A Tale

There is a tale clawing at my rib cage,

tugging on my arteries

begging to be heard.

Hands cupped into a whistle,

ready to sing for supper

some food for thought

words that could eradicate world hunger.

They’re itching at my finger tips

and dancing on my tongue.

Their melody a symphony

whose tone I can’t decipher.

Their rhythm tapping on my toes

beats drumming in my ears,

vibrations coursing through my veins

but their harmony escapes my lobes.

A tale of sorrow

a tale of pride

a tale of love, hidden deep inside.

In the crevices of my voice,

the nooks and crannies of a whisper.

Somewhere peaking through the cracks,

an opening,

a window

for my soul to peer through.

Somewhere sliding through the rift

a chink,

a glimmer,

in the light that sneaks through.

There is a tale clawing at my rib cage,

it is my heart trying to escape.

Say so

My love isn’t any less because I don’t say so.

Some words aren’t anymore because they’re all said,


Excuse me while I carve my heart the shape of your lips.

Excuse me while I block out the sun so that all I see is your glowing face.

Let the crackle in my voice be the dented pages you wish to find your name engraved upon,

love shaped circles in the way my hands cup your face.

Let the goosebumps on my skin be the spitting image of thanksgiving dinner,

my fear of losing you etched in the pores of this plucked pelt put to rest on crumb filled tables of gratitude.

I stand before you a carpenter’s workshop –

splinters and shavings flailing about.

I am the dust that gets brushed off the thing that’s worth looking at;

floating away, never to be thought of again.


If my words meant anything anymore I would use them;

dig into your ears with sweet nothings and

drum the beat of your pumping crimson heritage till I hit matter,

pound letters into your mind and make you rethink the alphabets sequence.

Letters senselessly misplaced in my being.

Lose L to the sound of my voice,

Find O in the touch of my skin,

See V in the shape of my nose,

Taste E on the tip of my tongue,

The gaps in your ABC’s, meaningless signs of an incomplete;

a hushed memory from a distant thought,

some lesson untaught,

and if silence could speak it would tell you the same.

Show you the mouth duct taped in the dark corner now shining in the spotlight of that centre stage microphone.

Show you the speaker of a body, morphed from a disfigured childhood.

Show you missed commas,

forgotten fullstops,

T’s mistaken for L’s,

I’s unfinished lines,

stories of a perfection’s untold flaws.


I mistake your smile for the air in my lungs.

The warmth of your gaze for the blood in my veins.

Fault the stars for their soulless stares

because your eyes are the windows to my body of mismatched fingers and knuckles,

canvas that painted my imperfections into jagged edged frames.


If I said the words, would you see the meaning?

Would you hear me make sense?

If I said the words would that be all you needed?!

My love isn’t any less because I don’t say so.

Some words aren’t anymore because they’re all said,


Excuse me while I let these healed wounds do all the talking.


March 2015

I like the view from my window

there I can sit, pen in hand

thoughts in mind

smile and wonder

wonder at the world that carries on just beyond that tree

the little girl drawing her future into the playground snow

the floating pieces of cold cotton that linger in the air

magical tufts of ice filling the sky with white tone


about the cars that drive by oblivious to the world beyond their dashboards


at the snowflakes delicately balancing on the barren trees

the sun whose warmth is missed but brightness felt

the fluffy white running through the air

dancing to the yellow melody

but the cars, they whip by

coursing through the masterpiece unfolding before their eyes

the cars hum that lifeless tune

and the barren trees,

basking in the beauty of a renaissance

they cry for the cars to find a new song

I like the view from my window

here I can sit, pen in hand

thoughts in mind

smile and wonder

wonder at what goes on just beyond that windscreen

the husband picking up the kids from school

impressionable minds with the world to discover

endless possibilities to exploit and a driver dad to boot

there in that box

is a heart shaped circle



American Pie dream of a life

the kids

they giggle and snicker at their driver dad’s cat in the hat impressions

their laughs warming their souls

their tiny fingers marking the steam stained glass

the thing that keeps the cold out

and their eyes,

peaking through the lined breathe

they mourn for the shivering lone tree to find spring

For the love of words


Speak what you feel and feel what you speak ’cause
Speech is a powerful tool that toils with the mind
Unwinding from a reel of feelings that pile and line up
To be paid for their generous contribution to the society that is you;
A community of hormones meticulously molding a metropolis of complicated convictions that conflict contemptuously…
Words, kiss so sweetly
As tongues intertwine
As letters flow igniting a flame of expression
So hot, so bright as
Thoughts touch lips,
Softly and smoothly forming sentences,
Deep sleek fluent sentences that flowed poetically clouding a message so simple and clear
My convection unconstraining my mind from the
Confines of conventional conjecture conveniently constructed to
Confuse and conceal the condiments of life
Enhancing the flavour of
Food for my mind,
Food for my soul
Words that make my stomach rumble,
Fill me up like ugali never could,
Empty me dry like uji never would
Words leave me with an in-suppressible urge to indulge in more,
More incomprehensible attacks on my sanity as I am
Bombarded each day with the bulging mass of messy convocations to
Willingly submit to their rule,
So I submit to their strength,
I submit to their unforgiving determination to
Ignore inhibitions and
Give into their limitation of exemption,
The liberation that is forever.

What is your voice?


What is your voice, but your mind set free?

What is your voice, but a weapon of mass destruction?

What is your voice, but the reason many who heard it, listened?

What is your voice, but the many who listened, learned?

What is your voice, but the many who learned, acted?

What is your voice, but the many who acted, impacted?

What is your voice, but the many that impacted, spread?

What is your voice, but the spreading of which, affected change?

What is your voice, but affected change, men alike grew?

What is your voice, but the growth of a society, from one pebble?

What is your voice, but the pebble, dropped into the ocean that created a ripple?

What is your voice, but the ripple that touched the shore?

What is your voice, but the thing that spoke you?

What is your voice, but yours and yours to share?

What is your voice? It is but yours to speak.