A Perfect Man

He was not
A perfect man.
I would not
Lie to you
And say he was.

He was a man
As imperfect as the next.
He was a man
Who understood the value
Of hard work and
The rewards of hard work.

He was a man
Who grabbed the opportunities
That life presented him
And took advantage of them,
Never looking back
Always looking forward.

He was a man
Who saw this island change
From one of sugar cane and grounds
To one of hotels and commerce.
From one of donkey carts
And motor bikes
To one of trucks
And mini vans.

He was not
A perfect father.
He did not cuddle
Or shower his children
With praise,
But he showed them
How to work hard,
How to aim beyond the moon
And reach for the stars.

He was a man,
Who took pride
In the success
Of his children,
Wanting them to be
More educated,
More well read,
More well spoken
Than him.

He was a man
Who provided
For his family.
He provided
Shelter,
Food,
And the knowledge
And desire
To surpass what
He, himself, had achieved in life.

No, he was not a perfect man,
But there is a small part
In me that believes
That God does not take
Imperfect people.

It is when we have achieved
Perfection,
It is when we have learned
All that we are here to learn
That God takes us home.

He may not have been
A perfect man,
But in death,
He achieved perfection.

Today, my grandfather is being laid to rest. This is the poem I am reading during the funeral service.

Wake Them

Wake them!
Wake them from
Their dreamless slumber.
A slumber with
Eyes wide open
And minds tightly shut.

Wake them!
Wake them from their desires
To remain boxed in
In Xboxes and PSP’s
In IPhones and Crackberries.
Connected with friends,
But truly, are they connected?

Wake them!
Wake them from a new world
Constructed solely for their minds,
Paying no attention
To their bodies and souls.
Connected and yet
Disconnected from the world,
From themselves.

Wake them,
And let them rise and shine
With the greatness
All men possess
To imagine,
To innovate,
To create,
To invent,
To be better that
The people they believe
Themselves to be.

Let them shine
With the awareness
That life is of
Their own making
And not something
Constructed by society
And thrust upon them.

Let them shine
With the desire
To make this world
A better place
For their children and grandchildren
And in turn inspire
Those children to take that desire
And change the world.

Wake them!
Wake him and her!
Wake you and me
And let us rise and shine.


I did this poem for a spoken word competition with the theme being “Wake them and let them rise and shine”. Unfortunately, I went to the wrong venue and never got to read/recite this poem. There will be other competitions.

Baby Went Home

weheartit

Borderline
Alcoholic sitting at the bar
Sipping on a Gin and Tonic,
Trying to give the impression
Of a seasoned drinker.

The liquor
Visited her tongue
And slipped down her throat
And immediately wished
She ordered whiskey.

She wanted to savour
Each delectable note,
Just before it burned
Its way down,
Hopefully,
Burning away her sins,
Her fears,
Her past.

She spun the tumbler around,
Thumb pushing,
Fingers pulling,
A whirlpool forming.

“Come home, baby.”
The words echoed
In the cavern of her mind.
She wanted to go home but ……

Would he forgive her?
Could he forgive her?
Did he still love her?
Could he love her?

“Come home, baby.”
The words came out of nowhere,
Strong arms enveloped her
And pulled her into a warm embrace.

She was afraid
To turn around,
To face him,
To look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry, I..”
“Shh! It wasn’t your fault,
Come home, baby.”

“Are you mad?”
“I was mad,
I won’t lie.”

“Can you forgive me?”
“I already did.
I love you.”

“I love you,”
She turned around
Finding the familiar expression
Or love written across his face.

Such an intimate moment
In such a public place.

Fingers entwined,
They left the bar
Leaving a half full glass of
Gin and Tonic.

Baby went home.

I Had To Share

vi.sualize.us

Convince Me

Convince me
That you are worthy
To exist in my space,
Proving that you are not
Another brother with a cute face.

Convince me
That you are man enough
To stand by this woman,
Not a little boy
In grown folk’s clothing.

Convince me
That I am the queen
You’ve been waiting for
And that you’re not another hoodie
Looking for a hood rat
To be birthing your babies.

Convince me
That I don’t need
Diamonds and pearls,
What I would find in you
Is worth ten times
Those baubles and glass.

Convince me
That you see the God in me
And that you want to show me
The God in you.

