Anonymous Expose’:

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Trust and Betrayal:

Those evil, sly, slippery, slithering

Snakes crawl into your inviting

Open door – intent on doing

The most damage: lurking, lisping

Latched on to life’s bright, shining

Light and the pleasant scenes of 

Love’s forever-ness, and well blessed


What galls, and frightens

me, is: not a complete

Sentence about the work

I sent you – about your work

Which opens a lot of crevices

And cracks, which I must

Be careful not to fall into

There are so many opportunist

Sharks pretending to be Poets

It’s actually frightening


Especially when intent study

has shown – me – in

search of those ‘elusive’ footsteps

Real Poets and their poetry

Walk the identical road, and

Reconnoitre at the exact same place 


Watched snake, and searched

Every follicle, annoyed at his

Insistence – why should/ would he

Feign a complete world of pretence

Colour is not an optional choice

That road actually leads – and cedes

Dead-end exposure, signalling virtual

Misdemeanour – after all – he must

Have children, so terrified I make

mistakes and mine – don’t want them

To even entertain that idea

I may be false – well I’m not

Am I?  Unashamedly call a spade

Exactly that – a spade and

Visions of Florida’s Everglades

Those silent, creeping alligators

How they swallow innocent little

Babies whole, then go back into hiding …


Every word he writes – seeks one-way

Traffic, gushing; words of hallowed

recognition, not a whistled breath back

And his kids who slip off his

Track, will eventually

Realise: he’s just a burnt out, slippery

Old, pretentious double-dealing hack.







The Struggle Continues – Aug. 2006

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Post-Breakdown Insomnia … written: Apr. 2012:

Oh!  To escape this awakened

Dream; captivating vision forcing

Deranged screams.  Trapped in rueful

Designs, mesmerising images of a decadent

Kind, pulverising my thoughts; agonising

Faint desecrated heat, transformed

With nightmarish alacrity, so; quick , it

Decidedly overwhelms me 

There is an escape route

Guarded by that uncompromising brute

Fostered, in self-inflicted amnesia

A horrible beast, called insomnia …

Deigns not to let me sleep, so; I

Sit here  – left to uncontrollably weep.


Our relative timeline spans two-

Hundred years or mayhap, a trifling

More.  Doesn’t really give black-people

Hardly, time enough to even-up the score.

Slavery has now become, no-less, a:

Transcendent vessel, an historic

Incident igniting many symbolic  and

Unprecedented struggles, justified

By western civilisations, in cause of

Nationalist survival plans.

We are relegated to a position of

Defenceless also-rans; hailing  Columbus

That scourge of human moral development


First world societies are now

Victims, a wicked and impending judgement

Emancipation was conceived

As a child of slave trade abolitionist sentiment

Defined in 1834, as victim of inhuman

Circumstances now considered

Retrograde – in attempting to ridicule

Biblical history, claiming

Divine providence as instigator

They even sought to moralise

Inhumanity, instituting self-

Gratification, a false mediator


We are to remember: Satan is a

Willing instrument, procuring

Our Father’s divine and, near-often

Unimaginable derailment

An international community

Acknowledges all injustices

Wrought against Africa, we; become humps

On their backs, unacceptable pariahs


Forward we must!  Seeking a true and

Peaceful resting; we will have to

Psychologically, habituate a better place

In the famous words, of: Marcus

Mosiah Garvey, ‘ … Up!  You mighty race …’

Awake from slumber, take set and quicken your pace


There were many great and valiant

Men: Wilberforce was typically strategic

And a master tactician, it; is time now

‘To put our shoulders to the wheel’

