words for LB

Hey Lover,
I've been waiting for a long, long time
for this moment;
this instant that time and fate have brought us to,
its a special occasion,
so let's celebrate,
Us.

Take my hand baby,
let's dance.
I know this place where the music never stops playing
the lights never go out, and when they're lit
they are never brighter
than we need to see each other.
i know a place, where we can be together,
just you and me,
and the music.

Let's dance.
I've got us an orchestra,
and they're going to play your favourite songs
just for us.
i want to dance with you,
close to you
i'm going to hold you
place my hands around you.
let me whisper in your ear,
"you look so beautiful", so beautiful.

Tonight,
we're going to dance real slow
there's so much that i've been meaning to say to you
and its all in the word that i will whisper,
from my heart to your ears;
so come as close as you dare, my dear.
Nothing could be more important,
nothing more precious
than this very moment,
you in my arms;
let time stand still,
or let it race until the moment after tomorrow
is only heartbeats away
i don't care,
because when you're with me
nothing else matters.
Nothing else matters,
Nothing else matters,
Just you and me;
and you're so beautiful
Baby let's dance,
you're all i need...

Guestblogs: Snazzy on the Fugees

Snazzy has stated clearly that he is not a poet, and that like most people, he would rather critique than actually do. he says he is not a poet, and not having any evidence to the contrary, i cannot disagree with his own assessment of his literary abilities. what he can do though, is write a mean commentary, and a wicked article. he decided not to take up the Six Degrees challenge, as i have taken to calling the responses to the connections pieces, electing instead to speak on the Fugees. so he's a hip hop head then. by all accounts, he has his head right, and he knows how to communicate fis feelings on one of my favourite bands of all time.

i like this piece. it got me. he captured the feelings of the last part of my teen years, and the decisions that a young music fan with finite resources has to make. "do i buy this CD, or that one? maybe i should buy this one, and copy that one onto a tape from my friend's CD. yeah, i'll buy this CD and we can do an exchange. its all good" raise your hand if you ever had to make those decisions. i did. loads of times. so did all of my boys. and girls. thats how we kept the music flowing. making mixtapes from your friends' CDs, and making copies of those tapes off each other. just so long as you had the latest jamz.

Snazzy brought this one. and he brought it well. if your guest-pieces are going to continue being this good, i'm afraid i'm going to have to stop having these open mic sessions. can't have you out-doing me on my own stage, can i? now if only he would stop supporting that shit team. but snazzy has a gift, i tell you no lies.

Snazzy:

I wouldn’t mind taking Saturday

To be honest, the first time I heard the Fugees I was more interesting in playing basket ball for the first time on a real American court like in Above the Rim, than in listening to a song by a group which had the girl from Sister Act 2. The year was 1994, the place a car driving down a Providence RI street, the song, Nappy Heads. I heard it a few more times during that my first visit to America since childhood, and while I know I liked the song, I can’t really say that the way I feel about it now is the way I felt about it then.

All Flushed with Fever

Next time I ran into the Fugees was 1996, the place watching MTV in my house in Lagos, the song, Killing Me Softly. For some reason I didn’t hear Fugeela before, though I am almost positive that Fugeela was the first single. Ready or Not and Fugeela were more expensive videos, but the Killing Me Softly video is still my favorite video the fugees ever did. The vibe was just too mad.

I Get Mad Frustrated When I Rhyme

So I had heard the three singles, Fugeela, Killing Me Softly and No Woman No Cry before I went to England in January 1997 for my A-level entrance exam. My cousin had the album also known as THE SCORE. I love the fact that How Many Mics is the first thing you hear if like me you skip the intro. The song was mad, but Lauryn went there. I would put her verse on that track against anything done by BIG, Jigga, or any of your contenders for “greatest” rapper. The album kept dropping banger after banger. The only songs on that album that are arguably not bangers are the score and manifest, though I would argue that they aren’t really songs but more experimental. Anyway that album made my trip. I would have bought it as the first CD I ever bought with my “own” money but I recorded it to tape leaving the Space Jam soundtrack to hold forth as the first CD I ever bought. I still know most of the words to every song on the album of the top of my head, and I’m letter perfect when the album is playing. You don’t need to ask me who Michelle Lesley Brown is (Yes I know the skits too!)

It’s Time to Manifest The Rhyme

Aiight in closing, I have bought the Fugees album twice apart from the tape that was my journey into the score. I lost the tape when a teacher seized my sister’s walkman cos I was listening to it during an agric exam (I had like an hour to kill during the exam). The first album I bought was from a friend in A-Levels who was trying to raise money to buy cigarettes. I got it for a fiver. See why addiction is a bad thing! On my way to America for university, it fell out of my box along with a few other CDs. I was fugee-less all through college but with The Carnival and Miseducation, and Napster/Gnutella/School Network I got by. Though a few weeks before I returned to England for my master’s I saw The Score and I snapped it up. Not that I am superstitious or anything, but it was in my hand luggage this time. Peace

Thank God its Friday!

words, response #4

One more day, another unique and interesting perspective on the issues raised by our connections. There's no need for me to say how much i respect today's poet, i think i have spoken of it often enough in the past that it might as well be trite at this point. she's brought it. in her own style, words to describe her take on our theme.

