The Naive Rudel.

Best Served With: Ordinary People by John Legend (Instrumental Version)


Image result for confused when breaking up

I don’t understand.


Why when gloomy suns boil their flying oceans,

When azure and scarlet unite in carnage,

When hollow Spartans fight and fuck,

Why do you choose today of all days?

Why after I tell you I love you?

And bare my baby of a soul to callous caramel?

Why let weighty winds whisper worries while you wave woefully?

Summer breeze mournfully kisses my sullen cheeks;

Brown buns cut by salty streams limping downwards,

Racing until they reach the bloody gap where my heart used to be.


I always knew you didn’t love me,

But a man can dream, can’t he?


Elano’s Notes

Hey guys, the title of the poem refers to Jaufre Rudel, a french poet who was one of the pioneers of love as we know it today. He would write poems only about love but never actually have sexual relations with his lovers. Sometimes, he would even write poems about women he had never seen before but still claimed to love them. Love today is not as unadulterated and simple, we often do whatever we can to protect our hearts and people rarely ever take that dive without testing the waters. This poem is about baring your heart out and that soul-crushing moment when it gets broken. For me, in that moment, time stops and all my thoughts and emotions come rushing in at once. The only question on my mind is why. What do you guys think? Has this been your experience? Let me know in the comments section.

After I Sleep…

Best Served: Fool for you by Snoh Aalegra


Image result for dream-like landscapes


Fire and ice were born to mix,

To flirt as the flesh and the mind do,

An arrogant ant limps across the tired floor,

Without two legs, a wing and a mandible

It continues; shuddering in pain with every step,

Behind it, an excited thumb chases in ecstasy,

In front, its sugary paradise beckons,


It trudges on before…

SNAP, there goes a leg,

SNAP, another follows,

Whimpering as pain racks its body,

It will endure till its destination.


It slaps the ground with hurried steps,

But a gluttonous shadow looms over,

With its last strength it jumps,

And as the cautious air whistles in wonder,

Its beady eyes shrink in disbelief,

For its sugary paradise has vanished,

The cold floor hatefully heckles it

As an awkward landing seats reality,


Pain immediately crawls up its legs,

The looming shadow now oppressing the deck,

Crushing it without a chance to cry or beg,

In its eyes the paradise had become an icy mountain.


See the ant was not scared of its death,

That was inevitable.

It was terrified that the paradise it so struggled for,

Was unreachable.


Life is a child that plays with living toys,

He tortures and breaks them down to bring him joy,

No stopping or reasoning; no parent or envoy,

No ounce of understanding; just plain acting coy.


To him it’s a game, to us a despicable ploy,

So I ask you:

Is he a reckless God or an innocent little boy?

I Will Dream

Best Served: Fool for you by Snoh Aalegra


Image result for nighttime landscape

Babies are such curious beings,

That carry a strange power with them,

Helpless as a man in love,

Yet they never want for man or love.


They spit worms that pull out your hair,

And these worms are elongated tapes,

Brown and mushy pull a hard shell,

And in an angel’s harmony; they sing:


“You pull me closer though your teeth kiss,

My living Santa buys my wish list,

The truth is that you can’t resist this,

See I’m the shackle you chose to wear on instinct.


At the junction of love and hate; we meet,

Nature and thought turned tear bare at the teat,

This feeling soaks quite deep in bittersweet,

But boast this love, it tastes more bitter– in truth– than it is sweet”.


They are so weak–

The little clouds of arrogance,

Can’t even wipe their ass,

Yet their cradle is a throne.

Some even worship them,

Making them the center of their life,

A writhing altar above their wife,

But on the skin of the temple

wails the child of strife.


You do realis—

Why are you kneeling?

Stand the fuck up,

Your knees are for money

sex and fleeting pleasures,

Your feet are to chase your butchered dreams,

Joseph runs on the barest of feet.

I know you are a clueless dreamer.

Delusion searching for the next big hook.

