LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

I always thought that life in the fast lane

Was intended to portray the better side of living

But something struck me deep the other day

Some people in the fast lane live in a different way.

Black African roads crowded with traffic

To use Nigerian slang a traffic jam is a ‘go slow’

Vehicles stretch for mile after humid mile

It’s not often you’ll see a driver smile.

Transport battles side by side no inch given

Horns blaring even when there is no chance of anyone moving

Decrepit buses carrying bodies crammed inside

Some place to go, but no place to hide.

Young boys and old men - roadside hawkers plying their trade

Running races between the clogged up lanes

Trying to sell you anything you might need

Propelled in their quest for the cash that will feed.

There is another type of predator out there too

The roadside thugs who will rob and kill

Don’t expect others to extend their assistance

Life is too precious; you’ll be killed for interference.

Other inhabitants frequent the highways too

The maimed and the poor beg at your windows

Legless men on wooden boards with wheels

Can move faster than the traffic shouting their appeals.

Woman and baby both dressed in stinking rags

Wander aimlessly between the cars, eyes stareing

Baby is sucking on an empty breast, no nourishment there

Nobody seems to give a damn and nobody seems to care.

Life in a Nigerian motorway fast lane is not a picnic

People seek to make a living, they want to survive

Driven on by despair and a life that is miles apart from our own

Geared into poverty where hope for a better life is unknown.

Tony

26/2/01

Our daily bread

Some days my compassion I do dread

Especially as I go for my daily bread

When I go to the bakers, the best in town

It always gives me cause to frown

The beggars are there outside the door

Just the same as the day before

Both are crippled, both are lame

They’re here every day come wind or rain

Thousands must pass through the baker each week

The begging business is very sleek

There is nothing to give and no need for fashion

Their work is performed on your compassion

For Market Positioning they get top score

If I had more points I’d give them more

The phantom dagger is sunk to the hilt

As they make their strike against your guilt

A Business Strategy that’s hard to beat

They catch you there, right there on the street

They’ve no overheads and no rent to pay

And who can levy taxes on what they make every day?

Their Business Development is not very hard

The baker’s reputation is their key card

No need to keep stocks standing by

The beggar’s customers have nothing to buy

It’s very obvious and very plain

Both have suffered a great deal of pain

For After-Sales Service give them ten from ten

I know they’ll be there when I go again

They won’t ask as you step from the car

Their approach is more sophisticated by far

They know you are here to buy some food

If you ignore them after, you’re bound to feel rude

The begging’s not open, it’s more succinct

As they come to know you, it’s usually a wink

An outstretched hand to bid you Good Day

is always there to take your money away.

“Give us this day our daily bread”

Is what the Lord’s Prayer says!

Give the bakers beggars their daily bread, is what I say

And, Tony, try to do it with a smile .. every day!

Tony 13/May/2001

An African Miss

I can’t forget the grace, I can’t forget the face.

Surprised at the impact you had on me,

from deep down in Africa you rose

a daughter of your people, and how it shows.

Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha Misan

Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha Misan

Who are you and who are your people?

Brilliant smiles with hearts in the roots of this land,

the Oyibo comes and marvels at this place

but not all of us are wah-wah face.

Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha Misan

Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha Misan

You sought me out after much palaver

and talked to me with no wahallah.

It’s great to hear the words you chatter

but call me Oyibo Pepe once more

and I’ll give you qata – qata :o))

Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha Misan

Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha Misan

Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha…Inoniyegha Misan

Tony 18/08/2001

Explanations of the words used in this poem. The spelling might be off target here ...

Oyibo = White person

Oyibo Pepe = Old White Man

Wah-Wah face = Ugly

Palaver = Bother

Wahallah = Trouble

Qata-Qata = Huge Trouble!

Inonyega Misan = Inonyega Misan a name – surname/family name first!

Street Food

Street food

Characters and symbols,
mutant matchstick men,
march across the building
in strict neon formation.
Cantonese advertising
lures you to unique
street food venues.

Fish flap
in capture tanks,
the sound of patting
a baby’s wet bum.
Take your pick
and latex gloved hands
make a crane grab
look immobile.

