Eyes Closed

When I close my eyes, I see butterflies gliding by, their wings on fire leaving a trail of smoke like a jet on a blue midday sky
I see a ballerina doing a pirouette on broken legs with mangled toes
I see doves with their bodies pure white, dripping crimson red from their garbled wings
I see a rose turn into ice and explode causing the garden to become a colourless wasteland
I see a man’s tongue wrapped around his neck as he garrote on his own half truths.
I see shadows follow the words I love you like angels of the damned as they voorste you to your conscious dissolution.


Afriad to Sleep

Last night conscious death eluded me
Snatched away just before the numbing
Fear of shadows dressed in camouflage
Demons waiting to take my body
Leaving my soul to wonder forever
Green yellow and gold raindrops burn my skin
Red, white and blue fog stifle my existence
Spirits on fire with patriotism
Innocence alight in the orange glow
Creeping in the dusk, laying low at sunrise
Spitting fireworks from the hip
Venom of indoctrination from the lips
Only for love of the world
Hoping that this love sets the world free.


Turned Around

I am flying with fins

Sleeping while crossing the street

Walking with my fingers

Hearing melodies through my eyes

Seeking shelter from the rain with my hair

Uttering sentences backwards to a priest

Sprinting on my knees

This is what the world looks like

When we fight for peace

POEMS Storyteller

Sleeping butnot Alone

Sometimes your past plays out in your dreams
A demonic Daja Vu
A reminder that lives in your soul
And surfaces when you have the least control
Sometimes a mellow personality
Can be angry only in dreams
Jealous only in dreams
Hate only in dreams
For if this dream was reality
It would be devastating to others
That’s why I keep my dreams to myself
Its my therapeutic nother world
Where the past lives
So that the present can be protected.


Stop World

Life passes like clouds across the tropical sky
The days come and go like a whisper in the wind
A storm roars in from the ocean with thunder laughing
The leaves whistle a melody in the trade winds
The stars cry across the sky
And as the world dances across my memories
Just for a moment, it stops
There you are.


The New World

These day, we exist in a culture with vain aspirations

Eagles with wings too heavy to take flight

Sheep with gold nuggets for eyes

Horses with legs too short to gallop.

We are not a reflection of every creature around us

For we are inhibited by our own intelligence

Fooled by our own wisdom

Short changed by cultural structures

Misrepresented by conflicting spirituality.

And yet we keep on believing

While prejudice takes the place of pride

POEMS Storyteller

Left Behind

Tonight I had a dream I was standing in a field and the ground beneath me was moving, like an escalator but without the steps. I stood and watched grass then mud, then streets move under my feet, yet I stood still. It seems like the earth was in a hurry to get somewhere and wherever it was going I was being left behind.


Nice and mellow for your early evening

Ohhh yeah I remember sitting in the varasndah, with the sun retreating behind the hill behind Trini’s house. The barking of the village dogs, the on and off dreadful singing, well mumbling of the drunk in the house across the way. The mumbling of the children playing cricket in the gravel street. And on the boom box, a smooth, mellow ridim like this one playing. Ahhhh yes man, Sit there, all mellowed out, listening to good sounds, watching the world change colours.

Pics with verse Storyteller

Surrender (October 1983)

Surrender (October 1983)

Surrender, surrender. Defeated before it began, freedom is make believe, lesson learned, you can’t fight for peace, the words fight and peace should never be in the same sentence. Just like the words hate and love. So we surrender, no choice, the sword is mightier than compassion, so I raise my had, and my soul escapes through my finger tips, and settles where the trickle down effects stops, right above the heads of the Third World peasants, seven feet up, seven feet down, that’s the poverty line, a giant left with his soul sitting on top his afro hairstyle, a spiritual man with freedom at the tips of his dreadlocks. Lets have freedom so we will never have peace.

POEMS Storyteller

Let the Night

Let the Night

Let the night fall upon us, cover what ugly man has managed to create while awake.
Let the darkness engulf us, so all we hear is the sounds of the night
For sometimes it is better to hear than to see
Let your imagination create your world
No TV, no radio, no video games no modern distractions
Just you, the world, its melodies and darkness