Uzo:

My brothers and sisters
I don’t know you all but I know we are connected
The blood that flows through our veins
Coming from the same source
So I have been told
History seems to buttress that fact

But you don’t make it easy for me to love you
To want to nurture you
To walk beside you as you reach your full potential
How can I summon feelings of love
When you, my impoverished brother
Forced to take to the streets a-begging
I give you a N20 note and I receive a look of contempt in thanks
For that amount is too small
When you my sister
Beautiful African woman
With eyes wide open and conscious of every action
Has no qualms about breaking up a happy home
For material gains

I try to remember what connects me to you
My brothers and sisters
But child abuse
Suppression of human rights
Black on black crime
Senseless murders
Treachery
Blackmail
Rape
Blatant thievery
A heartbreaking list of unspeakables
The things we do to each other
Have me thinking
Surely I cant be connected to these evil doers
I am nothing like these people that seem to care for nothing
I am nothing like you so how can we be connected
Trying to deny and distance myself from a truth that cant be denied
That we are family

Now close to home
Safe in my cocoon of naiveté and eternal optimism
Secure in the fact
That the antics of my brothers and sisters around the world
Have no place
Will not penetrate my safe haven
Turns out that lover of mine
Used to have intimate relations
With my brother’s girlfriend
My lover made booty calls that were answered
By the friend whose wedding I am planning
Blindsided with the information served up my a sister
Her motives?
Not my happiness that’s for sure
But she had a lot to say about my lover’s ex
Who is my mother’s sister’s daughter’s friend

So now I ask him
My other half, the ying to my yang
You didn’t tell me
You didn’t think it would matter?
But your past is around me
I know the taste of your lips
I know the motion of your hips
I know the notes of your voice
I know exactly where that birthmark
Hidden in the small of your back is
I know what every look means

Wait a minute!
So does my colleague at work
So does my sister’s best friend’s sister
All around me
Looking at me
Knowing all
When I have that after glow that comes from a night
Of being loved thoroughly
They know
They know your moves
They know what you whispered
They know what you like
What I must have done to get you off
Can I take that?
Can I handle that?

See now its his past and his connections
To our sisters that’s tearing me apart

You say these are just rules
Society’s rules
Saying it should matter
When it doesn’t matter
That we are meant for each other
To remember this is about us
You & Me
That you don’t care that when we took a break
And your cousin that’s like your brother came to console me
My cries of pain & longing for you
Became cries of passion
As I lost reason and spent hours sexing this man

You say you don’t care
Let me take your word for it
I say I don’t care either
That we are surrounded by living ghosts from our past
That our connections to our brothers and sisters have come a little too close to home

My friend, thank you for taking the time to do this.

On Robert Mugabe and Leadership.

Robert Mugabe needs a reality check. Seriously. Why an 83 year old man wants to retain an iron grip on power for the next 4 years is beyond me. Does he even have 4 years left in him?

These Africans are an annoying bunch [yes, i said that. what, you don't like it? swallow an overdose, i don't care]. Robert Mugabe has been cracking skulls and making people's lives miserable for far too long. All in aid of what? What agenda is he pursuing? Whose welfare has he made his priority?

The man has been "leading" [more like ruling] his country with an iron fist for a very long time now, so what more does he need to prove? His economy is in shambles, his people are desperately hungry, but he wants to continue ruling, and directing the affairs of state. If his state was a ship, i daresay he would have run that vessel aground by now, yet he survives. Is he a democrat? Does he really care what people think?

Robert Mugabe needs a reality check. Seriously [did i say that already?]. Why an 83 year old man even wants the hassles of government is beyond me. Why he feels that he has to hold onto the reins at whatever price is sad. It reflects an old man who has not learned any of the lessons that time should have taught him in the decades since he stopped needing breastmilk to survive. Change is inevitable, and change will happen, regardless how you try to stop it occurring - acorns will become might oaks, little chicks will become mighty soaring eagles one day. Nations will tire of their leaders and demand a change of political direction. That's life. Sons will aspire to succeed their own fathers. Life.

I wonder what he's thinking behind those glasses. Does he think that he can live forever? Chaka didn't, even though he reputedly thought that he had become immortal. Mobutu Sese Seko is no more. Nor for that matter is Idi Amin, who appointed himself President For Life in a tumultuous period in Uganda's history. Who recalls Gnassingbe Eyadema, who "distinguished" himself as Africa's longest-serving ruler? Dead. So what becomes of the trappings of power, when the imcumbent no longer has breath in his lungs, a beat in his heart? When Sani Abacha died, a whole nation erupted in spontaneous joyous emotion. We danced for months. Hastings Kamuzu Banda is also a memory in the landscape of African politics, and not a very happy one for the most part. These apparently, are the ranks of people whom Mugabe wishes to be firmly established. Well, Ferdinand Marcos was cut of the same cloth, and he died in exile. Remember Samuel Doe? Who ever saw the video of his last moments? Tragic? No. Just cold justice, served without garnish. There used to be a man called Saddam Hussein in a place called Iraq, but i hear he retired a few years ago, and now lives quietly in the country somewhere, in a nice house with a huge garden. hmmmm.

There are lessons in history for the intelligent and fearful leader to learn, lessons taught by the errors of men who squandered much goodwill to leave horrible legacies in their own wake. But power intoxicates, and in the African mind, power is a drug more powerful, and more destructive than Meth. It renders the addict helpless to fight the feeling of invincibility that it triggers in his mind. As a specie, i'd say African leaders are generally a particularly poor lot, despite the evidence that should suggest the contrary. Despite their education and exposure, so many of them revert to narrow-minded, murderous tyrannical thieving monarchs on assuming office, despite their promises to improve the lot of their people. Maybe the vast majority have to sell their souls to the devil before they can assume office. Perhaps that is the price they pay to become their nations' foremost citizens. If that is the case, i guess noone can really be disappointed if they elect the devil's own choices time after time.... Or maybe they are all just genetically flawed, or at least the bulk of them are; genetic throwbacks to a stage that scientists would have us believe exists in evolutionary theory. What other explanation is there?

