Ode to a Mother

April 20, 2012

I look to you for answers to
the deepest of all questions.
I’ve known no-one to speak so true
as you, or give such rich suggestions
that now, I ne’er act without first thought to you.

You are to me eternal truth
you bear the secrets of the universe
the knowledge you posses, so diverse,
of God, there could ne’er be a greater proof.


iv. Prayers

July 11, 2011

My poems
are my prayers
Every time my pen
touches page
my soul lies prostrate
at the feet of my God
for it is God
the almighty creator
that gave me the power of creation
God gave me the vision
to change the world
with my words
and so every time my pen
touches page
I supplicate
I ask for my words to be read,
to be understood
I ask for my readers to be moved
that this world might somehow
come to reflect
my verse
or that my reader might be moved
to improve
for himself or for humanity.

My Poems
are my Prayers
and every time I speak a rhyme
it is a hymn
in honour to my god
for it is God,
commander of the word,
that gave me the power of speech.
God gave me the voice
to command my people –
God’s people.
A voice
to lead a revolution
a voice
to teach a generation
a voice
to sing in veneration
a voice
to show our celebration
of the Universe
we have been given.
Every time I speak a rhyme,
I show the people
how to live
how to love
how to create
for the betterment of man,
woman, child, Earth
and the Universe.

My poems
are my prayers.
Every line I write,
every verse I commit to the page
becomes another installment
to the scriptures of a people
living to understand their god.
Every metaphor
becomes another
name for the creator.
Every metre, every foot
is a prophecy.
Every tear in the eyes of my readers,
every laugh on their lips,
every smile and every frown
is a declaration of faith,
an observation of greatness,
a transcendence,
an ascension.

My Poems
are my prayers.
They are thanks
for the gift
of The Word.

ii. Blind

July 6, 2011

Faith is blind.
Faith is the belief
in that which you can not prove.
Faith is the belief
that with God,
you can not lose
and if Faith were truly blind
then there would be no losing
for there would be no competition
for there would be one people
under Faith.

Yet, Faith is not blind to
race or religion.
Faith distinguishes
colour and creed
more boldly
than any other conviction.

Faith builds armies
to defend itself
from itself
and when the soldiers clash
they are but individuals
fighting blindly in the belief
that they are fighting
boldy underneath
the banner of Faith
and when the battlefield
is littered with the corpses of man
it is Faith that survives
to fight again
because Faith is always on
the winning side.

Faith is not blind
for Faith has too many faces
too many appearances
too many boundaries
too many pages
and every one contradicts the next
and for every discrepancy
in every text
man is ready to take up arms
to protect
his Faith’s context.
So that Faith,
the great uniter of man,
is the very reason
for conflict, death and destruction.

Faith is not blind
for Faith cannot ignore
that some believe in one God
and some believe in more;
Some believe in Heaven,
Others in reincarnation;
Some believe in God on earth
while others believe God is too pure.
And when Faith disagrees with Faith,
Faith cannot let be.
So, while they all preach peace
they’re all maintained by war.

Faith is blind
for Faith cannot see
that though we worship differently
and speak to God
with a different name
Faith is Faith, all the same.

xxix. Free & Fate

February 13, 2011


For far too long he fought the fearsome fight for freedom from himself,
Finally finding favour in the farthest fathoms of his failure,
For failing without falling was the feat that freed him,
Freed him from that fellowship of fools infected with self-offense.




Her faith in fate meant she forwent finding anything firsthand; never forging, forever following.

xxvi. Abandoned

February 9, 2011

The saddest thing I ever saw;
That made me shiver to behold;
That cast all faith I had to sea;
That turned my body cold:

A rat before me on the road,
While driving home one night.
She saw the headlamp closing in;
The rat stopped dead in fright.

Her baby swaying by the scruff,
The mother froze as fear coursed through.
That I was slowing down, she could,
Not know, and so her terror grew.

Still bathed in golden head-lamp glow,
Her senses suddenly returned;
She knew that it was time to flee,
Or else her stint would be adjourned.

And just as soon as she had stopped,
The mother into action jumped.
And here, the kernel of my tale;
The reason that my spirit slumped:

With little time to think or act,
That mother with her child in arm,
She dropped her baby to the ground,
And ran to shelter, safe from harm.

The young was stranded, left to face,
Whatever fate I might have been,
As mother ran away to hide.
The saddest thing I’ve ever seen.

xi. Counting Novembers

January 14, 2011

A mother remembers,
She’ll never forget,
Counting Novembers,
And candles not lit.

Drowned in dismay,
The time idles past,
Here comes a third birthday,
As sad as the last.

No cards on the fireplace,
The calendar bare,
No children play chase;
There’s no party here.

Counting Novembers,
And bearing the sorrow,
No cheerful new members,
No need for tomorrow.

The dining room table,
A seat always spare,
Dad never able,
To lay breakfast there.

The bed he won’t sleep in,
A room never dusted,
The hate they can’t keep in,
At a God no more trusted.

No chance to move on,
No dousing the embers,
No mercy at hand from,
Counting Novembers.



Inspired by the following quote:

“My baby would have been three now. Each year, we remember the time in our own way. We talk about the birthday in November that will never be written in the calendar. It feels like there will always be an empty space at our table, a bedroom that was never slept in . . . I’m not sure I’ll ever stop counting Novembers . . .” ~
 A mum