Cherry tomatoes,
small red gobstoppers,
offset squid bodies
that leak black ink.
Congealed saliva
of Swallows
stirred into bird’s nest soup
with a bamboo cooking brush.

Spitting woks,
pelican pouches
filled with garlic,
mushrooms, carrots
spring onions and broccoli
all sprinkled with
Chinese white wine.

Deft fingers
separate noodle strings,
a silent pliable harp.
Sculptured watermelon dragon
threatens with
breaded lobster claws.

Ying and Yang of

Cantonese food,

and life is perfect

if you’re Cantonese,

... but tonight, I’m not hungry.

T

2009.10.15

Retribution cocktail

Retribution cocktail

I take my
retribution cocktail,
at six o-clock
every morning,
Esidrex,
Zyloric,
Glucophage,
and Omega 3 supplement.
A Doctors’ solution
for a body that’s seen
the world,
and over indulged
in what it has to offer.

Roasted joints of meat
eaten Henry VIII style,
torn apart by hand
with no side dishes.
Wine and beer
by the gallon
and cigarettes
by the carton,
have all been
contributors to my
downfall.

Now, there’s perverted pleasure
in maintaining
daily charts
that tell me
what my body is doing.
The ups and downs of
my existence plotted
on a computer screen
bears resemblance
to the turmoil
of my excesses.

T
2009/10/11

My breakfast sandwich

My breakfast sandwich

Whole meal bread, lightly toasted,

a sliver of butter slowly melting

into crumbs of the future.

Green, crinkly lettuce a

foundation for a feast.

Beef pastrami with its shimmer

of pink and tinged transparent blue

surrounded by speckles of yellow,

red and green seasoning that

falls away into cling film as I lift it.

Sliced white onion, thin circles

of eye watering taste that grow

smaller and smaller towards the center.

Juicy red tomato, pulp and seed

exposed, dripping, mouth watering.

Each layered one upon the other

awaiting the peak of the sunny side up

egg whose golden yellow yolk will burst

and flood.

Crystalline white salt, a peck is just enough.

Finally, the Prince of Herbs, black pepper

ground from the mill to dust as garnish.

T

2008/6/23

She's pregnant and it shows

She’s pregnant, and it shows.

It’s not difficult to imagine
the foetus,
curled up and growing
inside the quarter moon,
that subtly changes her silhouette.
Snuggled in the warmth
of her belly,
baby’s heartbeat,
sets the rhythm
of her life,
God bless them both.

T
2009.10.13

This bank hasn't failed ... Yet!

THIS BANK HASN’T FAILED … YET

It must be stamped
in the middle of my forehead,
or maybe stencilled on my bum.

When I look in the mirror,
I can’t see it,
but some folk seem to.

Could it be my white hair,
laid back attitude,
or the aura I give off
that makes them ask?

Six times this month
I’ve been approached
and it’s hard to refuse
when my faith in people
helps me believe that … one day

I will see the return
of my hard earned cash.
Without interest of course.

T
2009.09.13

Not Shakespeare

Not Shakespeare

Body tremors,
make my
heart thump,
bass drum,
percussion.

Scent of
lilac, rose petals.
Eyes widen.
Cupid lips
kiss my submission.

Nightingale tongue,
tickles my ear,
you set my pace,
encourage, control.
“Slowly”.

Ripples across
my skin,
march in time
to fingernails
that rake my back.

Arched in pleasure
our thrusts deepen
and hold, as close
as a child
in your womb.

Temptress to my ego,
Juliet for Romeo.
Impaled on my balcony,
you close, squeeze. Wanting
the curtain call and encore.