We have to carry our own redemption

Don’t forget!  In truth, we were forbidden

Luxuries of Being – not allowed to

Write and read!  Subservient minions of

First world societies’ brutal

Enslavement and subsequent greed

Deliverance is, crucially, in sync. chugging along

To unbelievable and inspiring fruition

We have to personally take charge

Seriously, and improve our position


Witness a diaspora, riddled

With gremlins, snowballing in size, during

A period surplus to four-hundred years

We have had no time to realise, our selves

Much less confront, and combat these defining fears

Oh!  How we suffered, in; distinct tribute

To an emerging Caribbean

It will not be an easy task

To rise and take our rightful place – in civilisation

Let us stand-up and become catalyst for change

In a scattered but still viable and potent nation

We are flying the flag, heralding

Freedom and true emancipation

With our ‘ … backs against the wall …’ we must know

Ourselves enough, to burst our bands, and

Shake-off immoral subjugation.








Ariana Grande:’… dangerous woman ….’

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Such a vision of heavenly

Dreams, ‘… I’m so into you’ fully

Mesmerised in beauty’s seams – what ways

You electrify and hypnotise me …


So coolly, you wear textile-lace wands

Hitched – caught wedged between wondrous clefts

Of that silky, mouth-watering

Delectably tight ass-band, truly

A ‘ … dangerous woman ‘ carrying

No entry – critical mass – warning signs

Beauty herself in paradise-

Wielding flesh, enough; to drive men crazy

Over the edge, in talk-to-yourself

Madness-land, without any apology

And, people don’t quite understand.


“She’s everything, awe-some galore

Talking ’bout the one, and only

Most beautiful woman – must agree

Without doubt, for sure – now, step-up!

Ariana Grande – to the fore

Lis’sen!  Hear me, when I say this

People goin’ love you more, and more.”

Spinning Emily In The Grave:

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Completely forgot what it does

To me – how it makes me feel when

On the spot; how insecure I

Become feeling unloved, abjectly

Neglected and unsteady each

Step I take, every task my

Befuddled, uncertain mind tries

To achieve – simply falls to pieces


She absolutely loves it – gets

Off on it – if truth be told, always

Changes tone; speaking harsh, with venom

My mind closes down in stages

Like a total eclipse, things just

Become dark, unfathomable

Tears well-up inside ducts, spilling

Silent wetness making me taste salt


Promised to play the blindfold game

Tonight – and here I am in total

Blackness and entirely naked

Well aware she’s present – in the room

But compelled to play her waiting’s whim

My nakedness is not such a

Discomfiture – not like before

When I felt so vulnerable


She always speaks softly – at first

Places more emphasis on punchy

Violent words which make the air

Shudder, and echoes bounce around

It never fails – making me timid

Shaken like leaves, when octaves rise

To levels of gunshot resemblance

As she fondles and scolds same time


Shot me a stinging slap, one time

Because my body responded

To how she looked – with tits hanging

Out, she; was down in a flash – quick

Gorgeously wet and slippery, too

The inexplicable irony

Hers – to do with as she pleases

Totally submissive, controls me.



Interview:one, and only Poisei ..


“A very graciously wonderful

Good evening ladies and gentlemen

radio RoodBAF do apologize

For early interference to

Transmission – but can once again

Join the …”

… yes I do represent!  Aligned

Contextually in-sync with

My suitor, or contrasting woo

People-kind much enamoured

Cum-complex-obsessives do, crave

Hands-on company and attention

Crucially!  I infest their mind

Dream and thought, simply; sustaining

Syntax, sound and seduction to

My ultimate persuasion, you

Also drink from my deep, sweet well

Shout my name ringing soulful bells.


“Greetings!  Audience and gallery

We are being treated to an

Evening’s impromptu discussion

With: may I present, companion

Of poets, and legendary

Elusive, both: lady and lord

Dashing and progressive poetry

The one, and only Poesy ….


Ma’am!  My second question crudely asks

What’s your nature – who are you?”


… Of course, language dons me – as crown

Perched atop many bridled heads

Superfluously flashing cultured

Interest, rigidly secure

Posterity’s union culled socially

Cohesive futures of people-kind

Sojourned amongst kings, footstool of God.


