26 Warriors

Posted: September 3, 2015 in Thoughts

After assisting ailing almighty arrogant aspiring almost authors,
Babble basic b grade black Biko brotherhood bombardments.
I can’t…
Consider copious consumption’s of cannabis.
Consume creation cause consciousness carries no colour, calm down.
Don’t dare drug dabble. Decrease dedication to devious dealer devotions,
disrupt disastrous delirium, do differentiate demons.
Elevated egos envelope entire entities,
evermore equating eventual eternities.
Envy empties existence.
Everyone’s forced fickle fake faced friendships form formidable foes.
Forgo favouritism, fight for freedom.
Generate great goals, grovel gracefully.
Generous grammar gods grant gentle guidance.
However, heaven and hell are here, holding hands.
Hoping heritage hinders happiness, hesitation heaps higher.
Heroes heed hallelujahs, heal heavy hearts
Inside ink.
InZync inspired initiatives incubate ignorance,
intelligent individuals innovate industries.
Intimidate instruments.
Inspire, intertwine.
Join journeys joyfully,
Killer kings know knives knot knowledge…
Let love and light lead.
Lending long lucrative lushes’ leaves leave loneliness lingering.
Live life.
Move mountains, mold metaphors, marry minds.
Manufacture mighty monopolies,
motivate mosaic memories.
Mother neatly nestled newborn nights,
opposing operations oppress open mics.
Originality outweighs order obviously.
Opinions on
Privilege, pride and politics pollute poetry.
Powerful pencil pushers, perfectly placed phrases pollinate poems.
Promote properly,
Quantity quickly queers quality.
Quantify quests.
Quietly quiver queens quilts,
quit quoting
Rehashed rehab references.
Revitalize righteous rhyme,
realize reality rarely rests so read, rehearse, research role models.
Stop spitting simple stock standard silhouetted stanzas.
Stand strong, surrender soul.
Silent soldiers speak, stretch
Traditional thinking.
Transform thought, try these tips: Thank tough times, trials and tribulations teach
Uncover untold universal
Visit versus,
vividly venture.
Value vulnerability.
Vanity violates visions
Weakness won’t whimper wealth.
Wild and wise warriors whatever world waits…
The rest is just


Posted: September 3, 2015 in Thoughts

Her toes remind me of diamonds
on feet 3 carrots big.
Most of her shoe collection stumbles out the kiddies section,
aged 12 to 13.
She always seems to battle to find ones that fit,
but they still carry her feminine frame… all 1.5 meters of it.

Her heels have skipped down yellow brick roads;
accompanied by tin men, scarecrows and this cowardly Leo.
Her ankles are home, there is no place like them.
Her shins splinter secret SA colours and Taekwondo.
Her knees know the handshake of a scalpel,
but she wears her scar with pride.
Her thighs hold scriptures;
commandments scribed with every stride.

Her hips arrive foreign and majestic.
This isn’t a private message so I have to talk about those parts,
An art exhibition.
heads turn 180 degrees.
Preyed on by wolf whistles,
eyes linger, starting domestic wars.

Her belly button is infinite; as if god knew she was destined for greatness
and hesitated when cutting the cord.
Her rib cage a harp,
outlined angel wings,
a parachute landing for tickles … She hates tickles.

Her chest is like jazz, a melodic rhythm of brass, bronze, breath and breasts.
She has silently sung blues songs while strummed out lover’s found rest.
Her back is the last chapter of my favourite book;
I have read it cover to cover,
taken notes.
Her spine tells the story,
each vertebra an inspirational quote.

Her fingers have held success, gripped destiny, dropped hope.
Her palms are wedding day psalms,
with which my hands want to elope.
Promise vows to her wrists,
runaway with her forearms.
Honeymoon on her elbows,
Pillow talk with her shoulders.

Her collar bone is a treasure map;
her neck X, about… here marks the spot.

