heart

The Man with One Chair

The man with one chair

Likes to sit alone

One will catch a glimpse of him

When the worn out country sun

To the horizon, has gone

The man with one chair

A beer for company

But in his thoughts

Miss Alabama, is wandering

Can you fathom this mystery?

That man with one chair

Won’t be alone for too long

Till sweet lil’ Miss Alabama

Goes sashaying his way

Wowing just enough, to capture his gaze

A capture of two now in her trove

The man with one chair

May soon give out his seat

Props out to Miss Alabama

For stealing his gaze, his heart and now, his chair

“I know I can trust you, but…”

Trust, like a tree in autumn

Questioned by the unknown

I know I can trust you, but…

Said branches to leaves

Said leaves to branches

Trust may break

Trust may be shaken

Trust may be lost, completely

Like a leaf in autumn,

One may feel betrayed

When suddenly let go

By whom they thought as their backbone

High up on cloud nine

Left to a plunging, cold fall

Like a branch in autumn

One may be shockingly abandoned

By leaves that leave

One may be made a fool of

By leaves that threaten to leave

That may be you, shaken, broken inside

Trust, like a tree in autumn

Broken by the unpredictable

I know I can trust you, but…

Pockets

A day at a time

A tear that will dry

There is a reason,

There is a season

But still there is despair

A hug to say all is fine

A word of encouragement

To calm a racing mind

But there will still be that moment

Hands in pockets, and emptiness felt

Such is a revisiting sorrow

That comes in waves

Such is a daunting anxiety

That comes uninvited

Such is the guilt felt

For shifting the mood

So I ask that you bear with me

You jolly soul, best friend, confidant

One day it may be well

One day the pockets may be filled

With something other than emptiness

Something worth remembering,

Something that will carve a smile

Inspired By Thaxted

Dawn sweep away the perils

That chided me in sleep

Praying and crying out, though nasal

My Saviour, He hears me weep

Turned on side, pillowing my fears

The stillness, so loud, envelops

Reminded of a hymn to repress the tears

Gathering courage, to never give up hope

The day is bursting through

And the remnants of night, they fade

Flee away you woe, perhaps one or two

For today we choose joy, and will not trade

Undoing

To know that, she’s had you

Over and over

I want to understand

When you say you’re committed

Just how many times must I have you

To teach your body something new?

I say that I’m fine, but these words…

Need undoing , revealing that I’m not

Miss Shelly

Miss Shelly

I call her

For she’s spared these eyes

A humbling moment

I hope that I too

Will someday be a Miss Shelly

She’s clothed in dungarees, blonde hair in a messy bun

She cradles her wee one, who’s also matching her khaki jacket

Miss Shelly

Ever so protective

Very much the doting mother

She loves on her little one

And me? I watch

Till his eyes meet mine

Baby chuckles in delight

What a wonderful sight to behold

Ah Miss Shelly!

She’d do anything for him

She’d put herself last

Miss Shelly, go on and be blessed

And I can’t help but think

Of all the purest connections

My eyes have made

With the very young and innocent

I wish they’d remember

I wish that, this could someday make them smile

I wish they’d know, how for a few minutes

They had made a stranger’s day

Blues

In a world of chaos

Some are choosing their blues

The big ones, the little ones

And they ponder in recluse

So be wary and considerate

That you know not their fate

For some have slept

Only to wake and walk

Walking, but not existing

For some have dreamt

A thousand dreams, yet still sulk

Moping in misery

And for some, they are hoping

For a glimpse of a miracle

Hands clasped tightly

As they mumble prayers of petition

And as for the writer,

She cries out for reassurance

Tonight, feeling weighted more

By the littlest of blues

He held her close…

He held her close and she lay her head on his chest. The silence competing with the tension, till the latter could no longer bear it. Counting three breaths, she mouthed, “Are you sure we’re not lost in ourselves?”

He held her close and she cuddled up to him, like a koala baby and its mother. In that moment, nothing could shift attention from a bond, formed over distance, over texts, over a forged, genuine love. A bond, now released to temperaments and the intricacies of the human connection

He held her close and they experienced a feeling so familiar, previously emanating in waves, now static. This was home, their home. This love had traveled and finally arrived at its final destination. Sunflowers had always been her favourite. Today in full fictitious bloom, they gave their approval. Joy has cometh

Night of…

Night of laments

So why do I see the stars?

For every mistake, a choice I made

Night so contoured

Why do I sense hope?

The haze, slowly fading into the horizon

Night, of…restoration

Certainly must be

Regrets are in the distant

How many more sighs

Gone are the hours of yesterday

And dawn, knocks behind the window pane

Before we let her in,

There are some matters to resolve

A worrisome heart and a pondering mind

Loud is the silence

But louder is The Voice

Beseeching and reassuring,

That we worry not about the morrow

And spare some minutes to rest

But stubborn as we are,

Owing to our human nature

We toss, turn and fret

And try to reconcile with hope,

With one question taunting, “How many more sighs, Lord ?”

While Minding My Business

A fortnight later

And he’s gifted me

A glimmer of hope

This, while simply minding my business

He could be the one

But he often disappears

Then I’m left to ponder

My only warning, being a moment’s notice

Then he reappears

As if to make amends

My heart jumping with joy

As if to tell me, “Didn’t I say so?”

Who does he think he is?

Leaving me in disarray

Telling me about his day

Then gone in a whiff

I better stay calm

Guard this heart of mine

Lest she warms up to him

For the grandest of falls

A fortnight to come

I may be left morose

And so maybe it’s time

To dish out my trusty detachment

Doubt

Babies, pure till they meet the world

But what is and isn’t doubt, before it’s stripped ?

We only then will know

When the medium that bears it

Is cast away

Drumroll, drumroll please…

I give you, present to you, the benefit of doubt

Let the innocence of the white snow

Make all seem without flaw

Let their footsteps

Reveal a sense of direction

But in reality

There is a story to every footstep

There is no doubt, but this, you do not see

Till the snow melts away

Till the footsteps no longer tread one way

Till the footsteps of a stripped innocence

Come knocking at your door

In an unexpected cold winter

To serve you back

Leaving no doubt, whatsoever

My black sunglasses

Legon Botanical Gardens. Circa 2018

There are so many eyes on me

So many stares, so many labels

There’s something about black

Black sunglasses

Boosted confidence?

Possibly

Black to go with everything?

Definitely

Protection from harmful sun rays?

Guaranteed

But none of these is the reason

For my copping of a pair

For as timeless as they may have made me out to be

There was something that I didn’t want the world to see

Broken Wells

I know a thing or two

About broken wells

Consequence

Of a broken heart

Quenching their thirst

I know a thing or two

About the broken-hearted

Drawing and drawing,

The well, almost bare.

And when broken, none seems to care

I know a thing or two

About these two, broken well, broken heart

But I wish I had earlier known

That one would leave

Right after the mend and quench