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

A black Joy

Shades of many
Many hours gone
Many tones blur
Blur tonight
Blur late
Late again
Late to be loved with joy
Joy grieving
Joy pained
Pained history
History spills
History in debt
Debt of my heart
Debt never known
Known unknowns
Known only in silence
Silence pressure
Silence bought
Bought with regrets
Bought bottles
Bottles of alcohol
Bottles unlabeled
Unlabeled room
Unlabeled color
Color of my tears
Color of fear
Fear you
Fear too much hue
Hue is you
Hue too many
Many stories
Many are shades
Shades deceptive
Shades won’t tell
Tell those pages
Tell in each stage
Stage not ring
Stage unforgiving
Unforgiving mistakes
Unforgiving guts
Guts no triumph
Guts of us all
All these words
All with swords
Swords struck
Swords with red tears
Tears on this page
Tears no joy
More. . .


Rudolph Ruddapoet

Many You

the sound of your voice, the echoes of your love
shrouding this road that has your feet,
dust in the air, silently blowing your name on my ears.
I hear it in whispers

A rainbow felt at the end of my heart
as it transcends my emotion in beautiful colors
the lips are sweet, red as crisps of dotted blood.
The heart is soft, golden with an arch of silver lining.
You are a pale form of eternity.

Best Friends

I and you had the chance to be friends
I was never given love
I was not shown love
I didn’t see you love me
And I was always there as your love
In my mind

You never betrayed my trust
You never showed me that love
You loved a friend and called me a best
You rubbed it on my face like flowers
As I watched you act this movie, this same scene many times

Now you see my shoulder is broad
My arms are so strong
My chest can carry a lot
And my mind is as free as wind
Then you walk up to me weak
Feeling broken and teared up
Telling me how he broke your heart
After you chose a bad heart to mine and called me a ‘best friend’.



Rudolph Ruddapoet

This Night is without you

For nights without you
I steal a star,
a memory for my dreams
to shine as my light
so I don’t ever loose sight
of how I feel even when
this night is without you.

For nights without you
are empty railraods
rusting in harsh silence,
with waters from my eyes
falling for this night is without you.

For nights without you
I feel empty and cold,
the sun do not envy this hole
I have punctured in the sky.
Only rain pours
and makes the night cold
this night without you.

For nights without you
are gradually becoming dates I
count not, to knot memories I
do not want to recall, for if I
do I will no longer sleep, thats why I
wrote this poem for this night is without you.

Rudolph Ruddapoet

Great a way

The path to the great is away
the way of the great is like a thorn path.
Some start and find reason
to stop and take a break.
While this is on, some keep pushing
the footpath has to be cleared.
Some never get up again,
they say the sun is up and hot
fatigue burns as hot as the sun.
Where will I find strength if I keep the go?
Is death not close by?
While some worry, some others push
while some push, another breaks and scream.
I am tired of been tied, I am done.
The path of the great is your way
your way to be great has the thorn part.

Rudolph Ruddapoet

Night time in with you

So I didn’t find lullaby
until my rhythm was a note end of you
winding in the bars of this music
my heart keeps playing.
Listen to my heart also
rhyming in a space of four bars
It hits whatever ice
plays cat and mice,
then your memory is sprinkled like spice.
Hmmmmm that’s nice.
Oh you my pillow
give my head
a soft kiss ahead
as I join the one I love
in a journey of the night
so we call it dreams.

Rudolph Ruddapoet