A Song and A Vision

There’s a song in my head that won’t be put out.
Good thing it’s one I love to sing!
There’s a vision in my head that just wouldn’t let go,
a dance of colours we don’t yet know.
There’s a song in my head I can’t let go.

There’s a song in my head, and we’re all singing,
you, me, seas, and stars above, or beneath, whichever way your head’s turned looking.
That’s the vision in my head, it really wouldn’t let go.
Mountains bellowing, many trees clapping.
That’s the song in my head and I can’t let go.

There’s a song in my head, and somewhere there’s a master,
the kind that gets us to all chorus together and get our notes just right.
He’s in the vision in my head (not even that tinie tiny would let go),
his whole heart singing, his two arms lifting.
Oh that song in my head, just let it go!

There’s a song in my head, and the words’re in English
or whatever language dreams play in but you get to understand it all.
But there’s a part of all this vision I can’t see yet.
He’s the one we’re singing, the one we’re seeing but can’t see yet.
He wrote this song in’ my head, and He won’t let go.

There’s a song in my head, I can’t let go.



I feel like a flake
of snow in a
mild London winter falling
bits too
little too
light too
warm to
do anything but
melt into

a cup of water

sweet nor
sour, not
a flavour

but perhaps its own. mute

as a rainy day: no
roaring waves or ripples with splashes, not even
a pitter or patter,

silent and grey. so simple

that I can see right through,
trace out the yellow, dark, and blue
butterflies that lie flat and cool
at its bottom

longing as my mouth to
take a
sip, a
gulp, a
whole mouthful until
it’s all gone
or a

my psalm

there’s an unresolved note inside of me
dragging on like the tension between
the string and its bow,
drawing me close, nearly, almost
to despair’s silence
then coursing in violence
like unruly clangs of cymbals
invaded by clashes of drums
and the string and its bow
wrestling like my heart and soul.

pluck me, Lord,
pull me, Love,
like the bow does its string
from this song my heart sings
from the hum despair brings
and play with me a note so sweet.
Lord, your song let me tweet,
its chorus let my heart beat,
and as the bow does its string,
play me the sounds of peace.

there’s an unresolved note inside of me
waiting to reach its end
waiting for the song that comes
waiting at the end of this note
waiting, until I am
drawn into a tease
or so it seems.
there’s this unresolved note inside of me,
waiting for my Lord
as a string its bow.

a daughter’s oríkì

by her mother who waited for her

of my own blood
that flows as the river
Ògùn, knowing and fierce that
Olúmọ’s stones tremble.

Olúwa ta mí l’ọ́rẹ!
and He graced her with a bow
that stretches from ear to ear
and gleams against skin dark as orógbó,
showing a glimpse of His abode.

…re mi mi re mi mi re…
her voice speaks
in the same rhythmic tone of half a scale
and a half word of wisdom
of Ọ̀ṣun, Mọ́remí, Màámí

ọmọ Àdùkẹ́
ọrẹ oníye lórí
tí a rán
láti orílẹ̀ ọ̀run wá.

love is

Ma says love is,
“own your own thing,
each man mind his”;
but let’s go with,

… t’ be loved, love is
touch…, desires, mine
and hers too; and
mind your own thing!

i’ve got rap on my radio

singing, love is
just another word
that rhymes with war
and poor and lost.

but, wait, wait, just wait.

’tis written what love is:
kind and not puffed love is
God come as man love is
streams of His brick red blood

flowing from His nailed hands
and feet for me love is
for you our bond love is
calling you to where love is


ilé là wá nlọ,
ilé, ilé

but do you not wonder,
n’íbo n’ilé wà?”
as all men sing the tune,

ilé là wá nlọ,
  ilé, ilé”,

with suitcases that bear gold coins
and a sofa, a suit and a garage
of metal beings that hum,

ilé là wá nlọ,
  ilé, ilé”,

on the trek to that small country
(the strongest of them!) whose anthem
(and all who live there still sing),

ilé là wá nlọ,
ilé, ilé,

makes you wonder,
n’íbo n’ilé wà?”,
only you must not still the song,

ilé là wá nlọ,
ilé, ilé