Who Holds The Cards?

One’s the laden self that bows his head to pray The other a rebel with a tattoo across his face. Who’s the fool and who’s the wiser, who holds the cards? And who is he, what’s his name, that’ll tell them apart? Once a boy, now a man, a grown black man One whose pangs…

Pen To Paper – The Art Of Poetry

Take a painting class, learn how to say ‘I’m a writer’ in Portuguese, stumble upon fencing or lean your way to gardening. Try your very best to do anything but write a poem. If all else fails, open a wattpad account and scream about it from the top of your roof. At first, you will…

Sonnet 1 – Hell absolute, Still We Stand

Poisoned is the blackened tip of my soul Present a gaping hole, alone, alone So turbulent these waves of thought – the toll! Violent waves crush, and in them, I’m thrown. Is it a man’s fate, to crush under his weight? To weep – terrified of his tomorrow? To chase happiness with ignorance great? Seeking…

The Fate Of An Oleander Garden

Stand down, here’s a shot of whiskey. Don’t go treading into the mud like that.Heart’s weary, restless and wanting, Every other thing except what it has. One wakes and prays for gold, crumb and cakeForgetting of the bread he chooses nowAnd how to another that choice is nullYour crumb, his cake and the next, his…