Yet history serves us a few sterling examples. I love Madiba, because he set an example. However a man might judge Mandela, he showed integrity in the way he served his one term, and handed over power to a successor, so that the business of governing and order could continue. I think that man understood better than most, that the interests of the majority far outweigh the selfish desires of one man. If there is a reason why Nelson Mandela is so well respected around the world, it is because his qualities as a man show him to be an entity miles ahead of his peers. Say what you will about Abdulsalami Abubakar, he willingly relinquished the reins of power on the schedule that he set, and not once did he attempt to succeed himself. His must surely go on record as one of the shortest regimes on the continent, and i say this because he was neither forced out of power, nor carried away from his "throne" in a body bag. Say what you will about the man, he showed a measure of integrity his peers have yet to display.

Robert Mugabe was head of state when Nelson Mandela was released from prison. And he is still fighting to remain in control, long after Mandela's own successor is halfway through his second term of office. Mugabe and his cronies are still cracking the heads (and terminating the lives) of political opponents, as though this were the dark ages when kings did as they pleased. Yet i ask, are we not a continent of hapless victims hopelessly complicit in our own misfortune? Robert Mugabe is not cracking skulls on his own. He has people to do his dirty work for him, including poorly-paid police officers who go home to lament their dwindling fortunes, the uncontrollable inflation and the sheer hopelessness of their situation. and then they go to work the next day and torture the very people who are fighting to change the status quo. What fools.

Has it never occured to them to rally around these same leaders, and render the country ungovernable for robert and his cronies? Surely Robert will not drive all of the armoured tanks and man all the military vehicles by himself? How many guns could he possibly shoot? Would his government continue to stand in the face of a determined people? The people of France famously shook off the yoke of oppression 2 centuries ago, and today they are in charge of their own fates. However bad their society is today, the prospect of another revolution keeps their ruling class in check. That is teh detereent of a determined populace, something most african nations have yet to grasp, because our military turn on their own citizens and open fire, instead of running their swords through the bastards who oppress the mass.

And then i cast my eyes to the leadership of the African Union, and wonder where their opinions lie on this issue. What can they do to resolve the situation before it is too late? WIll they apply political pressure? Economic leverage? Even public condemnation would be a reaction, but that does not come. It does not come, because at the summit of african leaders, a good number of them are looking across the table at Mugabe and thinking, "almost 30 years in power, how does HE manage it? I wish i could be just like him, and find a way to silence those stupid people in my own country once and for all. Then i could be life president as well. That would be just wonderful. If only i could prevent the next elections in my country. That would be so good, a few more years to grow rich, and to enjoy all that power. Hmmmm".

No. African leaders are hardly likely to turn on one of their own, its against the rules of the club. Besides, you want the other guys to be on your own side when you also set about perpetuating yourself in power. You don't stab your only allies in the back - Professional Courtesy.

Robert Mugabe is deluded. He needs a reality check. Quickly. Or a cardiac arrest. As things stand, his legacy will be one of regret and negativity, and it can only get worse. Heaven forbid that he is hanged like Saddam (actually, if there is any justice, a hanging should be in order. A hanging and a decapitation). Yup. Death to tyrants. But Robert Mugabe needs a reality check, he has no friends, and his end is rapidly approaching. At 83, death will not tarry much longer...

words, response #3

Another Anonymous Writer hollered at me. I start to wonder if i should not go undercover as well, since people refuse to be associated with their own words. But i understand that people would rather guage the honest reaction to their words from behind the solid wall of the faceless, nameless unknown. In some respects, i think its why we have Unknown Soldiers, who represent the unidentified people who gave their lives in the course of numerous wars that man has fought since we first figured out that a stone could just as easily be used to crack skulls as to break open hard nuts for food.

Like i was saying, i understand the preference for anonymity, because it allows us to celebrate (or mourn) a cause or person without the distraction of a name or history and the prejudices which are attached with such knowledge.

This response is another interesting take on the question of our past. My writer won't let go of her past either. i love that line "your best friend, once popped my shutter", mad creative. i really like this.

Anonymous:

You say it doesn't matter,

That your best friend,

Once popped my shutter,

But I see anger in your eyes,

Every time me and your brother,

Reminisce in Laughter.

I can't help but remember the words of mama,

"Child,the world is small,

What goes around is karma",

But I was young and needed to experience the world,

Now I wish I heeded

and trod with caution

Loving you won't have to hurt so much.

Your love,is the nemesis for all my sins,

But I don't want it to be like this,

I wish you could convince me,

And make me believe what you see,

That really it doesn't matter.

Thank you (you know who you are...)

quartier latin

i love this!



this is music the way i like it.

just the way i like it. there's an acoustic guitar and drums, maybe one or two other instruments. they've kept it single, no electronic programming to distort or enhance the singing. a minstrel, or group of singers, performing their art with neither embellishment nor unnecessary accessories. the musician (s) perform live, not out of a can, and you can see the emotion going through their beings as they passionately render every sound, every note of the song. they sing without vocal acrobatics, performing beautiful music because its their talents that matter, nothing but.

i don't understand a word of what they're singing, but i imagine that it would be something meaningful, something beautiful - but i don't really care. maybe its just as well that i am truly deaf to the meaning of their song, my imagination can fill the breach between what my ears perceive, and what my language skills allow me to grasp, which is exactly nothing - its a wide wide gulf then. but then, a lot of my music is foreign to my ears as well. Most operatic music is that way (i love "O Sole Mio"); as is most of the music of Ladysmith Black Mambazo; i don't speak spanish, yet i love Enrique Iglesias, Alejandro Sainz and Gloria Estefan; just as Celine Dion, does french songs that i like; you know i love Corneille, i do (i hate you Soul). what "Mbiri Ka Mbiri" means, i couldn't tell you, but Arua taught me to sing it years ago. I recently learned the words to "Malaika" that old Swahili gem. and the list goes on, music that i don't understand, but which gets me as much as the words that i actually have comprehension of.

are you watching the video? can you see them dancing? clapping their hands? does it move you? to dance? to sing the hook, even if all you can hear is "mopao" (or something that sounds like it). does their enthusiasm capture you? dos it make you wonder what they're so excited about? its alright if it doesn't, this is me, not you; my world, not yours.

