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Friday, 27 March 2015

OJ's on a Friday


Where do all  the men and women go
In the evening, to gather and be free
No one with judgement on moral stand

Shisha and ethanol in t' mix,  twisted hair
With shaved sides, skirts as short
And yet no one sits in judgement,  no one

The music misses no sound or words
Saying it as it is, with beats a' words like
Hoes, bitches, niggers a' fuck t' police, regardless

Expression on material things, vanity allowed
Cars in the parking lot, all large with persona
Half unregistered, illegal at this hour

Dance how you dare to, it's your floor
No eyes glued on shocks to adjust
Like mirrors that look with discontent

Middle fingers in the air
Like we don't care, yeah we don't care
Whoever, however, either way, we living it large

This is like, how the dogs meet at night
Yelling barking to the tune of crazy
To their own delight "who let the dogs out"

No miss goody two shoes
To judge on hypocrisy pointing fingers
And raising noises like a stink is in t' air

Where do all the men and women go
In the evening to gather and be free
No one with judgement on  moral stands

I think t' cops just stopped us on moving
Wheels, walking in straight line is not an option
To be asked to tip toe a ballerina

Using DV plates at this time of the day
A payment of sort, is required as custom
Penance of catch a' release t' cops are fishing 

Monday, 23 March 2015

A Fool's Paradise


We are friendly people
We are always a friendly people
We are fools living in a fool's paradise
With the sun out and the breeze so nice

The shoreline lies with so much beauty
The waves coming in with songs of joy
Coconut trees line the beach lines
As boarders to our paradise

The drum and dance of the land
Adds to the vibrancy this land gives
They all say my people are friendly people
We are friendly people

Akwaaba, akwaaba are welcoming sounds
To be greeted with on arrival, oh a' those smiles
Greenery from the old trees that stand
Maintain that sense of paradise we offer

But don't look close, not that close
To the streets and be faced with
The reality of what stands as naked
Clear to be seen by all

The politics and religion of the day
Feels like brain washed gibbrish, garbage of drama
T' is concocted up in a false sense of morality rush
Pushed down the throat of the masses, force feed

T' guilty a' free and bold, the innocent surfer always
So t' value t' request a' now short of t' bear necessity
Settling for "it cloud be worse than this"
A' "give it to God" (fa ma nyame) as comfort slogans

Our institutions are all ruled by self proclaimed
Kings, men who expect and believe in t' resolve
That standing on ceremony holds more value
T' dealing w' t' nitty gritty of t' problems of t' day

We are friendly people
We are always a friendly people
We are fools living in a fool's paradise
With the sun out and the breeze so nice

Sunday, 22 March 2015

Last Night's Dream


                    

Angles protruding at the edge of reasoning
I was told to climb up the mountain
The wise man lives there

Dreams are explained by him
W' leaves mashed up a' placed in a cup
To drink and be told of your future

The clouds will open up to the sea blue sky
So we can watch the birds fly in formation
Following the sunset for sleep in the night

In the morning they will descend
The trees, mountains and hills, down the valley
In search of food or tweak to build t' nest home

Do birds a' mammals h' to deal w' conflicting issues
Family worries and sibling rivalry like humans
Do they h' to deal w' bad blood a' family pressures

T' are wet leaves left at the bottom of the cup
Looks like it is time for the old wise man
To interpret last night's dream

Picture by Salvador Dali

Friday, 20 March 2015

Butterfly In the Wind


Butterflies have wings
Like birds so colourful a' with allure
But butterflies are not birds, regardless

Though they receive t' same accolades
And are often overly praised
To that of their cousins, moths

To be treated like birds of paradise
Butterflies I am telling you
Are not birds, never have they been

Though they feed on nectar
And spreads pollination like birds
To add to their essence

Butterflies are not birds
And for those who are caught in an illusion
Of false thought, self worth a' a sense of security

Just because of the attention
They receive, get from parade
Butterflies I am telling you, are not birds

Pride spells bullseye on such creatures
Butterflies to be spotted with loud colours
By birds that feast on insects

To have made a meal out of you
My dear; butterflies are not birds, do remember
Dancing in t' winds, naively away from t' meadows

The bug of an old fool only finds out
After he has been made a meal of
T' as butterfly he was just an insect a' not a bird

Picture by http://www.dianamcalister.com/

Monday, 16 March 2015

A Broken Wing's Tale


Broken wings always feels
Sensitive even after healing
When in flight, a reason to be cautious

Or when the weather turns cold
Piercing itching pains in the bones
Like rheumatism with full grip

To make the strongest look vulnerable
Holding onto what seems like
Their very dear life

An old wound with scar
That holds old stories of a time
In the midst of the wilderness

I have seen angels fall
Broken all their wings
And walk the earth like destitute

A jump would even be a miracle
For once such powerful
Old kings from the heavens

They crouch when they walk
Slowly with fingers to the floor
Like Smeagol mumbling "my precious"

The only sign of who they are
Is from the dog's hysterical bark
When they sense their presence

Do not ever point and laugh
For ignorance on such matters
Is not bliss of blessing but a curse

For if the angels can fall
And loose their wings
What more of man w' nothing but ego

Broken wings always feels
Sensitive even after healing
When in flight, a reason to be cautious

Listen to the cautionary tales
Of the old folks and take heed
When they say, even t' mighty angels fall

What more of man w' nothing but ego
Building on quick sand so fast
A lego castle with haste, racing against time
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