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My Pussy left

My cat and I are not in talking terms,
she left the house for so long
never visited, never knew how I was.
Today I saw her meowing by my window
she got pregnant out of wedlock
and now I’d be the one
to worry about the coming kittens

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DAY 3 (A Sketchy February)

Dear Mother!
This is the wind I have become,
blowing the name you bore me till a hand held me
tight never to lose me
the same way you told the Devil never to hold me
in those little pocket prayers you said while you tied your wrapper to God
holding me by his name.
I finally found that trees have roots that lead towards the heaven,
it’s why they never move.
Although! Your son moved, his sun moved too
he found a moon and gave her his light
the songs you hear is about me—the fallen knight
Black Adam from a soft Earth
blood in my tongue for where I come from.
So mother, I have found a new name
in the caves of hearts that are blacker than dark,
their fire keep me burning
and that is why, I must write to you
to remind you that no matter the hiding of the weevil in a cup of beans
the boiling water will reveal it in its death.
I will not die, cause I have held death by it’s brim
and it flirted with me.


Audios, Poetry

DOWNLOAD super muri quod rimas (on a wall that cracks)

Born Rudolph Adidi, an Architect/Spoken word poet. He gets personal with this upshot release using a Latin title ‘Super Muri Quod Rimas’ which means ‘on a wall that cracks’ as his guide in creating a conceptual album that is chock-full of bruised sentiments and sincerity. This continues from his previous album ‘Handwriting’ with works like ‘Limbo’ whose rewards are numerous with theatrical production by producer Greal supporting his deep content. ‘BREATHe’ innates the heartache in him to be free like a flowing river. ‘This is how you Love a Metaphor’ make a good run of highlights bringing into limelight a deep yet soul singer Fania. While you look out for that, be sure to know that The Red Cap Poet said his ‘LAST WORD (ultimas palabra)’ that describes the state of the nation (you didn’t think he wouldn’t talk about his country, do you?)

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ORACLE (a sketchy February)

I am not your pain
I am not your silence
break forth from where there’s stain
take off all of these hurting absence.
Clasp your hands, chant it from your mind
I, who knows will of course fix your kind.

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SPACE (a sketchy February)

There’s a meeting ongoing with time,
It has an ounce of pain itching
in attendance along with the heart.
Sometimes it gulps misplaced priorities
like promises of metal painted gold.
Time claims to heal but for now it hurts.

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SLOW (a sketchy February)

Nobody told me about all these
the stretching of the sun
the peeling off the night,
the steadiness of a silent morning,
the cold whimpers of a sad moon
the healing of a broken heart
all of these are in the bus of slow.

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