*just ignore the dodgy hairdos and horrible bleached skin, and we'd be fine* these guys would not win many beauty contests, but who cares?*

this song would be different in a studio, but here its amazing, to me. it just is. maybe i'm just a sucker for acoustic music. but i love this.

words, response #2

she says that she's a baby writer, but you would not believe that from the quality of her words. she brings a new perspective on the issue of the past and its impact on our present and future. who can forget that one person whose impact on your life was so powerful, whose presence was so consuming that it left an indelible mark on your consciousness that lights of future loves cannot erase? i remember this one person...

i have admired her for a while, because her blog is always a breath of fresh air. she's always innovating and entertaining, funny as hell too. she's also a pretty good photographer and confirmed globe-trotter. she's a gem, and a beautiful woman too, if her photographs are to be believed. She's on a blog hiatus at the moment, but she'll be back shortly, and i can't wait.

ladies and gentlemen, i'm speaking of the one and only, Mrs Alaye aka Mama Alaye, Taurean Minx.

Step to the microphone and speak missy.

T:

Connected HE says we are by six degrees of separation.

I should not dwell on past wrongs, past misdeeds, past dalliances.

HE sees me for me he says,

Who I was in the past means nothing.

But I cannot forget a time from my past

And I cannot differentiate between HIM and him

See I was crazy about him

The stranger in black

The dangerous, mysterious enticing stranger

Never had I felt such emotions running through me

He called to me, and I answered, always answered

He was appealing, this stranger in black

Like a drug I didn’t want rehabilitation from,

I felt him, dreamt him, and breathed him.

He would touch me and I would heat up

With passion, ardor, fervor

This stranger whom I knew nothing about

He was a mystery, a dark sexy mystery

But he had many secrets he kept from me

Heartbreaking secrets that crushed my heart

My open, naïve loving heart

And now HE wants me not to dwell on the past

To forget, to erase, to let go

But how can I, when all I see is the stranger in black?


to you: thanks for taking the time to write this one, and for giving me the privilege of sharing your words. thank you Taurean.

words, the response

hey,

this week i will mostly be doing rejoinders from my last post. i've read some very nice poems thus far, and its simply amazing to see how other people respond to the things i said. communication is a truly great thing, as is perspective. i guess its understandable that all of the responses i have received thus far have been written by women (where are the guys?). i like their perspective of this though.

my first in this series of Guestblogs was anonymously sent in. i respect that. i just want to thank you for sharing this one with me. i like what she (i'll assume) did with it. it made me think twice about what i said earlier. but its true, i really don't care.

“Who made these rules that they should darken the doorstep of my lady’s future. Who decreed that she could not grow from the error of a younger self?”

It was every man in her life, until you, that whispered sweet nothings in her ear.
Promising her the moon, the stars, their heart
Promises that quickly turned a mocking
That she could ever have fallen for so stupid a line.

It was every crack in her heart
Put there by some fast talking man.
Her desperation to be loved
Cause her more pain than being alone ever did.

It was every time she shed a tear
For all those cries no one else will hear.
Another man in her bed
Another man in her bed

What happens when she meets the man of her dreams?
And the fairy tale unravels at the seams
Many a boy can break a heart
But it takes a real man to put back the pieces part by part.

So when she kneels at your feet
And starts to confess bit by bit
And in her eyes you see the men that have gone before you
Can you truly, with all honesty ….

Accept her with all her transgressions
African Queen or Tainted beauty
My sweet angel or someone else’s lay
All of these become one and the same

And the lines blur
Till white and black equals grey.

i am looking forward to reading more of these. don't hesitate to send your response in, if you feel moved to say something.

monday blows

Don’t you just hate it when monday comes around and you realise that you have to face another week of the same unchanging sameness? Same boring tasks, same long week, sitting at the same desk behind that cretin who keeps farting downwind from you, so that the office ventilation system can convey the processed residue of last night’s rich dinner straight up your olfactory passages?

Yes, Monday rules!!!

I had a good weekend. Not quite the one I had hoped for, in terms of being able to veg out in front of the tv, and getting some much needed rest, but I managed to sleep a little (insomnia was on hiatus, thank God).

I went to an open mic event on Saturday night. It was simply amazing. It was one of those nights that were so powerful, the poetry and words so good, that it made me want to go home and burn my own notebook and the rather bland stuff that I fear it contains. I met Mahogany Brown. Now that woman is a powerful writer and performer. Something about the yankee accent and attitude give her delivery a power that is a life of its own.

I have a little dream in my head. A fantasy that I would love to see come true one of these days. I’d love to wake up on a Monday morning with nothing to do other than sit down and get a massage from a beautiful masseuse while sipping a glass of something sweet. At 9am. On a Monday morning. Preferably from the balcony of a penthouse suite, from where I can take in the views of people rushing to work. Soft gentle hands kneading my muscles and skin, cold glass of Cointreau and orange juice, Maxwell on the stereo, fresh fruit in my mouth, bikini-clad hottie making it all come together.

