Category Archives: Poems

Your name is a love song to me

I’m stricken

Broken for you

I’m sick from love

The pain is as a million knives to my heart

I will seek your face from dawn till dusk

I will seek you alone till I find you

Bring me home to you

Bring me unto you

For I’m weary of these treacherous roads

I’m weary because I know how dreadful you are

Yet I love you so

Oh lover of my soul

You’re the very fabric of my existence

In you alone I live move and breath

Oh how I love you so, with every bit of me

My heart is yours

Yours to keep or kill

For I am sick from love and wish not to be cured

Let me wallow in you 

Let my heart bleed for you

For my love for you is as a scarlet cord

None can comprehend the whole of it. 

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I haven’t written any poems in a while, cos I’ve been too busy being a working mum. 😦

I wrote this one for the little old lady down the road. For NancyLee

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A smile in time
That’s what she gave
The little lady that’s more of an angel than a little lady
She’s everyone’s favorite
Even mine
For like magic she captured me with her smile and almost quirky sense of humor

First impression wasn’t much to go by
But second impressions! Well that’s her specialty
She’ll wow your heart when you do meet her twice
Twice I say, cos no one really gets away with the best first impressions

Even then, a smile in time is what she gave me
It had been a lonesome week
Burdened with nothing but disappointments & uncertain anxieties
With a smile, she took most of it away

We never know what we could give
With a smile in time
Perhaps, just enough to save a life!

~ GE


It’s easy for the world to break you
It’s easy to get swept away
It’s easy to become invisible
Sometimes, it’s easy to stop believing

Where did you go wrong when you had it all right
The right opportunities
The right timing
The right energy

But soon enough you realize
The right everything isn’t enough
Something is still missing
Is it the attitude?
Is it some ethereal force
Is it the right person/people
What’s missing?

Every choice leads you a step closer to tomorrow
Perhaps tomorrow is your destiny
Then again tomorrow isn’t guaranteed
Still you push forward
Wishing you could fast forward

Everyday is another roller coaster
Waiting for that big break
Hoping to stop being invisible
Hoping those who don’t think much of you finally see what you see
Hoping you haven’t spent a lifetime deceiving yourself

Yet, to deceive oneself for a lifetime isn’t all too bad
To live in fantasy land hoping for that big break isn’t all too bad either
Cos you might just make it to that silly fun land if you run fast enough
And if there’s enough time to complete this race.

I pray you make it
I pray those who looked down on you get to say they were wrong
I hope you make it
I hope your tears dry up
And I hope you find happiness in this miserable world
I hope you shine brighter than any star
And your history be that of a happy ending
I hope your tale be the story of God
I hope you make it in time
I hope you find happily ever after
I hope your wishes come through
I hope you find that big break


There’s never enough time
Time to be grateful
Time to say thank you
Or time to be appreciative

Perhaps it’s time to say sorry
Sorry I never took time to appreciate what I got
Time to say; sorry I forgot to meditate in the moment
Sorry I should have been thankful

There’s never enough time because time flies by
Or is it us who fly by?
Chasing after time, when time is right behind us

Looking back in time is always melancholic
There’s no room for us there anymore
And the future seems somewhat of a mysterious creature
Never showing it’s face in time to keep our fears at bay

But I’m grateful I’ve got this moment in time
To appreciate and say thank you.


I was seven when I first heard his story.
I still hear the voices of his people screaming and chanting “Free Mandela”
And the voice of a female singing “Winnie Mandela”
It was the story of hope in the face of persecution
Strength and Will in the face of oppression
A woman standing as a soldier beside her husband
Laying their lives for the lives of the weak

A humble man giving up everything for an idea he believed in.
The idea of freedom and equity
He was broken in body but not in spirit
His pain would draw the light back to a generation riddled with darkness
His tears would be between him and his GOD
But his sacrifice was for all men

The sages say; in every generation, there are 36 Tzadiks (righteous hearts) on the earth
Sent to justify mankind’s continued existence before GOD
I believe Mandiba was one of them
A light in a dark society
A beacon of hope for generations to come
A seed of yesterday for a new breed of humanity
He came, he saw, he conquered!
Heaven has gained its angel back
A Star’s been lit up in the galaxies
And men will tell his story over and over again

RIP Mandiba!