“Yes!  But we …”

You are not … Never, interrupt me!


The Word Self, wielding sceptred rod

Ridiculed Byron and kept his song

Taught poets variety and

Beautiful bad, dated keats – held

His hand, shielded notoriety

In due course – absolutely

Raised and maintained Romantic brands

Evermore, still celebrity!


Poesy was gone in the blink

That makes cry – invisible cloud

As if under strong drink maybe

One too many, knowing full well

You shouldn’t have any, now silence

Explodes and reigns; radio-land shut down.


Kitty Talks Word Association:

Definitely heard it all now

Lyrical ingenuity

Plumb new and exciting depths, if

You care – trace and follow smart words

Speaking whimsical sincerity

In protest, past dumb points argued

‘Til sorely bereft – in sweetly sore

Pussy clefts – with sour taste left

In mouth, feeling extremely shallow.


Wilful inclusion determines ‘suck’,

As innuendo, polluting

Innocent diversions raking

Seedy muck, provoking reticence

And meaningless commands, to ‘get down,’

trigger involuntary body

Language – head very quickly bowed

And very sharp intakes of breath

With a silent, whistled sound aligned

To heaving breasts: ‘on your knees’ highlights

Dark, sordid illusions – ‘gun in mouth.’


Followed with lurid penetration

And fluid-cum-spasmodic jerking

Interaction, images of a

Filthy communion cocooned

In mind, synchronised hot sexual

Body functions – dribbles soaking wet

Absolutely rabid reactions

Impossible to forget incurs

Whispered breath, “I’m rock hard ….”

“Well?  … you’re making me soaking wet,”

In co-rehearsed reciprocation.


History Postcrypt:

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Watch Roodbwoy draw back fate’s curtain

Show what’s to come that has already

happened – chaff, wind intrinsic’ly blows away


Yeah!  such that – History’s death remains

Non-celebrated even, though

Joined to a list of distinguished

Psychic spaces, conveniently

Classified boxes reminiscent

Pandora and deepest hell’s ‘post’

Prefix promises for future

Oracle, spawned when we’ve forgotten

Lilybet’s post-historical last

Century – Gloriana post

Historize this one too, England

broke History’s back, gave colonies

Chance to re-enact ancient tracks


Obama’s page folded – Barack’s gone

Locked in Time’s atmosphericly

Balanced, linear earth-calendar

left us gravitating toward

Polarized extremities trapped

In a vast world, globally reduced

To the size of a virtual

Goldfish bowl, War; spews every pore

Sweat-filled pits hide injured children

And new-born babes, shell-shocked before

They can actually see, sucking

Wind-filled tits from hungry belly


Yeah!  get – that space age demeanor

Characterizes literary

Warrior, and remember Real’s

Occult two-wayed mirror, hidden

Post-hypnotic clues given when

You realize Chaucer’s children spoke

French, with a little Latin instruction

And, England was certainly unread.


So class obliterated

Wealth and achievement allied breeding

Constituted worlds of gloss-eye

Following – tollboothing our route

said way postmodern and suffix

Chiseled open legal illicit

Borderline techno-spatial eras

Also, evoked social media

Isms to Truth and Post mania.


That it scorches fertile ranges

Already – throes of infancy

Be that, it sets for early youth

Adolescenced future changes

Foucault’s disruption, sees; Postruth

Aesthetics of perfection duly

Stained – our route, is surely poisoned

Unrestrained desperation – without truth.


… now we see History dead

Please, to close the curtain and let

The real take precedence instead

So we can move on history’s cultured way

The space age is nearly over

And the cyborgs are here to stay.



Poesy’s Lightning Bolt:

Marooned psycho, trapped-in-house, barely

Clings on – brinking fire , prop’pa

Fryers hanging loose waiting to burn

Locked in limbo ’til zero clock

No voice, or talk to defend yourself

Every night, even when sleep

Creeps tight, puffed; swollen eyes secretly

Weep-close kissing sodden pillows

Red light suspended in window

never sleeps, shines also in darkest

day – even when cat decides away.