T
07/07/08

THE LAST FAREWELL

I got no sleep at all last night
The ringing phone gave me a fright
Halfway into peaceful slumber
He said you are dead – my heart ripped asunder
Closed my eyes but still could see
Saw you there in front of me
Saw you clearly as in day
A sunken shell, life ebbed away
Your image hardened in my brain
If this continues I’ll go insane
Frail and petite you lay in the chair
Then opened your eyes and gave me a stare
You opened your mouth some words to speak
I nearly let out a fearful shriek
Tell me what you are trying to say
Communicate in your own way
Anything, just give me a sign
I want to know what’s on your mind
Breathlessly I stood in waiting
All the while my heart was thumping
You closed your mouth without a sound
I watched your eyes as they looked around
They took in the room from floor to ceiling
Then settled on mine, your look appealing
I wanted to pull you off that chair
Slap your face so you’d be aware
Tell you that I know you’re dying
That you’ll leave us all sad and crying
I wanted to inject my life in you
And tell myself it was not true
You were not gone, you are still here
Yet all the while I shook with fear
Your eyes are closing I know it’s not sleep
God now takes you, you are his to keep
A whisper of your breath I hear out loud
Its presence floats as a passing cloud
The final breath comes so slow
I know you really have to go
Mum, you scared the hell out of me
But I’m glad you finally came to see
I read the message you never said
You came to say “goodbye”….in my head.

Tony 28/May/2001

Softly
Softly now and melt away, the pain begins to dim,
Softly now the fog surrounds, she wants to be with him,
Softly for the passage of time, the wind upon my face,
Softly for the emptiness of a long ago embrace.

Softly now for precious things, the fragile and the frail,
Softly as the touch of snow, that melts upon the dale,
Softly as the candlelight, that flickers round the room,
Softly as I hear my heart, boom, boom, boom .

Softly is the hush of night, her breath upon my chest,
Softly as the touch of silk, my hand upon her breast,
Softly in the dawn of day, she’ll take my breath away,
Softly when the petal falls, her name you’ll hear me say, softly, softly, softly.


Tony
30/1/1999

EXIST
I was made inside of you
But you never knew I was there
You were completely unaware
That I might at some time … exist

I came from you and into a tube
You could not know my shape or form
They gave you the dollars, that’s the norm
You sold me even before I could exist

They quickly froze me in liquid gas
So I could live for eternity
But never to full maturity
Frozen in time I could only try to exist

It took some time to make a match
They never chose me, they chose you
From your profile printed in blue
As for me I did not exist

They did the same as you, they sold me again
Then someone took me out and made me warm
Put me somewhere so I could swarm
And maybe start to exist

This was strange, I could move at last
And I knew where to go
So I went with the flow
I wanted to exist

I’d never done this before - but
The journey was short and very quick
I went for the egg and entered it
We merged, I changed and started to exist

Now I am who I am
You sold me twenty years ago
I have changed a lot since you let me go
I now exist

For a long time now I have wanted to know
Who you are and where you go
Do you ever think I could be here
Would you ever want me near
But most of all, at the top of my list
I want to know if you exist

Maybe some day we will meet
In a café or on the corner of a street
You will know me for what I am
Maybe a woman, or a full grown man
I hope the tears cause our eyes to mist
For we will know we both exist

Tony 30/11/02

Missing Rider - Tribute to AJ

I’ve a mental picture
of a Harley in the sky.
Now, when I hear the thunder,
I think … “That’s AJ riding by”.
Proudly wearing Harley wings,
he’s refused the angel type,
he says they interfere
with airflow o’er the bike.

I imagine him in life,
a guy you can trust.
Joking, laughing, true and strong,
every one of us he touched.
So, when it starts to piss with rain,
I’ll remember him once more,
the times we spent with other HOG’s
and the beers we would pour.

I know I’m gonna miss him.
I know you’ll miss him too.
You’ve got a ‘missing rider’
From the Qatar crew.
So, I won’t be scared or jump,
when lightning strikes the ground.
It’s just that bugger AJ
telling us he’s still around!

“Live to ride … Ride to live”