Her chin is a resting place for hot chocolate, mayonnaise and chicken chow mien.
All food groups really,
I love the way she eats, unapologetic and unashamed.

Her lips wrestle one another for the spotlight, it’s a fair fight;
Impossible to choose a winner.
Front row,
ring side.
In both brown corners, her eyes
The killer left look
Against the piercing right jab.
Her gaze has been trained by both her mom and her dad.

She has a great sense of humour,
as if her cheeks were designed to flirt with smile lines,
but only once the punch line proves worthy.

Her ears don’t merely hear;
they listen unconditionally.
I try and offer the same attentiveness,
but occasionally my ADHD gets the better of me.
For this I am sorry, you deserve more.

I am done playing games; you hold all my high scores.
Your pores store all my future love poems.

Head to toe I need you to know that your body is my temple,
but your mind holds no walls.
There is no drama in your dogma.

No synagogue back home,
no mosk in the east.
Not even the Vatican of Rome,
could divide my belief.
You are my religion…

Green & Gold

Posted: September 3, 2015 in Thoughts

When it comes to this poem, I don’t even know where to begin.
According to the history of my skin…
These left over scrapes of melanin,
fed to sweet sixteen prom queens by their forefathers who abandoned human decency.
Separated privilege somewhere between black barbed wire fences,
(and yes) there is no defense for white only benches
and I am sorry that dreams were leashed by ignorant Dalmatian dog owners.

But I don’t write to offer insight into slave trade,
In front of a mic I’d never ignite race flames.
Usually I could care less about whose running what or the integrity of our presidents brain,
but I have had it up to here with these themed street parades.
They can protest their party but the fact remains…
Governments now reign with the weight of 20 years of hate and mask it as democracy,
since when could three letters solve equality?
But it’s ok…
I’m going to let it B.E.E

Centuries ago, the capitalists who banked on African shores wore pale skin costumes,
but since then supply and demand has increased.
These days there is an even greater need for greed
so outfits come in different shapes, sizes and creeds.
Most of our bad guys wear governed suits and ties
as they hypnotize our minds with lies disguised as promises.
The genocide of our nations pride
they desperately try to hide as they divide our provinces.
(And the problem is)
South Africa’s healing is being murdered by under the table dealing.

Cops stand at the scene of a crime in a single file line,
all races in mind face innocent lives with their guns held high.
Aim when miners aren’t ready…
but steady with the rumor that Zuma doesn’t mind
turning a blind eye to pig crime,
as long as his 6 wives are eating bacon every morning.

This is strictly poetry.
But someone needs to plant the seeds that grow our trees,
so the youth can pick the fruit.
Let’s recruit new government suits.
I’m bored of their message its useless,
why do the masses choose this?
They throw up fake deuces,
flash platinum nooses,
but they can’t afford to invest in our daughters futures because the truth is…

Warning signs read vote for change.
But then why do they get paid,
when their roles have reversed Rolls Royce’s through e-tolling that worse.
And our voices are left cursed
as rehearsed speeches are battered by incorrect sign language.
The shattered truth falls upon deaf ears…
and as the end grows near,
my only fear is that this new rainbow will be sold the same old stories of imaginary pots of gold as we try and make our wish.

It’s a pity that the children of our Mother City still fight over the colour of their skin.

End of Discussion

Posted: October 13, 2014 in Thoughts

To the boys who are pushed over, shoved out, knocked about, shouted at by people and made to feel small and who through all of the torment still stand tall to you guys a round a applause but pause and take a moment to realize.
Bullying never stops, it only becomes less blatant.
End of Discussion.

To the girls who think they are fat, so most of you.
I’m letting you know its OK to chew on chocolate,
calories wont kill you but what will are rigged scales, magazines and lean diets.
Eating your feelings taste better, waist measurements will never measure up.
Pain is not pleasure, treasure every morsel.
Three course meal plus a second helping of dessert please.
Be at ease in your skin, beauty lies within.
End of Discussion.