You ought to climb that icy mountain.

But all Hail the flesh’s faithful book.


So, here we are on a train to destiny,

Me, a successful nobody,

You, swaddling a contradiction.

You could have been famous,

Or a gangbanger or politician,

Or maybe something less scandalous,

You could have been warm and adventurous,

But as the setting sun casts amber shadows

That weave through the rough train window,

I see you are choked in shriveled fun

Trapped in a snow-covered sun

Rasping and gasping for torture’s turn.

Black picks a fire but blue burns.


The icy mountain chuckles at your insolence,

At your attempt to connect to the larger hive,

At the cultural gap between nappy hair and blue eyes.

At your forced laughs with statues you despise,

At the clay between your actions and your mind,

And all the little things that go bump in the night

When you take convenient chemicals that make you feel alive—

Drumming the needle; a doused reprise

Shrug off reality; dive into the tide

Rusted pendulums swing crouched highs into garbled cries.


And we could talk about sexless soldiers

Or how your friends are getting older

Or how Brexit fucked Theresa,

But you know yourself.

You don’t have that kind of time,

You’re busy chasing babies.


You know you’ll get off at the next stop,

Drop destiny for a baby sop,

To a job where you’ll never reach the top,

And when that’s done, you’ll go home,

Sit on the couch,

And sigh deeply between sips of scotch,

Lamenting your alight and stolen bliss,

Longing for a train that you can only reminisce,


That siren in the cradle is your antithesis,

Loud, raw, simple; free.

Its owner either your epitome or your nemesis.

It is everything you wish you could be.


You will not admit it,

For it makes your life a squandered fortune,

And death an honored guest,

So, you tell yourself:


I will never want for man or love,

I am not helpless as a man in love,

I am special, shan’t I chase my dreams?

After all, Babies are just curious beings.

Hermes’s Instructions

Best Served: Corny by Rema


Image result for hermes greek painting


We are all messages to another,

At least before we crumble, burn or soak

Our uniqueness mirrored in the handwriting,

Used by Life before it mails us,

A hive of black and white,

Bow all the colors in between,

For every destination we reach

An experience

A mistake

A blessing.

The river of Time glistens indifferently,

And we just float in it.

With our tips just breaking the smooth surface,

Our dry stamps naked for all the world to see.


But point to any letter in that translucent river,

It will tremble or defend as you pick it,

So, you must soothe its surface

And straighten its creases,

I promise, it will relax and let you in.


Fan out its damp vulnerabilities,

Not too quickly that it separates from you,

Not too slowly to allow the harsh wind defile it.


Gently remove the seal,

As though a delicate glass in rough hands,

Nibble; do not scrape,

Never rip for that is rape,

Take time until it is agape,

For it takes years to make,

A lifetime to remake,

But only a second to break.


And when the white carriage is open,

The paradoxical princess alights,

The black army in a white battlefield, small or several.

But all you will ever see,

Is a conversation between the pain of the past and the hope for the future.

A Letter To BD

DISCLAIMER: The following work is intended for mature audiences only. Viewers be advised.

Best Served With: Naked by Sabrina Claudio


Image result for couple sexual love


My sexy little flower

How’s your day

Is everything okay?

You know I’m here to listen

You know I’m here to stay

I know you know I can relate

So why don’t you conversate

With playful bites that retaliate,

My every touch, your trembling foliage


What’s wrong?

I haven’t heard your voice in so long,

If you’re sad I can sing you a song,

And my voice you can stop with your tongue,

Maybe later I can slide into your thong.


Ohhhh let me take a sip from your fountain,

In those puffy sheets you straddle my mountain,

Hold you down till my name is your anthem,

Obscene rain will come down till its round ten.


Make no mistake I intend to pollinate,

The field between your barracks I will violate,

To be blunt: tonight, two moons will fornicate,

Because with amorous grace do you reciprocate.


