Violet! A color that relates to her
like when we met under the grey – blue sky.
We started a love story together,
listen to the part my words made her high.

Violet! She rode on my mornings and noon
always sneaking out to see me at home.
Until this day when the Hulk came too soon,
he disapproved of me and where I’m from.

Violet! My phone has not rang in few days
my heart is drying up, it’s leaves fall off.
Will we continue this love tale I pray,
Since I wrote the book “rainbows and violet”?





The first time I begged your indulgence to help fix my broken piece you did it with ease, I felt at ease to tell you about the cactus holes, the mended bridges. I remember the dusty rooms we swept together and arranged the books on the shelves.


You took each candle that burned to keep me alive, where did you drop it again? Under the rain, it melted my candles, my life was dark and not only dark but cold. I cried and tears poured until evening came and morning and evening, and it turned to days, weeks and months, now I see the years and the weed that has grown has made me hard and high.

My wounds have been freshly torn, you say you ease the pain, if I let you whisper to it, only salt with feel happy to eat and burn me into tears. This is not for you, but for the one who’s shovel can still find the delves of my quirky timid heart. . .


STOPTIONS ‘No suicide’

You have dampened my night
with sour sound of your light
closely drawing me into fright.
I stare at you, I smell your sight
as you fashion my life from the height
of the dark.

Your words still fresh like Pubilius’ death
when once he was seeking truth in the earth.
Writings of a dying poet, Socrates when hung by pain’s birth.
I saw your soul lingering in these words and girth
of the solemn dark.

I will drink life and follow the sea side
to rest my consciousness away from the tide.
Do not find me, lest I shall hide
and let the divine comedy be my glide.
I know there’s a secret room for those who love the ride
when they sit in Limbo staring at their suicide.
I run from your darkness.



When sleep thus comes

The night shall carry alot of stories
like how we folded our thoughts
and covered it with barren deeds.
It shall covet the moon with smiles of stars
it will be like the veil holding virgins
bounding their winter with frost of pain.
If sleep thus comes
We will both have arrived at the same time.

The air shall be noisily quiet
with breaths of strong willed emotions
blowing through the labour of our hands
rubbing itself together like the sun and sky.
The battle of pores and river flow
that breaks where stream comes just once
or more if sleep thus comes,
We shall be quiet with smiling dreams.

These walls shall bear us both a witness
and tell our secrets to the ground
when queens and kings don’t sing lullabies
and let our shadows play the sound.
We will both in merriment find your arms
and let you lead our rest to rest
When sleep thus comes.
The moon will be up in the sky.


© August 2016

Go your separate way

Upon this same rock
where I have carved my name
for the world to the sea.
Is the path of the moon
rocking its shadows on her back
telling stars of my weakness.

I am a Jew to these prayers
mailed through the mean man.
They will never get answered
so long its enveloped by spit
a colourless word out of my mouth.
Shall my head find the winds to rest
when I worry about my nest?

Go your seperate way
you baggage of hurt
the tales of love, the tail of the future
carry your fear and leave me alone
to drink and get drunk on myself
and my guts in the hands of my gods.
This is the way I have cleared for you
through the pots that hold the mud waters of gold.




There are your flaws
shivering in these clouds
winds fighting over inheritance
of night by its might
the same pale pricking strain of fate
dangling in the loops of dawn
Is a page of garbage eaten by today
swallowed by another, same as a leverage
intents with souvenir of poured calls.
Let the ticking sound stop the bells of


I sat there staring at the blank wall
as it calls my name here, again.
Fragments of us laid in peace,
but in pieces I stay,
hoping for one more
one more story,
just one kiss.
My dear
I care
and I’m pissed.
I’m in worry
thats why sadness scores
whenever I pressed play.
Our past love still comes and seize
my moment, and now I’m insane.
As I sit there staring at the wall.



Who ate this time? (in honour of the late Saf Ron Kulere)


Someone put his hands into this plate
and it never got out.
My brother said so, when we gathered
under the thick mango tree in the village square.
There were chants of royalty, gold upon a head.
We called him father, cause his son was my brother.
Someone will put his hands into this plate
and so will I, his son always said.

Nights after nights we levied on his wisdom
when he picked up paint brushes and sketched new sons.
Out of rocks he gathered dust and spat it upon today,
he built a leader and like Joshua he lead.
If when we sat on his table, we saw the words
“Someone will put his hands into this plate
let it not be you”.

His love was colorless
there had to be no boundaries.
If he was home, he taught us to be windows.
If he was the sun, he thought us to rule the night-stars.
He quieted troubles between weeds and food.
He wanted grasses to grow tall,
so he would bury our seeds as we pray for a bountiful heritage
Of harvest.
When on his crown we saw the halo rewriting
Someone has to eat from this plate
shall it be you?

Today I am sitting with an absent father
who is deaf to air, but dumb to life
Alive to death, and a light in the dark.
He left with his two hands,
And one he called his son.
I hear strangers ate with him as he dipped his hands
Into the plate that labelled
The one that puts his hands, leaves with his staff.
Who has killed our father, our silence now asks?
Please let somebody answer.





They are called the godly, richly put
on this ground where holy is lowly

I did not create
I am only death and life.
Just bow, ask nothing.

No clouds exist for you or your type
even prayers mean nothing here.
You are bunch of holy heads
boasting of pure nonsense.
Just look at yourselves
So pitiful.
Please break free

I am your friend and also doom
I control, I rule, I know man
he always fails, we know he can
despite all the wants in this room

Ask anything and it will zoom
to you and served on a hot pan.
I am your friend and also doom
I control, I rule, I know man.

I sweep your pain, like I am broom
I can fight for you and your clan.
Just give me seeds, please be my groom,
so this will be our final plan.
I am your friend and also doom.

The untrue
Living lavishly.
Its in death
Lets say life.
They know such moments and yet
induce pain and hell.

You oh angels in demonic shades
Calling out names and teasing with pain
How mortals admire as history fades
When you do not bring sun or even rain.
We know you and your story
of how you look and your glory
I will also keep my distance
so I avoid a tale of for instance.

A gutless poem, this is it
it speaks of farms, seeds, sow and eat.
If he dares command rain to fall
he shall be the name we will call.
Above all order, he will fit.

Eat our spirits, for it is meat
win more souls with gifts, bit by bit.
I shall write of you and your all
a gutless poem.

I wont tremble when our eyes meet
only dance to your still heartbeat.
As you exist here in this hall
those metaphors just dug a pit
A gutless poem

Let us tell the tales

Let us tell these tales
by the moonlight borrowed from a yesterday’s sky
under the fires that sparked those first moments,
I sat pale because of the sickening attractions.

Let our tales tell
of the first moments our words kissed
from years written from a heart to another
under the golden sun of my lollipop you accepted.

Let our tales be
the synchronised friction from old pages
flipping to write new stories
to properly be improper
about feelings missed and lead
flawlessly downplayed from the ode of judgement.

Let our tales
be a ferry for just us.
We both are captain steering through clouds.
Awe, should our hearts kite in air.

Let this ship be true and fair
Masoyi, Nkem, Olo’omi
My words thus unite, please do not fear
open up your wrapper leave it bare
let the hidden breasts of flaws fall right here,
together we would make and repair to wear.

Let our midnight drums play more rhythm
you will see me dance like a child
in my mistakes only if you won’t be mild.
We both know some of these steps
let’s not keep late for the sake of preps.

Let the candle burn
let our tales tell till its morn
let us tell tales and tomorrow will born
Let our tales tell and love till dawn


© 2016
Rudolph Ruddapoet