I’d love to be drunk on a Monday morning. Not the drunkenness of bums, but the content tipsiness of a successful man who has decided to take time off to enjoy himself. Now you know that no one can do indolent like the rich. Any other person would be faking it, sitting mock-pretty with a false air of contentment, under which a volcano of worry would be bubbling, because only a self-deluding mind would forget that someone would have to pay for that morning’s bit of leisure, that he could not really afford to take. But the rich? Lifestyles….

I'm looking forward to that day. Desperately. A day of peace, a time of assurance, of leisure and freedom from stress, taken without guilt because of peace of mind. One sweet day.

i've got an idea

a friend just gave me an idea, and i'd love to share it with you guys. she said she felt moved to do a rejoinder to some words that i wrote recently on this blog. i was wondering if anyone else would like to do one?

a while ago, a friend and i exchanged rejoinders, that i still love to read. i wrote some words, and she wrote a very eloquent, sizzling reply that was featured here back when i was doing the Guest Blogger series.

i thought it would be good to have that again. perhaps when you read the words, they resonated with you in some way, and you felt moved to write a reply, or tell a side of the featured stories; why don't you? i'd love to read what you have to say, and if you give your permission, i'd love to feature it here (but only if you consent). if you'd prefer to be anonymous, we can do that too, a couple of the guest bloggers opted for anonymity. Phazzed recently revealed herself as the author of the earlier post, but that was her choice, as it will be yours, if you choose to take part. and please don't tell me that you're not a poet, i have read some of the amazing stuff that you guys have written on your various blogs.

Snazzy: this is your chance to step to the plate o. i have issued an arrest warrant for you if you try to escape this one, and you know naija's mobile police don't play.

here are my words. i'm looking forward to hearing from you, what do you have to say?

Its a great big world, our home,
but it’s a small world, and it hurts sometimes,
a tiny rotating universe of 6 billion souls and we're all connected
linked, conjoined, intertwined,
by the invisible umbilical cords of our human interaction,
in six degrees of separation
that tie me, to you, my friend, sister, and brother from a different,
distant mother;
from humble beggars on the streets of Lagos and Mumbai
random strangers in Shanghai, Kabul, Zurich, Manchester and Dubai,
to the all-powerful single-minded man who sits in an oval office,
connected to the vile rapist stealing the innocence
from that young girl as we speak, of hope, tomorrow and the environment;
there's a mad man that's in our 6 degrees
and he's just come up with the cure for an old disease
but we don't know that he even exists.

The curse and blessing of our humanity is in every link
of the invisible chains that bind us,
wherever and whoever we might be, Saint, Sinner and Santa Claus
see, the sadness of the ties that connect each individual face,
affects us in different shades of influence
so that we (each of you and all of me)
-we - can't escape our pasts,
the ghosts of the things that we did yesterday,
they hang over every second of today, with the power to take
away hope and legitimate expectation from our dreams
that we might somehow find a better place
- the shit that we did before, just won't ever let us be.

Its coming home:
See, that girl that i used to mess with,
she be the cousin of that interesting woman i just met
distant relative, i just discovered, of this beautiful woman
that i've been crushing on since we first met 4 months ago
I’m digging her, falling for her like gravity’s knocking matter to the floor.
she's been on my mind, and everything is going great, or at least it was
until the past came calling, and told her that i used to fuck with the girl
who is now her best friend; sister-in-law to her brother's wife,
kin of the folk that she calls her family.
it was long years gone by when my hair was not so wise,
but she can't get down with that, because its just too close to home
- her home.
her kisses tasted like the essence of sweetness, nectar of the force that infused
the sin of high-caloric sweetness into the honey that the bees just made
but i can't taste that anymore.

it was soured by the vinegar of my past actions, misdeeds
in the places that i no longer travel. Roads no longer stalked
left far too many mud-marks on the trail of my history,
a traveller's shoes were never made clean, by the washing hands of time's passing
so it haunts me, trail-ed in the new pristine hallways that i walk
sullied, as always by the innocent actions of the younger man
who i used to be,
father of the grown man that stands in my skin.
She's afraid that we can't be, because of my history.

And its the same for her, sweet princess that i pursue
with all of my will and the urgent affection of a heart
that's been closed for far too long.
she's haunted by the secrets that she can't tell;
see, she used to be in love with a dark-skinned brother
he was the player with the swagger of a Texas Ranger
tall, handsome, broad-shouldered playa, with the ever-present air of danger
that few could resist. smooth-talker, pantie-rustler, renegade hunter
had more booty than he had a right to.
he loved more than his share of adoring women,
tainted their future with the hue of his reputation
the certainty, that if you used to fuck with Don Juan
then you must be loose with the morals
quick to introduce your underwear to the floor
facilitating closer acquaintance with his ardour.
marked all his women with scarlet letters,
sullied their records in the eyes of the watching, judging world.
she was one of them, the chaste good girl who fell in love
with the quick wit and generosity of the ebony rake
reputation gone with the wind,
but who can she tell about the broken heart?
its the dark secret of her troubled mind,
she can't deny that she might love me, its in her eyes,
but there are things that she cannot say.
she used to be the hotness that graced the sheets
of his smoothness, she's just a number, the tragedy of love unshared
people judge her, with stares and whispers, she’s tainted,
she’s embarrassed to tell me why.