Grasp that white sheet and hold on for dear life,

Cross your toes and arch that glossy back,

As I deep dive into pink enemy lines,

Whispering tornadoes and suckling attacks,

My petals will caress your supple caramel leaves,

A gentle peck; I’m searching for nectar,

A deep thrust; you scream in surrender,


Now that you’re bent over,

And I’m bending my knees,

I’ll meet my slippery queen,

And you’ll feel it in your toes.

We can touch the peak of ecstasy,


I love this game of hide and seek,

My in chases your out;

My soldier nestles perfectly in your bosom.

Feel it, I feel it, we feel it, we feeeeeeee–




And when we’re done, I will rest,

Between those two soft pillows you call breasts,

Both loud moans and soft gasps can attest,

Be it suck, sip or kiss; I’m the best.


Best Served With: Vibin’ Out with () (0) by FKJ


Image result for black couple romantic and sexy

I want you to be mine.

Want to feel dark skin against me,

Crazy curves cradle

Hazel eyes that cut and call me.


I want to take my time,

Touching on that tear of sunset,

Sexy, dark and lustrous,

But shines bright when the night sets.


Cause babe you make me feel alive,

And that ass must be a miracle,

Gorgeous silky hair so shy,

But every tease I hang onto.


For us, the stars have aligned,

I’m sure you know we entwine,

Just let time age our wine,

I know I want you to be mine.

Joe’s Catharsis.

Best Served With: Neu Roses (Transgressor’s Song) by Daniel Caesar.


Image result for broken friendship

Nights like this I hate.

Nights when my bed is steeped in melancholy,

A boy and his sadness—face to face,

While the rain cries on his window.


I don’t know ho—

I don’t know how to start.

I don’t know what to.

I don’t want to lose you.


I know I hurt you,

I hate myself so much for it,

But I can’t take it back,

The past is in the past.


I feel like a child,

That broke something important,

I want to sew it together,

But it isn’t fabric,

I want to glue it together,

But it isn’t plastic,

I want to cry for help,

But that doesn’t fix anything,

I want somebody to call,

But stifled gasps are all.

I want to blame somebody else

Or joke about it,

But if I laugh, I’ll surely melt.

No doubt about it.


How do you plug a pipe?

When it’s not losing life?

When it’s drowning in air?

When we’re breathing despair?


A white-hot fire courses through me constantly,

Scalding and scraping my mind and soul.

Oh It Burns,

It Burns,


I’m sorry.


Through this pain, I carry eggs,

Too many for my hands,

Too little to matter,

They’ve suffered through oblivion’s peck,

And with interest, some of them peek,

At molding lava as it speaks,

Every word callously cradles,

Every sentence cautiously cremates.

And if even one of them adventures,

I’ll lose my best friend.


But if I was standing alone,

A fugitive of the sun,

Betwixt a howling night and a scorching day,

I would tell you this:


Geraldine I miss you,

I miss the illustrious intents of the Ilukwes,

And the marvelous misadventures of your cousins,

I miss you stressing over school, boys and life,

Miss our arguments and conversations.


We used to read each other like open books,

A personal library between the both of us,

I was the Ares to your Athena,

I miss you so much; regular degular.


Geraldine you once asked me why I am your friend,

Why in your company, do I bask and rend?

It’s because of your family, because of your friends,

The way you carry yourself and the time you lend,

You never sport fake smiles or try to pretend,

And never, for any one, do you change or bend,

Your complicated thoughts and words you intend,

The light you bring to those whose time you spend,

You have your hardships too, but you relent,

Just because a rock is sturdy doesn’t mean it cannot dent,

I hope you see you are not a means to an end,

More like a tough mixture to which I blend.

I am your friend because of who you are at present,

And if your countenance in future amends,

Then I will be honored to witness

But make no mistake.

You are my friend because you are my friend.


Nights like this I hate,

Because I swore to fight for us,

And when the serene rain pelts my window,

It feels like I’m fighting alone.