<a href="http://Strut“>

Go tell the widowed woman downtown
It’s only a long walk to her home
Wear a smile and embrase happiness
Ignore the flashes that burrow within
Live through each day and not in it
Receive the bickering strolls of passers-by
Your strength is the irony of your weakness

She will welcome you like a lost sheep
Listen to you
With imaginations of a withering plant
Then “shuu” you off like a bush fly
With mutterings: the debt of death is life
Strut or not, its faded hands still blooms

-ruthspoetry 2017

Guess What My Obsessions Are?..



I have three strong obsessions;

One of them binds me strongly to him
it drags me to this world I can’t rule
and bites my ego to dust

The other mocks my girly pose
it draws me closer to being a shrew;
an insensitive parade of filters

Ah! The last one is a sister to vanity
it takes me to an ecstatic calling
and roots me down to a bed of regrets

…take a long breath and guess, what are my obsessions?

-Ruthspoetry 2016


<a href="http://Beach“>


She said;

in cold and windy warmth
I lay and mute time
on the beach, on my back
counting the stars
naming them after destiny
the ideology of peace prevails
as the water and sand mate
beneath the locks of my skin
to birth the soul with moist
sprouting the growth of a new mind
relieving the fever that burns within
the solace I seek is in stages
to heal, then to love

I said;

the solace we seek is within
to love ourselves till we heal
acknowledging our emotions
amending the vanity of shielded paths.
For me, life is a constant war
that we will always win
what matters is the timing…

©2016. Ruth Brodrick




Never so far,
not so close.
The bonds of peace growing,
blooming in even gravity
to slim the fatted ego
of sadness,
and crack the emotions that lay stern.

The frank acceptance
of Ole pages,
stays within checkmating the tiff.
Weakness lied,
it spoke the words that didn’t exist,
and coated the red scar that healed,
blinded by selfish anticipations
and a solitude of amplified gore.

The cloud never released a tear
to support the complains
wrapped in the vexed truth,
or to war the angered lovebirds
and tear apart the lasted pain.
Goodbye; the word that could not be spelt,
yet the soul denied the fuss
and bathed itself with music.
Of all the love given;
this remains the old story…

©2016. Ruth Brodrick


O reckless brother!
Seems its more magical to be
drooling in fairness of lies
than in several shades more modest

The tiny hands have grown
rooting for desires it cannot fathom
the greed you hate is your soul
it has eaten you up to blindness
only fishing groans of debt
you look at me, you see light
you look at you, what do you see?

Declaration of faint confusion
the world is bigger than you thought
the itching fever left you grey
turning you into a sack-less muse
mother would cry, for not the fat belly
but the trouble you have grown to be
do not clash your dying note
you’re too old to elope grief.

©2016. Ruth Brodrick.


<a href=””>Misstep</a&gt;


<a href="http://Never Again“>

A breathless breath
with a motioned gait
the wall of courage is trapped
and the echoes of love vain
from this point on
my plight will become hush.
Trapped in my head
are words I wish to vomit
and nay the tints I hide
my heaven is no more
as my life feels faded
with ashes of burnt guilt
and a sepulcher of wants
I fear my present route
it’s the agony of what I believe
I’m fixing patches to find me
but I’m too gone to be me again
i’d just be a section of a changed mind..

©2016. Ruth Brodrick



… See not that the world is black
As dark as the coal we burn
Demons arching within closed doors
Paranoia dominates in linen faces
The scent of peace is isolated in chaos
Where panicked voices cut through opacity
Torn souls say the mighty knights verse
Forever holding the broken septa
The drama says not the story
Nor does the storyteller bridge the gap
The silky face of innocence is calm
War never brings cool to burning chariot
The rested soul knows all the secrets
Telling tales of ambiguity and disillusionment
See through the act of a shrew
The words spoken are forever like dust
Scattered on earth like sands of the field
After all the vain choices
The soul of man still remains naked
Waiting for the call of redemption.

©2016. Ruth Brodrick



Skinned by the sun,
haired by the waves,
I told her, her beauty beats.

She wears her ebony in shades,
rocking her aso-eke to fit,
with beads outlining her waist.
The calabash knows her hands,
as she toiled the soil to yield,
even the cassava farm hails,
springing the rooted culture.
The voice of the masquerade,
mimicking the ekombi goddess,
dancing to call the river spirits.
The diversity of potent crafts,
terra-cotta moulded the norms,
and fiction of the gods that were.
Her two-wrapper buttocks has ego,
to shake and waist out her full strength.
She’s not ratchet, she’s just me,
the girl in her own skin…

Copyright© 2015. Ruth Brodrick.

<a href="http://Take It From Me“>


<a href="Weaving the Threads“>

Significantly applauding the efforts,
of the men who made her
Trenching the fields of natives
to expose her poles,
she has become the giant of Africa
defeating hierarchy to yield democracy.

The road to my Nigeria is patched
like the sandflies that bites your skin
evil men have bitten her skin to sour
grinding all the goodness of her hands
leaving her in confusion and corruption
her glory is breeding downfall in abyss.

The riches of her land surpasses treasures
yet she strives to gain what she already had,
loosing all to nothing, and nothing to nothing.
Do not blame her, she was deceived by the trusted
they make promises they can not keep
they forget the masses once they get hold of her.

