“ That Pope ” ~ be but a man ~

Who is that man

We know as pope,

Speaks of his god

In guarded hope,

Yet but a notion

He finds to cloud

Anomic motion,

Thus  pope’s nod

Tries realize,

Deeds  worth born

Thru wise contrive,

Wants reach out

To obviate scorn

Of all who doubt,

Self-serve beliefs

Of ambiguous gods,

Begs we question

Ill fated concepts,

Whose insecure souls

Must suffer its tenet,

Said reflections of man mad

In a world of self-destruction!

                                                                                ode to Udo for inspiring

                                                                       this poem on now Pope Francesco,

                                                                    possibly the greatest in modern history!

“ Assign Me Now ” ~ before they know ~

Assign me now

That I may crow

Of my knowhow,

Elect me to sow

A seed of endow,

Before they know

I’m dim as a cow,

Tho not so to tell

Be political snow,

Conveys bull well

Staged to survive,

At least first term

But with devil jive

For the shady trip

I need find learn,

Said a zealot game

Fate stands me fit,

Held stealthy gains

Of a second term sit,

That free ride prize

The taxpayer provides!

                                                  Another election farce soon to occur…

                                                               May future generations find a way to an

                                                            honest nonpoliticized, politicianless system!

“ Of Wishful Thinking ” ~ be time wasting ~

Wishful thinking

Has me wonder,

All the while

Be time wasting,

Opportunities

In the waiting,

Of held worth

Be deeds such

For life’s living,

That encourages

Doing something,

While fate decides

Blindly reaching

Shan’t abide,

Nor merits not seek

To access life giving,

As its elements deplete

Till empty be world wide,

Thru callous man’s apathy

And wastefulness implied,

Of wishful thought absurdity!

“Home” a poem by Warsan Shire

no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.

you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied

no one chooses refugee camps
or strip searches where your
body is left aching
or prison,
because prison is safer
than a city of fire
and one prison guard
in the night
is better than a truckload
of men who look like your father
no one could take it
no one could stomach it
no one skin would be tough enough

the
go home blacks
refugees
dirty immigrants
asylum seekers
sucking our country dry
niggers with their hands out
they smell strange
savage
messed up their country and now they want
to mess ours up
how do the words
the dirty looks
roll off your backs
maybe because the blow is softer
than a limb torn off

or the words are more tender
than fourteen men between
your legs
or the insults are easier
to swallow
than rubble
than bone
than your child body
in pieces.
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important

no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i don’t know what I’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here.

Warsan Shire is a Kenyan-born Somali poet, writer and educator based in London. Born in 1988, Warsan has read her work extensively all over Britain and internationally – including recent readings in South Africa, Italy, Germany, Canada, North America and Kenya.