ROUND

Life today is like looking at a carousel
up goes one little horse, down comes another,
nausea still lingering on from the first trimester
as I focus on the motion
of generations past, present and future
in turn experiencing the mystery
of two people sharing one body

Pregnant I am round
and feel like Botero's mama ain't got nothing on me
visions of mobiles and merry-go-rounds crowding up my mind
when I am not too busy worrying about
just how much pain relief I can get and
"can you wake me up when it's all clean and proper please?"

Caught unaware but definitely red-handed
I am gathering up the courage to step onto the scary carousel myself
odds are I'll get off alive
and hopefully a little less round

POWER - an ode to my husband

Your life is filled with Power. In '72 its abuse was the cause of your forced exile, when you were just a thought in your mother's heart, and at the same time that was the sharpening tool that filed down your weaknesses and ignited in you a spark of resilience. Now the surge caused by the growing of your talents is almost explosive: the patience to await the right time almost as powerful as the audacity to dream beyond our means.
You know who you are - the power of identity kept you behaving like a king despite torn clothing.
You know who you want to be - not by your own power, but by the higher one of your redemption giver.
It is an honour to be inspired by you, my best friend, my life companion, and to dream of children who will carry with them a seed of your powerful life.

Birth Control (a poem)

There was no
counting of the fertile days nor
choice of what colour, flavour, texture
of condom to use
whenever uncle's unrepressed libido would trigger his instincts
straight past his brain
up her skirt and in-between her thighs.

No good manners, no foreplay, nice words or a sweet crescendo
in his rough handling of her body against the cold bedroom wall;
careful only not to leave a trace of the act
on her school uniform,
the one he had bought
with his government job salary,
the one she was paying back
with the freshness of her 14 years.

14 years old this world-class expert
in the code of silence:
no tears, no screams, not even a counselling session in which to admit
the truth to herself...
Until...

...the truth grew bigger, and started to emerge
from under her school uniform
the one she had been repaying in installments
whenever her uncle was in town
before he was transferred to the North,
before she started getting beaten by her father
for getting impregnated
by God-knows-whom
for disregarding the sacrificial generosity
of her uncle, who
was paying for her school fees
so that she could have a better future.

Psalm 51

He sat comfortably at the place of God
who was too polite to stay
where He was not desired,
too dignified to squat in His own house
after my unwritten notice of eviction.

Now I talk to myself,
words bouncing round the empty room,
a discoloured polaroid letting me know
what the joy of His salvation looked like.

How do I dismantle this idol of my own making -
one of flesh and bone, that I can see and touch -
and start believing again
that God is not too proud to return?

ONION

it's that time again when its fragrance fills the air
time for another epiphany
time for another layer to come off and lay aside
discarded
though imperceptibly light streams of
cobweb-like strings are trying to remain attached,
the Master's hand is at work.
Ultimate surgery,
I've been through it before
kicking and screaming but now...
now I am a big girl
I have learnt not to cry over onions
I have become eager for the Master's hand to keep peeling away,
one layer at a time,
eager for Him to finally cut the core in half and
let loose all the juice of my deepest intricacy
waiting to exhale in a big loud "ahaaa" moment
when I know that I know that I know
exactly how fearfully and how wonderfully
He made me.

Redemption Song

A crater in my soul
the enemy had been busy digging, emptying out
all that was of my identity.
The knowledge of how
fearfully and wonderfully I am made
back then a pale reflection of the swan
held up like a mirror
to scorn the ugly duckling.

I've come far
since He found me in a desert land,
the empty, howling wasteland of my loneliness.
I've come far
since He surrounded me and watched over me;
I've come back to life
since He guarded me like the apple of His eye.

The miracle of love:
nothing before Him, no-one without Him,
today, redeemed, I rise and fly over the waters of his grace

Breaking In New Shoes (2 part poem)

PART 1
Lately
my feet have seen too many blisters
as if they were covered in bubblewrap
I was walking on broken glass
the North End Road felt as long as the Champs Elysées
no seats on the tube
adding insult to injury.
Yet
the day is near
when the rainbow rises
and I'll walk barefoot on the grass
butterflies caressing my hair
and daisies teasing my toes
The wounds will have been healed
and I will know
that I
have broken into new shoes
they didn't
break
me.
PART 2
Were we like new shoes for Jesus
when the Father gave us to Him
a gift He had always wanted so badly
that He would leave all the ones he already had
behind
while He came out looking for us
Yet
He knew the cost of breaking us in.
A lot more bleeding than I endured.
A much longer walk, a heavier burden.
The absolute giving of Himself to break us in
and break us free
from the rigidity of our legalism,
when we were busy setting up rules to make ourselves look "holier than thou";
or break us down from the pride
of a disrespectful heart
that snares at God
like He's just a delusion.....
Only those whom have been broken in by grace
are ready for some serious walking.