Lightning claps excessively loud forks

Repetitioned over this vast

Universe – all at the same time

Precisely, to milli-est of seconds.


Now flushed free of scarlet and, is

Still a woman – moving on to

Success, and sweeter things in life

She links genuine, reliable

Friends growing arterial roots

Tied to all those effervescent

Characters, off-shoot cells loyal

Tendered into self-management

Purposely fizzing encouragement

Toward doorways – distinctly means

Recovery soothes feelgood pools

Rehabilitation’s feathered nest.


Pretty much a long, dark tunnel

Challenged by an ambitiously

Angry ant – You scope revival

Convincingly, vibes your survival

Faith gives life to that person inside

Your person, bringing thought to the

Table you become instrumental

A person, in a person’s great

Potential, at; home branded occult’s

Hidden seal with millions of hells, to

Give validated account, of; Fate’s

Judgment is person, to person Real.







Doing Her Thing:

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So adroitly concealed, it’s hard

To actually believe she’s

New to the game – everything

Fit over-snugly, fully in

Place, exactly the same as those

Seasoned, antiquated mugshots

Haunted by shadows and trees’ shade


Pointless talking, reasoned – nearly

‘Til the cows came home, still refused

As if enjoying disrespectful

Abuse, not to mention pawing

Hands guiding hungry, probing digits


Money heals most, takes care of wounds

Too – but what of psychic-baggage

Trolled by John Public’s, ‘I know,’

And those ‘I told you so’ stares

There’s absolutely no hiding place

Might as well stick a label with

Roxanne written on it

To her heavily made-up forehead.


Seers Who Sear The Work:

Give you extremely bad advice

Procuring you, into doing wrong things

Always to make you pay the price

Then leave you in’t lurch and start laughing


Ten to one hundred bellyaching

With the one Dread, a; bus’s

Joke ‘pon the promenade

Simply mash-up me street-cred

Then wa’an say me a’ bad card


Just remember our Prince Of Peace

Could possibly have been brother

To that eternal Devil Of War

Because all flesh must cease, so

You better pray hard, for release.


That Fool Over there:

Like a cold on a winter’s day

Me, having no coat to wear

Or shoes on my chilblained feet

Maybe, if you remove that dead

Carcass – from close proximity

To your nose, remove the fatted

Caulk from out of your ears

And wipe streaming tears

From your jealously red, eyes

Then you might come to your senses

And touch real stars who circle

Planet Earth, and be mindful

Of eternity’s promised rebirth

Proffered to seers who know their worth



… and Shame-us Heaney saw:

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… It looks easy – I know – screening

Watching and tracing those wily

Footsteps, so calculatingly

Crucial, placed to strategic

Advantage, and when you plant yours

– into those imprints – they’ve already

Disappeared into melted snow

As mist and snow descends, making

Visibility almost a

Thing of our recent past and his

Star shines bright into forever


… what he saw:

Poetry in surrealist

Intimations brought to life by

Nature’s flagrant intervention

Simple things passed aside each day

Revoked in time – as it flies away

To the West, in Shelley’s broken

Retreat and bound to tradition

Returned early morning’s far east

Seamus knew full well, these things are

Way ahead of percolated

Coffee, much more relaxing than

Afternoon tea, they; are seams in

Otherwise disrupted lives, burnt

Black, recorded in annals of

Retributive syntax – not what

Is happening – too boring, he said

But of those idiosyncrasies

And those canny writers, now dead

Nb. C. Seamus Heaney: ‘New and selected Poems 1988 – 2013 … The Fosterling pg. 25.’