~ GE

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I know you didn’t wake up just to read about pregnancy sex
Then again, maybe you did
Well maybe not pregnancy sex to be exact
But we both know the word sex got your curiosity peaked and your eyes glued to a poetic piece that isn’t so poetic after all when you come to think of it.
The how to have pregnancy sex should be the title
Like how does one get past those gas bubbles and constant bloating
Or how do you get past the constant need to pee every 2 seconds, just so you could reach for a blissful orgasm that is intense and more memorable than the fart you just let rip 2 mins into that blessed fore-play session with your darling spouse

Trimester 1 is both blessed and cursed
It can go one way or another
The morning sickness either turns you off completely or your growing uterus suddenly turns you into a nymph wanting to devour her partner every time there’s a flat surface in sight
Trimester 2 is where it starts to get interesting
Your bulging stomach reminds your kind hearted husband that there’s a little hugglemonster in there.
He must now constantly thread ever so gently and lightly else his imaginary ginormous genital rips the veil and cracks the skull of his precious child
Then again that giant bulge can make you too tired to want anyone touching you in the first place

Trimester 3 is usually my favorite.
Morning sickness is a thing of the past.
You’re pretty much used to the pains of your stretching ligaments
And your humongous uterus pushing hard on your feminine parts makes you once more, a sex addict craving only for imaginary sex.
Lets face it, you can hardly bend or lie properly, let alone present your nether regions for some gentle loving

When it’s all said and done
You know you love it.
You love being pregnant and you love pregnancy sex
Be it awesome or non existent
Cos you know it can only go 2 ways
Deliciously GREAT
or Completely Non-Existent
The only thing you want even more is food

🙂

~GE

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SIDE NOTE:
** You wont get the humor in this poem if you’ve never been pregnant, aren’t currently pregnant or if you’re male** 🙂


1914 IV. THE DEAD

By Rupert Brooke

These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.

There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.


She asked me what’s in a poem
She wanted to know If the poems were true stories
I told her; a poem isn’t always fact
But it could be true
A poem simply uses the best words to express an emotion
Be it love, lust, pain, epiphany, anger or madness
The poet searches for the soul in words
And puts an unheard rhythmic melody only visible to the heart
A poem isn’t always for you, me, him, her or anyone
But a poem will speak to someone

She asked me again; what’s in a poem? And are the stories true?
I told her; A poem is a fairy tale come true.
A philosopher’s stone.
A prophet’s thought
A musician’s string
A poem is what you make of it

She asked for a third time; what’s in poem?
I told her; I don’t know
Cos when I wrote this poem, it wasn’t about you
It was about me

~GE


Oh If I could tell you what love is
Love is the smell of rain on a hot summer day
It’s the smell of Christmas in Paris
It’s that unexplained emotion that keeps you smiling when you smell something reminiscent of your fondest memory

Love is you seeing into my soul and loving me in-spite of my dark side
Love is you believing in me when I didn’t know there was something worth believing in
Love is you holding on tight to me even when I try to break free

Love’s not always that perfect fairy tale
But it’s certainly that rocky start that turns good then perfect
Love’s that mate my soul never knew it needed
Love is coming home to your warm embrace when the world’s worn me out with a bad day
Love is that dose of harsh reality you give me every time we fight
And that reassuring bond we form over again whenever we make up

Love never leaves me ashamed
Love doesn’t make me feel less of myself
Love doesn’t leave me with regrets
Love doesn’t leave me feeling filthy
Love doesn’t lie
Love isn’t something stolen
Love is that slow burning amber that starts with a little spark and glows brighter than a burning bush for all of eternity

Love is me and you
Always and forever
Through pain and joy
Through struggles and triumphs
Through mistakes and infallibilities
Through this world and the next

~~ GE


I see her beauty
I see her spirit
I see her heart
And she inspires me

I see her character
I see her struggle
I see her commitment
And she inspires me

I see her legacy
I see her grace
I see her soul
And she inspires me

She’s my Black goddess
She’s her man’s rock
She’s her children’s idle
And she’s our inspiration

Poetry is her language
Humanity is her cause
Love is her blood
And GOD is her heart

She’s Rosa Park
She’s Josephine baker
She’s Ida Wells Barnett
She’s our hope and she’s our struggle

She’s Marian wright Edelman
She’s MC Lyte
She’s Queen Latifah
She’s Floetry, Carol M Braun and
Maya Angelou
She’s Lucille Clifton, Yvonne Chaka Chaka, Winnie Mandela
She’s Lauryn Hill’s miseducation

She’s the wade in the water
The rhythm in our music
The wind when it blows
The hurricane when it storms
She’s me
She’s you
She’s my African queen
She’s a black girl and she rocks

~GE

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