Convince me
That you are the man
Who would stand beside me,
In front of everyone we knew,
Professing your love for me.

Convince me
That you will protect me
From everything and everyone
Who would hurt me,
Even if everyone
Includes me.

Convince me
That in the beginning
And the end,
I am you one and only
With no talk of women on the side.
You are allowed to make mistakes,
But your mistakes should never
Become habits.

Convince me
That you are man enough
To be the father of my kids,
Showing them how a real man
Loves a real woman.

Convince me
That if we had something,
It would be a relationship,
That it would be the real thing,
Not two people playing house
Waiting for something better
To come along.

But if you can’t convince me,
You better be on your way,
Because I’m not going to
Waste any more time on
Another trifling brother.

But if you can convince me
Of most, if not all these things,
I am willing to convince you
That I’m worth keeping.


A couple of days, my grandfather passed away and that evening I assessed the womenfolk of the family and I saw an underlying similarity. Now when I saw womenfolk, I’m talking about blood relation to my grandfather. What I noticed is that all of them were not in a strong relationship, so I assessed my own life and realized where I fell down in that area.

My grandfather didn’t have his father in his life and as a result he never received love from a father. He also didn’t know how to give that love; as a result my father didn’t learn how to give that love. We all know about the idea of Daddy’s little girl, but we don’t realize it is by being daddy’s little girl that we know that we are princesses, that we are of value. Take away that, and we grow up to be women who don’t know our value and take up with any old, no good man. Just give us a little love and we hold onto it like it is a million dollars.

In a couple of weeks, my grandfather’s remains will be put to rest, and at the grave yard I’m going to leave all those negative beliefs. The poem above is my anthem, I want a man to convince me that he is worthy of me, because I am worthy and if he can’t convince me, he can run that game some where else.

When I Think Of Amanda

My Modern Met

Red coat,

Black boots.
That is what I remember
When I think of Amanda.

It was one of
Those spontaneous days
When we would hop in the car
And drive to nowhere in particular.
We would drive.

It was only
When something caught our attention
That we would stop.
Sometimes, a food place
We wanted to try.
Sometimes, an amusement park.
Sometimes, a friends home.

This time it was the seaside.
We got out of the car
And walked along the shore
Playing truth or dare.

I dared her
To jump up and down,
I chose to tell her the truth
That I loved her.
This made her jump
Without being dared to do so.

That day,
Changed the dynamic of our relationship.
That day,
We learned that we loved each other.
Red coat,
Black boots
Is what I remember
When I think of Amanda.

Je T'Aime

The city stretched out
Before us
And the Sacred Heart
Stood behind us
Perched on the hill
Known for its windmills.

This city felt like home,
Its essence vibrated
In my veins
And I felt a connection,
A love that tied us together.
Still, I was scared.

I felt Jean's breath
On the back of my neck
Just before he wrapped
His arms around me.
His warmth enveloping me.
His scent filling my lungs.

"Ne me quitte pas."
The words slipping from his tongue
And kissing my ears.
I didn't want to leave him,
I didn't want to leave the city,
But I was leaving the next day.

A lone tear fell
And I wiped it away.
I won't let him see me cry.
I turned and returned his embrace,
Reaching up and kissing him.
Every moment recorded
And filed in my brain.

The evening started her
In front of Le Sacre Coeur
In Montemarte,
And ended with us holding on
For dear life in a mess of sheets.
My last thoughts before slumber
Escaped my lips.

Je t'aime, Jean.
Je t'aime, Paris.

In This Place

My Modern Met

Sometimes,
The world can be
So overwhelming.
Life can be
So overwhelming,
Leaving me
With the desire
To curl up
In my bed
And shut out everything,
Everyone,
Every emotion.

Just when I am
At that breaking point,
I grab my keys,
Toss my cell
And jump into my ride.

Within half an hour,
I am standing
On rocky ground
Looking out
At a watery horizon.
I return to the the one place
That saves me,
Brings me back
From the edge.

The Trade Winds
Fills my lungs
Recharging every atom
In my being.

The wails of the dead rise
From their watery graves
Reminding me that
I should be grateful
That I am alive.

In this place,
All my senses
Are engaged.
I see and hear the waves crashing,
I smell and taste the salty spray
And I feel the wind
As it rushes by.

In this place,
I am renewed
And can now take on
The world.