Ride in peace AJ …

Big T

The little things

I’d like to take time out
Think of life what it’s about

Do this at my leisure

Write words about life’s pleasure

So caught up in what I do

Never stop, listen or view

Little things can make your day

Laughter of children at play

Evening on a quiet porch

Kids under bedclothes with a torch

Feel chills in morning air

When a loved one strokes your hair

Little things make you smile

Think of a lover for a while

Dog chases its tail in the park

Lullaby of the morning lark

Friends together out for a trip

Someone who catches you when you slip

Little things we say

“Please,” “Thank you”, make someone’s day

Take a walk by a silver stream

Wake smiling from a lovely dream

White diamonds on a blue sea

Friendly hum of a bumble bee

Little things that we do

Bring people closer to you

Warm smile, friendly face

Lack of arrogance, full of grace

Sweet hello on the telephone

Hugs from family as you get home

Little things we often miss

Crowded room, secret kiss

Softness of a new babe’s cry

Growl of thunder in a leaden sky

Tinkle of ice in long cool drinks

Mischievous eye when someone winks

Little things create impressions

Babble of school-kids out from lessons

Clarity of stars in a desert night

When someone strives with all their might

Freshness inhaled in mountain air

Gentle sway of a rocking chair

Little things are often sounds

Bottles clank during the milkman’s rounds

Clatter of rain from a heavy downpour

Creaky movements of an old porch door

Deep bass sounds in a favourite song

Reverberating echo from a temple gong

Little things are indistinct

You’ll miss them if you blink

Widening ripples as trout take a leap

Moment your eyes close as you fall asleep

Slime of snot from a small kids nose

Will end up on his sleeve, I suppose

Little things come at you in a crowd

Sun’s rays splitting broken cloud

Fireflies glow in humid night

Snowfall turns everything white

Human voices sing as one

Vitality of people in unison

Little things happen all around

You’ll know them when they’re found

Fresh clean smell of a laundered sheet

Deep comfy feel of your favourite seat

Yellow glow from a candle’s light

Wet playfulness of your pet dog’s bite

Little things make up our lives

Golden honey fresh from hives

Love of a battered teddy bear

Family visit to the County fair

Mutual trust from a partners care

Honesty when your soul’s laid bare

Little things that make us sad

Admonish a child we think was bad

Pain you feel when you leave

Being alone on New Year’s Eve

Haunting melodies jog your memory

About the way things used to be

I’ve taken some time out

Thought what life is all about

I’ve done my thinking, had my say

Maybe we should change the way

We think about little things that are rife

Rediscover pleasures of living this life.

New path

Cows chew grass,
jaws move in time
with tails
that flick at flies.
Houses slant on
stilts of ancient timber.
Chickens squawk,
children play,
shrieks of laughter,
before lunch.

Aromas waft
like wayward
butterflies.
On makeshift
bamboo tables,
bowls of soup,
and rice,
feed family,
and anyone else
who’s hungry.

She grew up here,
chased chickens,
laughed and ate
with friends.
Now, she is
the provider.
Today, chickens
are thrown uneaten rice.
Tomorrow, one of them,
will be lunch.

She irons
on the floor,
washes dishes
in buckets
of rainwater.
Words linger
on her lips,
as she thinks
about how to
pronounce them.
Arched eyebrows,
head cocked
to one side;
a plea in her
brown eyes
asks;
“How to say?”

Inside the
village temple,
we pray
to Buddha,
with the monks,
at four o clock
in the morning.
Fill their bowls
with sustenance,
then pass
an envelope
of ironed banknotes,
each with the
King’s portrait
facing the same way,
always placed
onto the proffered
orange silk.
She cannot touch
a monk, he cannot
accept from her hand.

I wash the feet
of her parents,
and the village Elders.
Receive undeserved
blessings, for
things I’ve never
done before;
I haven’t a clue
about what’s
going on,
I follow
every move,
and learn.

Calmness descends.
I’m cool.

She has taught
me so much,
no promises made
or wanted.There’s no
façade, quietly serene,
she looks at me
and smiles.
Coyness her only
make up,
fingers entwine,
rare serendipity.

As thunder clouds
form a scrum
on the Northern
side of the ridge,
I walk barefoot
toward a
Thai monsoon,
I don’t need
guidance,
I know my
direction,
but I can’t tell
where it will lead,
I’m starting afresh,
taking chances.

When I’m with her,
I lose moments, and become
afraid,
afraid
this will end.
I never imagined
her as my wife.
Never thought
of our future.
I make her laugh,
never made her cry,
but that’s a lie.

Tears flow
at the airport;
hers and mine.