To the negative thinkers, self esteem shrinkers.
Blinker wearing,
close minded who are nine to five grinded and then grated in a system that only cares about the cheese.
You are the sole owner of your dreams please achieve by any means but there is no need to be uptight and quite frankly.
The world doesn’t owe you anything.
End of Discussion.

To the self proclaimed victims,
you are insane and this will remain the same for as long as you continue to play this boring blame game.
You are responsible for your actions.
End of Discussion.

To the modern day hip hop music that people make.
Lil Wayne,
The Game,
Two Chains,
Let’s take a new course of action against rhyming verse that is absurd,
there is no satisfaction in linking the ‘n’ word to the ‘n’ word.

90’s hip hop is the best!
It could pull a trigger and put sixteen bars in Kanye West’s chest.
Before the gold digger has time,
to revive,
his rigor mortis rhymes.
His twenty four carrot corpse,
would be buried with no remorse.

Why is the only white rapper seen as Shady?
Slim picking maybe,
but ladies and gentlemen.
Please can we Run with DMC again.

New school wasn’t taught this, its lazy.
Like the rabbit that slept under the tree.
Old school is like the tortoise,
with crazy habits linked to poetry.

You see unfortunately the space between first and last place,
doesn’t even really matter.
When we have to face that all the contestants left in this race,
aren’t even real rappers.
End of Discussion.

To the poets, writers, wordsmiths, lyricists and all those gifted with the pen.
Know then when you are having one of those uninspired days, those tired days where words never seem to stick to the page remember: not everything you write will be tight, but that doesn’t mean you cant loosely sprinkle it with
cursive compassion
pencil passion.
Lyrically lead by truth in whats said,
thus increasing joy when read form the deathbeds of the heroes whose lives are our stories back bones.

Spoken word is meant to be spread,
like the butter on bread that is fed to those in need so please,
never doubt what is in your head.
Your ideas can feed hunger ears, ease fears, bring audience members to tears.
Yes certain bullies, victims, rappers and poets have been doing this for years and years but never mind them,
focus on your careers.
Write, scribble scratch, erase and embrace. You create at your own pace.
End of Discussion.

Mark My Words

Posted: October 13, 2014 in Thoughts

I have always said speak your mind but I somehow end up trading
my words for worries,
my feelings for forgiveness
my lies for I love you’s.

Even though my doubts grew I continued to make this about you,
who knew I’d forget who ‘I’ was.
Lose a vowel.
rather link consonants than
closed hearts.


dead end
where you always seem to break your vow.
an A
for how you have tested me now.

I am pass the point of failure.

I have dried out pen tips,
blunted pencil edges.
I have waited up for creative inspiration to play catch up
but lead and ink never seem to sink in as hard as reality sometimes.

The irony is…
No matter the language type,
by itself a promise might rewrite history
long after bookshelves no longer
house literature.

Yet still I wait to be paid,
even after you tell me: “Your writing has the ability to create change.”

Things I Wish I Knew By 18

Posted: June 2, 2014 in Thoughts

1. You will either end up doing something you hate or hate yourself for not following your dreams. You will call the wrong people for help. You will fall and sometimes not be in the mood to get up, and you will make excuses for this all.

2. You will set goals you never get around to because either “It’s not the right time” or ” I just want everything to be perfect.”

3. There is never a right time!
4. Everything isn’t perfect!

5. You will make promises and not keep them, you wont care. The other person will but will never say anything. You will lose friends. You will try and make new ones knowing that the word ‘try’ only justifies your failure.

6. It’s ok to fail, learn from your mistakes.

7. You will miss the good old days.

8. You will forget that you were a child once.

9. You will fall in love
10. You will fall out of love more.

11. You will miss old lovers while inside new ones. 

12. You will question everything you thought you knew for that honeymoon love, when you get divorced you will forget who you were.