But who made those rules, that they should darken the doorstep
of my lady's future? who decreed that she could not grow from the
error of a younger self? she worries that i might discover her past
but i don't care, someone should tell my love,
that my shoes used to wait for me
under some of the sweatiest beds that eyes ever did see;
I’ve done my share of things I’m not proud of
and that don't define me, anymore than the manner of injury
prescribes the destiny of a broken heart.
see, if i had known what life had planned for me,
if my head had known the certainty of destiny, of the depths
of the love that she would have for me, this woman who crossed my path
on a crowded street, i would have done things differently
maybe never chased those princesses, who turned out to be mercenaries.
of a surety, i would have been more cautious, more discerning of chivalry
and the blessings of circumspection
and never messed with her, who is the cousin of the nephew of the
distant relative of the brother-in-law, of the girl whose heart
my whole being has committed to loving without reserve.

Someone should tell her that i don't care
that she used to fuck with the guy, who is now best friend
to the man who used to date my sister, bosom buddy
of the ex-boyfriend of my last girlfriend - it doesn't matter
- why is this umbilical cord of our connection, a noose around our necks?
Someone should tell her, that sometimes we seem to be accursed
to be forever accosted, waylaid and robbed by the chains of our 6 degrees
of every opportunity to find new happiness,
for the things that we did, when our hair was much darker,
and the skin was firmer on our faces.
But the world is too small a place, to escape the ricochet
of the things that we do, when the frailty of human nature
meets the temptations of our desires; we all make mistakes,
should we all be denied the chance to pursue second chances, i wonder.
tell my lover, that i don't care, we're all connected anyway.

© 1728.05032007

please send your views and poems/words to my email ologun.smith@gmail.comw

tgif

Thank God Its Friday!

her

blog lover, soul shaker,
thought-provoking soul-sistah,
she has the sass to make a man dig deeper,
look further
for new ways to make her smile
just one more time
[one more smile baby mine].

she's spontaneous, imaginative,
positive with the attitude and unselfish,
spiritual
its no understatement to say she's beautiful,
always special [so special],
affectionately touching the depths
of my person, passionately.

from her hair to her toes
she is a black princess,
she inspires my desire
to be a good brother
champion warrior worthy
to occupy the space of honour
by her side when she's walking with her
head held high
noone can deny
that she's something remarkable
incredible,
and its undeniable that she's a
Phenomenal Woman
in the mould of her whom Maya Angelou
wrote those famous words for
my sweetheart!!!
London Buki is My Blog Bachelorette

(more to come baby!)

words

today i am self-indulgent, and i will do another repost. if you no like am, jump inside lagoon. abi? (lol)


To be with you,
close to you,
a part of you;
to belong with you;
as sweet song is to the lark,
in the way that purity
abides in morning's fresh dew,
as tides and light go with the moon.

To take the dreams from your sleep
and mould them into truth
each one a reality of three dimensions;
created, as the potter’s hands on fresh clay
that so lovingly give form to objects
alive only in his own mind.
I would make the things you imagined
Into the reality that you caress
with all of your senses
Surely this would please your heart?

Were it possible that man could,
I would frame every second of time I spend with you
To file and store in glorious thumbnails
the links through which I would
navigate the gallery of memories
we would build.
my place to visit, to unlock and relive,
in the moments
when cruel necessity dictates
that I must be apart from you;
my solace in unhappy times,
and the waypoints of an odyssey of life
Lived in your love, and at your side

These things I would ask.

To catch the rays of your sun on my face,
Everyday,
the incandescent glow of your happiness
expressed,
and manifested
directed at me.
To be the reflection that dances in those beautiful eyes
the portal into your mind,
where you hold thoughts that embrace me
my home, and refuge.

To be the seed that starts its life
in that place where love and life reside
the seed that grows,
to bloom in the smile
that lights up your face.
To paint your world in bright colours
Passionate reds, vibrant yellows
As the rainbow that celebrates
Unending life on earth
This would make me a contented man indeed

To be the first thought of your waking mind
every morning of everyday
the suggestion that you greet with gladness
this would be beyond perfect.
if you would say a prayer for me,
when you go down on your knees,
surely, a guarantee, of goodness to avail me
surround me,
bring us to a happiness that never ages

With gladness, I would crown you
Queen,
my purpose, to make you happy
everyday
until the earth grows too old
to walk around the sun;
for these things I would plead
if I had enough wishes.

I tell it to tomorrow, because today would not understand

Words from my notebook, untitled, 0732.27112005

i am he

The Bachelor.

Grand Theft Auto

i saw this on the 9connect website http://www.9jaconnect.com/ i'm still laughing.

i need a new computer. this 4-year old abacus masquerading as a laptop is just about dead now. Apple Macbook? i think so, i'm down with trying something new. i am now sick of pcs.

now, how to pay for that new Macbook is the problem. fundraiser?

WANTED: Expert Fundraiser

frustrated, unrepentant, single-minded, rebellious, contrary, underpaid graduate student is looking for an experienced fundraiser to help raise funds for a new Apple Macbook. please apply within.

the fugee trip

I finally got a chance to listen to most of the Fugees anthology last night on the long train ride back to Manchester. I got restless 1 hour into the journey and figured that listening to one of my less frequently played collections would take my mind off the misery of sitting in an over-heated train carriage for more than 3 hours as the weekend gave way for endless trudge of another day.

I love the Fugees, as a musical group. Together they were a trio of talented ground-breaking musicians who fused so many diverse forms of musical expression to create their own sound. They were never boring. Those guys did music like it was fun, as evidenced by their singles – they had remixes, and remixes of remixes which never turned up on their albums. Even when they did covers, they always put their own unique print on them, making the song their own without (in my opinion) disrespecting the original artist. One of my favourite lines from a Fugees song was,

“said I remember when we used to rock, in a project yard in Brooklyn

Observing the crookedness as it mingled with the good people we meet”

from their cover version of Bob Marley’s “No Woman No Cry”. That still one of my favourite songs ever. And of course, who can forget their famous cover of the Roberta Flack song, “Killing me Softly” which is one of the band’s biggest hits till date.