Tropical storm

Thunder crashes overhead

Raindrops pelt upon my head

Silver streaks of lightning flash

Thunderhead clouds together crash

Dark as hell the sky above

The Devil gives the world a shove

Steaming mangroves riverside

Roots like spider’s legs astride

Rain hits water, river meet

Floodplains wash beneath our feet

Puddles form, channels fill

The Devil scores “1”, others “Nil”

Trees bend beneath the weight

Leaves washed amid the spate

Corrugated roofs scream in pain

Battered by incessant rain

Despite the constant drenching stream

Humidity clings like Hades’ steam

Quake now with ancient fears

Scared to death of the Devil’s tears

There’s no need to be outdoors

Clothes soaked from sweating pores

They say that fear can make you sweat

The Devil is ready to take your bet

Huddle under mothers’ skirts

Ears covered, thunder hurts

Afraid to face the thing outside

Family myth comes alive

Try to recall if they’ve done wrong

Don’t want the Devil to take them along

Thunder booms from the Devil’s throat

Lightning bolts from his hands float

It’s the tears from his eyes when he’s in pain

That accounts for unremitting rain

These tales we need to ban

A tropical storm is God’s watering can.

It's just a snake

This Morning.


Slithering in the jungle rain,
it strayed across concrete
laid by humans.
Empty bellied people with
little money to waste
and opportunistic eyes.
Pinned quickly by a pole,
it had no chance,
capture inevitable
and secured.
Thrust into a discarded
plastic water bottle,
a thirty three centiliter
reptile prison,
its head shaving
the moulded base
as it attempts to turn upon itself.
Middle girth restrained
by small opening,
pushed until
body length is almost
squeezed into captivity.
An angry writhing tail
is the last effort
of defiance.
Finally the cap is screwed
into place and
air holes are punctured
without thought,
a wound speckles red.
A slap on the back with smiles,
hints at an
unknown future
that will probably make
dinner, from a
Vietnamese viper.

Lunchtime.

Five hours have passed
since capture.
Staring eyes
from a triangular head
flick of the tongue
to taste the air.
Settled water tainted pink,
anger builds and
I feel fingernails
biting into my palm
I hesitate to interfere
guilt nags through my brain.
Cheap bravado,
from brown fingers
with dirty nails,
boosted by thin
plastic protection.
Cramped contortions
intertwining scales
as the creature’s head
probes the cap
less disturbed than I am
by the tapping
and squeezing
from outside.
The bottle is tossed between,
and to the merriment of,
the tormentors
there is a limit,
I reach mine.
“Stop!”
Bottle and snake belly flop
into an outstretched
hand!
If looks can kill,
I taste the dryness of my lips
as their eyes follow me,
tension hugs me
as stomach muscles
tighten and churn.

The snake’s release
will come later,
in darkness,
and very, very carefully.
But I need to get away now
and wipe the sweat
oozing from my pores -
fear and jungle rain combined.

T
13/02/08

Fruits of you

Dessert or desert,
our last supper.

Sampled fruit

from your woven orchard.

Mango’s amber slither,

like your tongue,

sweet and sticky.

You're a natural liar.

Pineapple fibrous yellow,

like your mind,

small black pieces.

Your insincerity 'rings'.

Black cherry’s gloss,

like your body,

rock hard inside.

You're stony ground.

Orange’s juicy flow,

like your promises,

full of pips.

I'll spit you out.

Unripe banana green,

like your life,

layers peel apart.

Why don't you grow up.

Brown apple fallen,

like your love,

rotten core inside.

I don't want you.

T
01.02.08

I Prey

Prey.
Life’s jungle.
I – baboon to your tigress.

Gibberish comic throws
coconuts to elude
your deadly stealth.
Baboons die.

Prey.
Life’s cycle.
I – gazelle to your lioness.

Swift but weak,
dodges by leaps and bounds
your killing jaws.
The weak die, others not.

Pray.
Religion's lifeblood.
I –sinner to your priestess.

Kneel at life's altar.
Stupidity’s kyrie in hope of
renewed faith.
Not all die in sweet absolution.

T
06/03/08

Raining memories

Rain cascades.
Street lights shimmer in
golden puddles.
My inner thoughts parade, like
raindrops forge into rivers.
Decades past.
Memories overflow
from a forgotten time
to engulf my senses
and flood my mind.
Divesting rain.
Happenstance recalled,
re-lived and cast away
to float through time
like flotsam on an ocean.