13. You will lose your way, you will try and find it at the bottom of bottles … Alcohol, painkillers … It wont matter.

14. Some days breathing will become over rated.

15. You will feel stuck.

16. You will close your eyes and despise your life.
16. You will close your eyes and despise your life.
16. You will close your eyes and despise your life.

17. In the morning the sun will rise.

18. You will survive.

Truth Be Told

Posted: June 2, 2014 in Thoughts

We huddle underneath the sheets,
Cuddle each others heartbeat.
Snuggle the soles of our feet,
Our eyes meet and as I kiss her cheek I tell her:

“I have always been a fast learner, but never really any good at maths.”

It takes me 136 minutes to discover she has 62 beauty spots on her skin. I feel like a child as I play connect the dots with my crayons, purposefully pretending to miss a couple just so I can kiss them a second time.

She tells me I am like a bad habit she cannot kick, “I have unleashed her mind.” While she is still trying to figure out what makes me tick. She asks if I am romantic.

I tell her:
“Generic chocolates and flowers don’t define me.”
I am that “let’s shower together” kind of romantic.
That “Don’t you dare try and take your own clothes off” kind of romantic.
That “Let’s watch a movie you find boring so you can fall asleep in my arms” kind of romantic.
That “Read me the Twilight Saga so I can see the sparkle in your eye” kind of romantic.

I tell her I can also be cheesy. I always give before I get. I’ll spend 15 minutes kissing your neck and 8 times longer than that making sure you’re wet. I’m that “love you then hug you then rub you” kind of romantic, but I have always feared commitment.

I can barely date an idea let alone comprehend the idea of dating.

I get that from my dad. He couldn’t commit to breathing. I don’t blame him for getting mad, my long run of ADD and his short bursts of temper never used to get along.

My father and sobriety had a complicated relationship and he would often cheat with bottle necks and motel rooms, and when he eventually checked out he paid his bill with 6 bullets and a fifth of Jack. I sometime dream of pulling him back just to tell him he still owed us:
4 broken bones,
9 different homes,
2 toughen up boys,
and a loving wife.

These days I always look on the brighter side of life.

I get that from my mom.
She used to go hungry, starved herself to present us platefuls of passion. Stood in the kitchen baking apple crumble. holding herself together to serve us desert dreams. I secretly think grabbing mouthfuls of her time ruined my appetite for savouring the small things.

I tell her: “I never used to believe in god”

As a boy I used to look up at night hoping to see a shooting star just so I could wish myself away.

That when my heart eventually stopped the light at the end of my tunnel would be dragged, dropped and zipped into a body bag. That my road to heaven would be in the back of a hearse conversing with death, that my final breath would be offered to settle for a comfortable coffin. I tell her I used to believe that when I die the kingdom I seek would be 2 foot wide and 6 feet deep and that through this journey praying my eternity would not be spent lying next to a stranger I didn’t even know.

She tells me she loves me.
Her lips speak gospels I believe in.
Her hips are better than any amusement park ride.
The space in-between her thighs feels familiar, warmer than the 9 different houses I have spent 25 years of my life feeling homesick in.

She tells me: “This kind of honesty is rare.”
I compare her to a real life Disney musical. A combination of Pocahontas and Beyonce.
Graceful and elegant,
That good old fashioned 90’s kind of relevant.
Heaven sent intelligence,
a testament touch.
Fingertips so delicate I drown in the miracles of her love.

Now as a man I look up at the stars and am thankful for all that I have accomplished, but her constellations make me realise my milky way white skin still searches for a purpose. I am starting to think that in a 100 years from now when the world shrinks and everything we know has burnt out. When I am unable to shout my feelings for her across galaxies, when my voice can no longer travel space and time. When her life has passed by and her body has become dust, she can trust that even then she will remain the centre of my universe.

We huddle underneath the sheets,
Cuddle each others heartbeat.
Snuggle the soles of our feet,
I kiss her cheek and whisper:
“When our eyes meet it feels as if I am being hugged by god.”