Prior to last night though, i had never sat down to listen to their entire discography, although i had played a number of songs at different times. Also, given the sheer volume of music on that iPod of mine (about 12,000 songs, my 60gb player is now full, and i'm needing to upgrade to the 80gig model) I’m sure you understand why there are songs in my library that i have never played. I finally got a chance to listen to most of the Fugees anthology tonight on the long train ride back to Manchester. I got restless 1 hour into the journey and figured that listening to one of my less frequently played collections would take my mind off the misery of sitting in an over-heated train carriage for more than 3 hours as the last hours of the weekend gave way for the new week to emerge.

I listened for 2 hours straight, and I was reminded why the Fugees were so successful during their brief time together. They had something going, between the Preacher’s Son Wyclef Jean’s slightly unusual rapping, (back in university a couple of friends called me the Lost Preacher’s Son for reasons I still cannot figure out) and Pras’ more conventional delivery, they had a good rap thing going. But Lauryn Hill was a star whose versatility gave them their unique character. Her voice was like an angel who had discovered a uniquely intoxicating human vice, she was virtue with an edge, and contributed a deep soul to the band’s music. Yet her rapping skills were equally incredible, and I make bold to say that she is one of the illest rappers that ever held a mic, regardless of gender or age. Add Wyclef’s production skills, and the Caribbean influences that were their heritage, and you had a winning sound. They had conscious rap when it wasn’t yet in vogue, they had fusions of hip-hop, reggae and soul in their albums when most albums were more monotonously themed. They were talented.

Those diverse influences remained in the bulk of their music even after they went solo. Wyclef’s debut Album “the carnival” showcased his ability to combine various genres, as did Lauryn Hill's epic debut “the miseducation of lauryn hill”. Remember that between them they managed to feature Celia Cruz, Aaron Neville, the Neville Brothers, Carlos Santana, D’Angelo, Mary J. Blige, John Legend (who did you think John Stevens was?) and John Forte, on albums that had rap, reggae, pop, soul and R & B stylings. Wyclef is still doing his thing, releasing albums featuring an arbitrary selection of artists, from Pink Floyd to Kenny Rogers, Youssou N'Dour, Mary J. Blige, Earth, Wind & Fire, Claudette Ortiz, Canibus, Patti Labelle and Missy Elliot. And that’s not an exhaustive list.

Sadly though, the music was not enough to keep the group together, and their differences eventually pushed them in different directions. Listening to their music lat night though, and getting caught up in the nostalgia of listening to their albums in the last years of my secondary school experience, I found myself thinking about what they would sound like today if they were still able to make music together. Reality tells me that it is not likely to happen however, based on my understanding of the complex relationships within the group. Even though they split up years ago, their personality differences are still present, as I observed during their reunion attempts/joint tour in 2005. Following their performances at Dave Chappelle’s Block Party, they embarked on a tour together, and they came to Manchester in late November (2005) for one night of musical magic.

They all but fought on stage, and showed each other up at every step of the way. Pras and Lauryn jumped in ‘Clef’s face to perform the intro to Lauryn’s Lost Ones.

Its funny how money changes situations!

They repeated this several times, like a mantra, shooting dark stares at Wyclef, the most successful, and wealthiest, member of a trio of hip-hop superstars. Did they really have to go there? Wyclef apologised profusely for their late appearance on stage. they were about 30 minutes late, and I wasn’t mad, previously, during that same summer I had attended a Luryn Hill concert where a precedent had been set for the punctuality of Fugees members at their own concerts. She turned up 3 hours late, and offered no apology, other than a brief explanation that she “sometimes has trouble deciding what to wear”. We booed, but she didn’t care. She went on to deliver a performance almost powerful enough to earn a full forgiveness (i still love that woman). So Clef apologised for the band, but his pointed glances at his band mates left the audience in no doubt as to who was responsible for their tardiness.

Their performance was not quite stellar, they were rusty. Plus their conflicting individual egos refused to lay low. Wyclef had to plead with Pras and Lauryn (chastising them like errant children almost) to speak to the fans and engage with them. Lauryn shot him cold looks (if looks could kill, we would have been witnesses to a homicide), and Pras decided to sit at the back with the DJ while the other duo performed. I wondered if he was ill, or just bored.

Wyclef went into the crowd, dancing, rapping, engaging, talking to the guard and leaving his clothes behind, while the others stayed safely on stage. he entertained, and made the others look bad in doing so. Not fair. But you were left with no doubts as to why he is the most commercially successful of the trio in terms of personal projects and collaborations. His work might not have the artistic and critical weight that Lauryn’s carries, but he’s been consistent. (I love you so much Lauryn, but why are you keeping me waiting for your next gem?). I’d love love to see a Fugees reunion album now though. Now that they are so rich, maybe they’d just do music the way that they love it, the way that we know they’re capable of doing it – beautifully.

