Saturday, August 28, 2010


The little girl gazed deep into her mirror
Suddenly, it slipped from her fingers
And in the time it took to shatter on the wooden floor
She had already aged
And a million images of a snow white figure
Bled from every shard

Wednesday, August 25, 2010


Circle circle in the sand
Hand in hand we spin again
The game is simple
To stay on feet
Follow patterns intricate deep
In the sand and shore below

The first to fall is out of course!
Loss of fervour, loss of faith
The second to falter was no good
His eyes had always looked to east
Glittering strangely, they had no code

Let's spin in silence
Spin in faith
God is in the motion here
Break and it will be lost
It's hell to stop and think again

Spinning is a duty love
A legacy from mother to child
Can't you see the pattern woven?
Perfection in every skein and vein

Patterns in the sand so fixed
That even spinning feet can't change
Fit into deepened darkened grooves
It's all there, it's being done again

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Ode to a Development Consultant

Your come with fancy degrees for sure
Harvard Kennedy
Princeton Wilson
Georgetown, Syracuse and Yale

You drive in SUVs through ghettos
Camera flashes, notebooks crinkle
Photographs for exhibitions
To show what all you have seen
This wretched country you have been

You stand before a poor man's house
Children, people tumble out
Stand before you with folded hands
They don't love you
They just know, this is where the money is
Cotton prints are a beacon
Mark you out for who you are

And in the soft, dusty evenings you gather
In fine hotels and drink champagne
Blow kisses, and talk and talk
Do you compare hungry babies?
Size of misery you have seen?

Chips of yam and wine of palm
Drunk on a floating island calm
Feet in spa, arms in ocean
Dancing, desserts on the house

You love this job, it gives you money
Lets you meet men of power
Politicians, businessmen
Those very same who rob this land
For years untold and do again

Governments love you
And why not!
You spin the wheel of fortune and
Hand out money, line their nests
With your money for the half dead

If you lived in a village
In a hamlet, then you'd know
There is no such 'power sharing'
No such grassroot, no consensus
All we have are landed goons
Who grab and grab, all they can