Sunday, January 3, 2010

Been in need of some Poetic respiration...

Inhale Inspiration,

Smells of green sprouts

New thoughts begin to bud and beam

Words take life

From lips are formed and take flight

light up the skyline like an array of colourful kites

Strung along by song birds and beat box bees,

Poetic vibes from smokey trees

Drift, drift and settle

In the dips of eager ears,

And curls of kinky hair,

Settles, and is absorbed

Like rain on thirsty land,

Like the touch of a lovers hand

It sends shivers down spines,

Flares in once darkened minds,

Gives sight to the once blind

Pollinates your mind

You’ll find all you need to do is take a moment and

Feel, heal, smell, taste, hear, be real

Take a moment to breath,


Set in motion poetic respiration.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Untitled Slam off the top of the dome

In a place where bare thighs
Lustful eyes
Are vivid in the daytime everyday social scene
Its hard to continue rockin your old crocs and jeans .

In a place where money crowns you king of the jungle,
And more than just two can do the sexual tango
Its hard to relate to the opposite sex,
Especially if your not after their sex…

In a place where faces are made up in make up
And boobs aint boobs if they cant fit into a C cup,
Its hard for a sister to be seen naked,
Or be noticed if she doesn’t look like she gonna give it up…

In a place where the poison is in plenty and sweet,
And seemingly innocent sweets are Viagra tweaked,
It’s hard to stay sober,
Or know whether you’re standing behind the boundary or if you’re already over it!

In a place where the past is hard to get past,
And old friends with strings are still attached to your Ship’s mast,
It’s hard to just let go and go with the wind,
Hard to touch someone else when you’re still wearing his ring.

In a place where small talk is common
And smooth lies are a popular side dish right after fries,
It’s hard to have a real conversation,
Because getting to know a person isn’t often the main motivation.

It’s hard to maintain your essence and stay fresh
When you’re on heavy rotation
Trying out different selves in attempt not to stay on the shelf,
Sex sells.
Cultures based on retail.
What else can you do but accelerate when you’re on a high way,
Apart from keep your hands on the wheel
Steady, otherwise you might derail…

Monday, September 28, 2009

Slam Poetry

So i get a heads up on a slam poetry night on this wednesday in KL, and ended up chatting to one of the brains behind the whole thing, and like as if i needed any convicing i decided that i was going to be there, front and centre! Maybe with a peice of folded up paper of poetry, just in case the urge to jump up on stage surfaces.
as you can tell i'm super excited to be going, googled the place and evrything! Its just that with the loads of poetry i had, i couldnt pick one! So that meant i had to drop (if anything will be dropping) something fresh.
So I put on my mellow poetic vibes, sat in a dark room, smokey with thoughts,
and i wrote:

Third world demons
Entwined in the curls of afro hair
Cast deep set shadows
On the faces of 'the dark people'
From the black continent.

I’m sure you’ve heard of them,
Seen them, know them…

Figures with hollowed eyes,
Coated with a buzz of flies,
Media lies…
Curled up looking all diseased and sickly,
But I am not sick.
The parasite makes me sick,
The Alcohol makes me weak,
The poverty makes me meek.

The shackles were broken a long time ago,
By freedom fighters,
But Still, laying on the dungeon floor,
A heap, unbound
with so much potential to be so much more…
But still laying on the floor,

In battle with myself over
Whether the arm or leg,
Banyankore or Buganda,
Malaysian or Indonesian,
Africans, European, Asians
Is more superior?

What is more superior?
Is it the neck or the head?
Or is it just what we are fed
Aren’t we all part of the same body,
Same country,
Same ethnicity,
Same human beings?

Just organs,
Of different biological functions
But all made of cells?

Is Black really dark,
Or is it our own shadows that tint us?
Sometimes we act possessed,
Most of us are media obsessed,
Used and confused,

Side-effects of
Third world demon mind tricks.

Usually my poems are short and sweet, but i made this a little hevier, longer, "slam-ier" (if such a word exists).
currently untitiled, but nomiated to be the poem i perform at my first open mic ever...

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Locked out...

Little black girl
In a big bad world
Sat in the doorway
Head bowed,
Arms warped around her knees,

Alone, locked out.
He invited her in.

Swung the door open and approached, her
Nose flared, trying to catch the smell of coffee, sex, ill intent…
The air was clear, but her mind was fogged with conditioned stereotypes
That cast shadowy figures of black erections and beady black eyes in dark alleyways
Wifebeaters, blunts and beer,
A sense of fear
Was her initial reaction to him,
a brother, neighbor, possible friend, possible rapist,

He invited her in,

Offering her a place to wait until the locksmith came
She smiled and said no.
She was fine, although she really wasn’t,
She’d rather wait it out, alone
Than in a room of black men.

He opened the door,
She closed it and sat in the doorway
Locked out.

Saturday, September 5, 2009


Streams of brain matter pour into steel molds,
Shaped, to fit into the System,
Tested, to see if they’ll hold,
Disciplined, to do as their told,
Rejected, if they melt, crack or fold
But if they survive the engraving of education ,
They are passed down the assembly line,
Until a suitable use for them is found,
A lifetime bound,
A career.

They claim they’ve ‘found themselves’,
‘Realized what they were born to do’,
Programmed to do,
Certificates issued and tagged,
Then ejaculated into the job market
Like sperm swimming to survive,
to sell, themselves.

Some get sold,
Like hot cheap pussy on a cold and lonely night,
Some stock up,
In the unemployment warehouse, Until:
They are bought at a lesser value,
Get too old to fit in the carton,
Break out or get broken,
Or simply rot.
It doesn’t matter,
either way we are replaced
by better-stronger- faster-sluttier-dumber-younger
living products.


Friday, August 7, 2009

Ready made paintings for sale (Just add water) lol

So a friend of mine has all these paintings crowding in his room which he wants to get rid of, so i thougt why not put them on my blog, see if anyone is interested in them.
They are pretty big and price is negotiable so ya...holla at me if you are interested. (send me an email at if you dont want to put you number/contacts out there for potential stalkers to pick up) or simply leave your contact under the comments and i'll get at you soon. (we can fedex them too for those beyond borders). LoL.

'The Red drape of Motherhood' - Going at 200,000/= (negotiable)

'Dusk of boyhood' - 180,000/= (negotiable)

'under her wing' - 150,000/= (negotiable)


Friday, July 24, 2009

Where dogs go to die

You drew me out
As a blade would pressed to flesh.
Cloaked in the tantalizing nature of death
Like a night light to insects
You induce a deadly attraction,
A pleasure from pain,
Of which only you are to gain.

Stirring an urge
Deep in the wombs of women,
You thread a sorrowful scent of helplessness
By the careless flicker of your tail
Which you knew would be difficult not to trail

A dying dog
In search for its final resting place
I follow, at first, at a distance
Till you find a peace with me;

We share an intense intimacy
As you let me watch you
Undress your wounds
And dress them in pieces of me
Remained stained in your blood
Bound to your side
A bandage you bled through
Now used, healed and discarded,
Left only with a slashed scar, a reminder of you.