The Fugees did release a single at the time, but I suspect that that’s as far as things will go. Yes, there are rumours, but I’m not sure what can come out of them. But last night I was reminded why the Fugees were such a success. I listened to fugee-la, the score, don’t cry, dry your eyes, vocab, how many mics, ready or not, rumble in the jungle, and cowboys. I was transported to another time and place. My journey passed, and when my train pulled into the station at 1am, I didn’t even realise that time had passed. Music is such a blessing. I love the Fugees.

i get kweshon

why did two of nigeria's presidential candidates have to blw flown abroad for medical treatment within ONE week?

is that not a symptom of how bad nigeria's medical system has got? why has noone asked atiku why he didn't just stay in the country? as vice president for the past 8 years, was he not part of government? what did they do for the healthcare system?

and now that they have both experienced (or avoided) the nation's healthcare deficienceis for themselves, will noone ask them what their plans are for securing a turn aorund for the benefit of the man, owman and desperate child who cannot afford to be flown out by presidential jets?

who will ask the king?

and so it begins...

the 2007 Formula 1 Season. Melbourne, Australia. for the first time in my 15-odd years of watching grand prix racing, i will be supporting a Ferrari. throughout the schumacher era, they were the last team i wanted to support, in part due to their unending dominance of the sport, but mostly due to the manner in which they wrought that dominance. something about the team didn't sit right with me, even though on the balance of things objective, they were the outfit that did their homework and produced the winning goods time and again, while their opponents sat around and tweedled their thumbs.

this year though, the cold, often unsavoury presence of herr schumi is gone from the sport, and the team, so the playing field is level once again. and now they have placed one of my two favourite drivers in one of their cars. kimi, the iceman cometh!

i really ought to make upmy mind who i suport, of alonso and kimi, but i can't. i like kimi's ability more, and i prefer him, but alonso's latin spirit stirs something inside me. so in both drivers we have the best drivers in the business, and the 2 people whom i'd most like to see crowned champion. i think i'd like to see kimi win this one, alonso has won the last two championships. its time for a change. i anticipate a tough, competitive season though.


kimi drew first blood, he's got pole position. but in second place? fernando alonso. bring it on!!!

now, as then

i don't do many reposts, because i hardly ever go back to look at my own stuff after its finished. lately though, i have found myself looking behind me, for the strength i need to go forward. tonight i looked back at the places i have been, and i realised that even though the storm that was raging at some time in the past is not the same as the one that's pounding the windows at the moment, the effect might still be the same.

who said that life would be easy?

this is an older post that i have found relevant to my current frame of mind...

passing through the eye of the storm and shielding my head from falling rocks with just my hands. deep inside of me, in the place where eternal optimism resides, i know that this too will pass, as the storms of yesterday are now just faded colours on the tapestry that is my memory; colours that are no longer as bright as the day when the threads were first painfully woven into the fabric of my existence. i have been here before, but hoped, when the moment passed, that it would be like the drops of rain that fall to earth and are never seen again.

i am unhappy.

silent night. yet another night when my eyes have no sleep, hence i have no respite from unrelenting unending presence of this truth. my thoughts reside here, in this dark hallway through which my feet are chasing themselves. step by step, step by reluctant painful step, my toes pursue my heels, conveying my eyes nearer to the journey's ending. i have no desire to see what lies ahead; if this hallway is so unpleasant to my awareness, surely its termination will only consummate the revelation of more troubles? i will my feet to stop walking. bliss.

but i do not stop my onward journey toward inevitable. the hallway conveys the future toward me. i cannot help what will be. but i see an oasis. another oasis. sweet relief. relief short-lived, and short-changed by what is not. this respite is a mirage. another false image to shatter the hopes my eyes raised two heartbeats into an instant of a moment just past.

if i could, i would find peace for my father, and ease for my mother. if the power were mine i would cause the wind to blow bliss into the sails that convey you through life’s ocean. empty thoughts such as this torment the mortal mind of a helpless man; wishes as long as the ocean’s shoreline, loving thoughts as warm as ozone-less skies.

the hour is late, and my eyes have no sleep, i worry about the things that i cannot give you. i fail. all i can do is show some love to my sister and share a hug with my brother, in the little gestures i excel, in the tangibles i fail.

i fail and i suffer for the impotence of my desires. justice is served when tired crusading eyes fruitlessly pursue the holy grail of blissful sleep, my punishment is the endless torment of knowing, that i can do nothing to alter my fate. if i loved you enough, my heart tells me, i would will it to be so. but i do, love you, enough to chase the shadows away; i do. yet the power is not within me to make this desire whole. i am tired. i am failing.

my sleepless night drags on.

i am unhappy.

words, jumbled

going through my inbox
finding, and reading old email
shadows of past conversations rehashed
and replayed, lost emotions recaptured,
examined for cracks
and the remnants of things once felt
and only half expressed,
the dark hand of regret is strong
in the errors that are now revealed
in past actions and omissions.
its a tale of old dramas being
re-enacted in my memory
this is where we used to be
each and all of you,
in relationships with the faces
of my own personality.

here its a tragedy,
regrets known and remembered;
there, a lesson learned and filed away
for the wisdom of the future to draw upon,
bank accounts of experience for tomorrow's rainy days.
a message, a light in the dark, a whispered "i love you"
totally unexpected and now forgotten, a reply, two years late,
sealed with the gratitude that the opportunity to say my piece
has not been sealed by the passage of cruel fate
"i love you too".
where did all this time go?

i was looking through my present
for the tie that binds me to you,
but it was hidden from me, insistently
conspiring to conceal itself deep in the vaults of my memory
and so i searched the record of my conversations
but it was not there to be found either,
elusive, perhaps illusory,
like the prospect that you might one day belong with me.
i could not find you in my inbox, in my heart
nor in the tangibility of things perceived in three dimensions.
only in the barely remembered promise
that you might never have made,
have i found you, and even then,
there was darkness, but no light
to guide my footsteps to you through the distance.
there is no point looking in the past,
so i delete the memories and embrace reality
and the future;
yesterday is no more
- but do you remember the time?


incoherent babbling from a distracted mind. i ramble, and amaze myself when i don't make sense to my own self. 1705.15032007