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Vague, vacant

Like a madman's memory

Sunlight

Moonlight

The sky housed his soul

On a bed of stones

There are things that hunt us

Places that curse us

like trying to find home

In the shadows of a broken boy

That boy whose shadow covers my shame

That boy whose broken voice

Echoes my woes

That boy...oh don't you see?

We prey on the hunter

...in our dreams

And we awake, the preyed

Praying for voices

Waiting for echoes

But the boy looses his song

And soul and self in the shadows

Of a loathing history

How does a man find his name?

In a cold wine of bottled emotions

Sipping and gibbering

Singing and staggering

Mocking and mimicking

Boy found his name in a keg of wine

It rippled

And laughed at him

The preyed did pray to him

But boy's nipple

Would never be suckled

For how do you find your name

In a language that burns your soul

He knows that a broken boy is pyre

Waiting for God to call him home

So he tries to find myself

And becomes a hummed memory

Of mist and smoke and the silences

That prepare a table before him.

Sunshine that burn

Moonlight is gone.

Before boy stands God

Wondering what went wrong

Boy is lost

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Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies" "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat" After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?" "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

Letter To My Son

Dear Son Try to forget that nothing waits in the dark, raise your shoulder high wave off the frea and step into that lane. Won't you rather be gone in there than stay out here playing the coward? Get up now, son everyone falls. #Pengician #SSA http://bit.ly/2haEhoj

RIP: Return If Possible (Ode to my High School crush)

She would wink at me from the corner of her eyes. She would dare to slap the tallest in my class if he dares bully me for penning his name in my list of noise makers. She would share her pen when mine is spent. She would help me take notes when sick I lay in bed. She played my advocate even when I least deserve it. Her height, though intimidating earned more of my admiration. Her fingers Her palms though long and bold compared to my petite own were my favourite to hold. She was loud and noisy not never made the list. She would speak Igbo and wink 'you dare not write my name' Her drawings, I did when others I snub. JSS 3 to SSS 1 I crushed on this pretty girl But I was too shy to ink that poem. I left without letting you know how much I care. Had no time to appreciate your kind gestures undeserved defense... You were my crush. Augusta, When I found first Facebook you were the first I searched to add... In vain I searched You were not found. I stalked the walls of our cl...

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