Pussy Cat’s Soaking:

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Buzzed-up, buzzing bee-stings do bite

Deep into virgin flesh, love requests

Stealth play peacocks’ amorous game

Stood rigidly statuesque – taut

Like coiled rope – determined to lay

Wood, hard between those rippling

Furry clefts, pulsing throbs curdling

Her soused-up frame, bursting busy

Brimful’s bubbling seduction

In the wrong place at rightful time

So conversation gels – with slight

Apprehension, eventual goal

Gets absolutely no mention

Caddish, and have to get things right


Skilfully wrapping silver tongue

coated with guile, around bed-sex

Talk – all wiles cleverly spun

Until, bouncing-off mattress springs

Whilst reality takes a walk

Dream’s wanton, effervescent fizzing

Says nothing actually matters

Now – at all – bubbled containment

Cushions how soft, buttressed excitement

Under masterful, sympathetic

Control stalls, to allow quick – slow

Aberrations of breath, flushed; cheeks

Show perspiration’s adept ruse

When intentions grow fuse, excuses

Spark spontaneous combustion


About turn, down – on hands and knees

Hoist-up rounded mounds fallen like

Lumbered trees; nature’s inverted

Joist dribbles drips – deliriously

Wet – drizzling trickled moist lining

Kitty’s arced apex; flushed excitement

Slips into uncontrolled emotion

Eager paws clasp horizontal

Haunches, blind; drunk on love’s sweet potion

Fate’s elixir proves instrumental

Swiftly launches uncompromising

Attacks and, promiscuous advances.



That heavy greenness fostered by water – John Montague.


At school I loved one picture’s heavy greenness –

Horizons rigged with windmills’ arms and sails,

The millhouses’ still outlines.  Their in-placeness

Still more in place when mirrored in canals.

I can’t remember not ever having known

The immanent hydraulics of a land

Of glar and glit and floods at dailigone

My silting hope.  My lowlands of the mind.


Heaviness of being.  And poetry

Sluggish in the doldrums of what happens,

Me waiting until I was nearly fifty

To credit marvels.  Like the tree-clock of tin cans

The tinkers made.  So long for air to brighten,

Time to be dazzled and the heart to lighten.

Shamus Heaney – New and Selected Poems 1988 – 2013.




Alive And Spitting …

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Its something we grow up doing

Chatting ‘pon mic to rivals ruin

Tell how we love shade sweetest grade

Ghetto to letter yout’ must better

Graduate and master lyrical

Trade – turn overnight trendsetter

Show chic – talent and humour

Deliver extrovert grandeur

Expound this intrinsic lyric

Showcase writes vocabularic

Poet of mine own searching heart

Centrifugal force inna you claat.


As I rise and continually pray

Hey DJ come down – play ‘Chatting Away.’

Talking spoken word Roodbwoy

Poetry – go to resource for

Washed up dry balls celebrity

Simply brimming creativity

Amongst others like empty penny

‘ … a million commas they must throw

Abruptly start with a colon

Exhaustive list will quickly follow

Usually boring and extremely long

As I rise let me ceaselessly pray

Father Creator, beg you make we a better day.


‘A Good Poem.’

They so much wanted to make this

Class oriented cartel cliques

Tedious open forums missed

Original offers – favoured

Bourgeoisie friend’s reworked pastiche

Language passed proletariat

Whim, wholly conformed gentrified

Hypocrisy – dishonesty

Aside – disrupts literary

Fate’s undecided rhythm, hence

Conventions adopting postruth

whole new arena – anything

Obviously goes – with presupposed

Social ladder rungs tapered for toes.


An eventual exact fit

Gloved hordes of familiar likes

To become embarrassingly

Explicit, biasedly; nodding

Furred heads spike intrinsic, loaded

Dice, soon featured debate – ‘A Good

Poem,’ so blatantly obvious

Lost souls submerge critical art

Three-hundred-year apart primary

Evidence given over to

Poetry – worded songs whose fans

Collected, and wholly spanning

Well-nigh multiple centuries, dance!




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