T
28.05.08

Angry Devil

The Devil called on me today in his usual uninhibited way, he took a bucket of cyclonic rain crashing it against my window pane. He pelted my roof for over an hour with raindrops so big, so full of power, at one time I thought the roof would leak, so finally I gave up trying to sleep.

I wondered what had upset him so and what he wanted me to know, at first I could not understand, why loudly he raged and beat his hands, he made the thunder shake my walls, the Devil’s annoyed, and he’s got balls…

So I waited for him to speak; to tell me what caused his fit of pique, I sat in my room quiet and still, then went to the window and leaned on the sill. I watched as he viciously vented his spleen; using thunder and lightning to light up the scene, his stage is set and all’s in place, he wants to meet me face to face.

That’s okay by me I’ve nothing to fear, I went to the bedroom and put on my gear, shorts and a T-shirt without any shoes, I’m dressed in black, no colourful hues. As I stepped through the door and onto the street the Devil’s tears were washing my feet.

I wondered where he’d set centre stage, and started to walk in the midst of his rage. It wasn’t long before I was soaked; the cigarettes in my pocket could not now be smoked, I took the path that led through the trees, then down to the pool I walked with ease. Out through the wall and into the night, then all of a sudden the place was just right, there’s a cemetery here from long ago; this is the place he wants me to go.

He appeared in my brain dressed all in red; the horns shone slickly on the side of his head, he gave no greeting, had a face full of hate, seems a Devil’s showdown is part of my fate. He told me “Take a look around, see all these gravestones in the ground, there’s no one left here for you to see, I’ve got them all, they’re now with me”. I took a look through the pelting rain, at an epitaph below a forgotten name, a long time ago it was carved with care, but the Devils’ dragged them into his lair. Another lost soul for him to claim, he looks on us all as being the same.

I looked at him then straight in the eye; asked him what had made him cry, what caused the overpowering rage that led us to this graveyard stage?

He replied “I was there two nights ago, but couldn’t get past the angels’ glow, it flowed around her and was far too deep, she was one I could not keep, I even gave Gabriel a hefty shove, as I tried to break through all that love, I never even touched her hand, could not get by that heavenly band, I tried in every way I could, but this one woman was far too good”.

I smiled then at the reality, that this meeting was not about him and me, standing in that cemetery no shoes on my feet, I realised the Devil is easy to beat. So I said to him “You can rant and rave, we’re safe from you inside our graves, we only need to do what’s right, show love, compassion, be a guiding light, to those around us that we love and adore, then, in your face Mr. Devil, we can slam the door”.

The storm raged on as I turned away, I’ll live to fight him another day, I made my way back still soaked to the skin, my feet were all wrinkled they looked pretty grim. Tossed off my clothes, got under the shower, scrubbed myself for half an hour, returned some heat to my body’s core and laughed at the reasons why the Devil got sore.

Feeling exhausted I went to bed, on the cool of the pillow I laid my head, my thoughts flew to home and you people there, your anguish, grief and deep despair. I can’t tell you what I’ve seen and heard, you’d probably think it’s too absurd, but I’ve laid the demon and quelled the beast, I can tell you now, Mum will rest in peace.

By the way, before I went to sleep, I asked the Lord your souls to keep!

T

Childhood dreams

Rough as manilla hemp
knotted against the wind,
hands rub stubble-ridden
jowls, that gloat.

Grime coated tongue
of whisky and pipe
tobacco, licks away
at fly ridden carcasses
exuding the
stench of death.

A rustle here;
slithering over there,
air rushed through
cornfield nostrils;
coming to get him.
Soft and ripe for
your loathsome
underworld habitat.

You are real
to him; there!
Where? within his
sightless mind,
he senses you stalking.

Thrashes against
piles of earth,
weighted, legs kick
in vain defence.

Hot sweat mats
chestnut hair against
his forehead. It
trickles into his
ear, blood curdling
scream awakes
the dead.

He hears the
voice of reality,
trusting to its
timbre of love.
“It’s ok son, I’m
here, it’s just
another nightmare”
A cool towel
absorbs his fears,
but not mine.

T