Skip to main content

Featured: Manbaby by Martins Deep


MAN BABY


Perhaps just an embrace
And a cuddle when the child
Within comes out to play
My hair tousled with fingers mild.

Perhaps just night songs
When my body clock chimes.
Just those fanciful rhymes
Until angels my cradle throngs.

A tickle, a loving prod
To dare the dark woods at eve.
Just a smile, not a word
Might rid me of this grief.

A silly joke at midnight
When your beloved is sleepless
Waiting for the morning to fly his kite
Higher than wherever eagles nests.

I wish and wish on shooting stars
I sleep and sleep on the atlas
I wait and wait that you will find
How God blesses the dark earth with sunlight.


I do not know what more to cry for
Whether for empathy or adventure.
I can not pluck stars into my punnet
So I find a boat in my head and journey west.

I pray you find what to do with colours
And how I'm not swept off my feet by cutesy humour.
There is little I can say
But wish you will honour
The child in me when it comes out to play.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...