Soon you’ll hear the story of how everybody died
when no one told the truth
about how everybody lied,
how we all felt pain
how everybody cried
why we all failed
though everybody tried,
how God was on everybody’s side
even though the devil
pretended to be everybody’s guide,

narrow was the way but
everybody’s wide
we are all sheep, but everybody’s wild
we are all sheep, but everybody’s wild



there you are, bending over backwards
but never breaking.
your elasticity is limitless,
it pleases you to please
even at your displeasure (you are often displeased).
you are a mobile servant; an iService,
serving all eyes. even the blind (to your love)
and unkind (to your hurt).
your pretence hides like raging hormones
in plain sight but
you have a heart that truly gives.

you are pretending to be you
(a subservient you)


Image source: ohgizmo.com

About you?


I started this paragraph
with you on my mind
as my muse
my tool
my obsession
your author
your fool,

the more I write,
the less (0r more) it is about you,
you become an element
in my periodically wandering
mind, mixing up with gases,
recreating a stressful recollection;
a streak of love, and lust
and compliments unrequited,
eulogies reduced to flattery,

love turned into lawful battery
because I gave you my beater
and you beat it to brokenness
till it was beat; exhausted…

It seems you are always
on my mind, mocking me
with the images of empty
vases where roses once lived.
chastising me
maybe it is always about you,
this poem, and or the next one
or maybe poetry is my true love.

perhaps you are a poem


Photo credit



In the vast forests of Sagumu
In the city set upon a hill,
I lost myself in the valley bowl
Of youth, and landfill

Riverine spirits unbound
Brought my bones to chill
Failure came, trials tried
But my peace was still

That’s just the way it is
No matter how you feel
Life is an ocean of sharks
and I was prey for the kill

But in despair, nostalgia lives
Laughter defeats the tears
And though my wistful sorrow
I wish to roll back the years


Conversing with Chuck (My shoes & I)


I want to have CONVERSE-ations with you,
Our words will be TAYLORed around
the places we have been –
The salty sands of Brighton’s beach,
Buckingham’s antiquarian roads,
and the posh & jaggy routes of Lagos.

I have worn you to tear,
But as ALL (the) STARS behind your soul (sole)
Fade to light,
I hope you know that I
Never meant (mean) to hurt you,
My beautiful black shoe.

Today, I will wear you again
and tear you some more.
Good luck, Chuck,
Good luck!


Pastor Bola’s Acrostic

Over the earth’s moon
My humble heart will soar
Over the sun, and all the
Beasts that roar.
Over the hurdles that
Life cruelly lays –
Always will I jump,
Never falling, always
Landing on my feet,
Ever striding


May this always be true for you, My dearest P.B (Omobolanle)

Love Handles

Her stomach hangs loose,

She wants a doctor

to cut her open and button up that belly –

But her husband loves Love handles

and is alright with cellulite.

When she was young,

boys would catcall at her feline kinesics – 17, 18, 19, 20.

She was lepa with a touch of shandy

but her collarbone was obvious,

and her mother said that African men

like something to hold on to,

so she ate her way into

a figure that was not hers, but met a man

who loved that figure.

She hates her drooping-sides

but her husband loves Love Handles


That you should love yourself for yourself regardless, for love comes for us all.