.
Comments, Suggestions, Critique will ALL be appreciated… but lets keep it healthy shall we people ;)… and for updates on how the story progresses you can like his Facebook Page (link: Dan Robert)
I can’t wait for the book to be finished!… I get the first, OK the 2nd published copy and an autograph… Right Dan?! 😐
Well until next time folks 🙂Cheers! 😉

Dark reflections…

A kiss did strike the final blow
too strong? too soon? or was it too slow?

young love ripped to shreds, tip toe to head
Goodbye said; a harsh reality unspared

The heart lay broken, past is now token
From sulfur and brimstone, a demon awoken

The past is past, the future grim
To care is failure, to love is sin

By what  horrid thing is love replaced
A hollow soul, black and unchaste

A faceless no one birthed this war
With gross deceit  the hymen tore

The phantom, sits in reminiscence
“Belief in love turns me to this…”

O what dark reflections love dost bring…

(Googled Sketch!)