Now she is struggling to regain the lost glory
she still stands out, but she is covered in shame
her standing is clawed on greed and impotence
the vastness of her blossom is much better than this
she is weeping and waiting for the pure in mind
to pick her up and water her to grow in strength

Peace and unity she echoes in the forest
like green, her motives were planted to grow
but evil plowed it down to hay and sewage
hope is not lost, she believes in her children
‘soon I will be in my rightful palace
it depends on you and I’ she says

I urge my fellow Nigerians to vote wisely on Saturday, the 28th of March. Although I think the options we have are paraded gold, vote for who you think is right…

By Ruth Brodrick
copyright 2015

Of gods And Of Men

Of gods and of men
Of spirit and fleshy hearts
The battles of the realm is not ours
It belongs to them that lay unknown

Our fathers do evil, and say it’s good
Our mothers bear the shame in duty
We sit and watch the drama ignorant
Our lives were sacrificed to idols

The trail is none but ours to keep
The foundations are faulty and dark
Filled with horrifying tunes of idolatry
Lavishing in the heads of the priests

They say we are small gods, we are not
We are men who bear the load of ignorance
Pointing and blaming none but ourselves
We pay homage to woods that don’t bless

We say it’s tradition, is tradition really a joke?
Group the portions of sacred norms in parts
Then you’d find timeless machines of lies
Our ancestors deceived us; we deceived ourselves

By Ruth Brodrick
All rights reserved ©2015

<a href="32 Flavors“>



To my Mother,
and all amazing
with arms to love,
and lips to bless.
The joys of
is forever your
greatest plight.
On this day,
I celebrate you,
for love unconditional,
and care immeasurable,
the song I sing,
was the song you
taught me,
from my cradle
to your happiness.
Your sayings were
never vain,
till today, they
guard me uphill,
sharpening and
shaping me to gradually
become the woman
you want me to be.
To become a mother
like you someday,
is my greatest scope.
Keeping my home,
never divided.
From a thankful
and loving daughter,
I say I love you…

If you have an amazing mother, you should reblog this post or share with loved ones...

By Ruth Brodrick
All rights reserved ©

<a href="A House Divided“>



My earthly mother says hush
Of all the tucked up yearns
Find rest in delirious moments
Work while thy leg is thick
Stare not at half naked women
With bellies like burst balloon
Eyes front, face out like a soldier
That’s the way to yoga the trials
Stand on your jig sawed manners
Your head is the animal you hunt
Look beyond the twisted lines
Life is a score you’ll learn to keep
Your success; the pride of my breasts
Only then will the spirits lay mute
Hush my child, she says….

Ruth Brodrick

All rights reserved©


<a href=”Last Words“>



A patterned mind
of mosaic and collage
with stone bound souls
in endless tunnels.
Walls that shatter greed
staring at us inwardly
lamenting the blessed curse
patching doctrines to carve us.
We lost it; our senses,
when we became human.

Falling to the damnation; earth
voices that do not tell
good, evil or none.
A confused world
we have built here
no right, no wrong
just trends and verses
decieving the lantern
that burns us white.
Covering our eyes
with transparent veils
see that we see clearly
the truth; we do not.
The ache that hunts us
is this blindness
nothing seems perfect
if not self.
Self; the witchcraft
that made us inanimate.
Judging the colors that,
our ancestors called white
they’ve been black
before revolution came.
Wordless words; wisdom that speaks
the oaks of redemption
stands agape
seeking for the hand,
that will hold on.

We now agree that Exodus
was never our beginning…

By Ruth Brodrick

All Rights Reserved ©


<a href="Tourist Trap“>image

Softly eating the weak pain
An absent-minded fury I bore
Patched letters of defenseless truth
The weary troubled look caught me

Anguish with no ideal character
The third seconds counts on me
Appraising the triumphant loss
Withdrawing the bears of tears

A dirty clean neglected emotion
O spirit of disturbing outbursts
Securing a talent for fraud makers
The gods seek pleasure in my tension

Hover around into deep wicked space
Pondering on a silly nursery rhyme
Theories of resolved torture calls me near
I became a masked woman in underworld

A good mind bears faint evil in pain
Arising painful sweet soured motions
Counting the minutes of my despair
The thoughts of my faded rigor hunts

Drenching in the droplets of my insanity
I wear a robe that dances with the pin of fear
Staring at the dashes that now weakens me
Self love; I absent mindlessly adorn

By Ruth Brodrick
All rights reserved ©



I am actually overwhelmed with the love my fellow bloggers are giving me by considering me worthy of awards.


I’m more than a week late in actually responding to the nomination from my very good friend I met here at wordpress, Sam Rappaz, she actually gave me a date to post this, but I’ve been so busy to find the time to do this, I hope she forgives me😁 it’s better late than never you know Sam…


🔶Pass the tour on up to four other bloggers.

🔶Give them the rules and a specific Monday to post.

🔶Answer four questions about your creative process which lets other bloggers and visitors know what inspires you to do what you do.

🔶Compose a one-time post on a specific Monday (date given from your nominator).


I would love to nominate the following poets who have great sites worthy of your time and comments:

🔸 Kaygy

🔸 Nimmi

🔸 Nadine

🔸 Prakash



I’m actually spending my days engulfed in my studies, so much that I barely have time to do anything for myself. So, I’m currently not working on anything other than focusing on my studies at the moment… Although, I look forward to getting my first poetry book done b4 this year ends, but how to go about it, I don’t actually know… Please I need support and suggestions…


I call my poetry the “spirit speaks” because it’s like my inner self motions my words. On many occasions, I write about me and my environment and have grown to appreciate my style. My style is often termed abstract by few friends, while some others say it’s soul finding, so I guess that’s the difference between me and others; the ability to touch the lives of my readers through written words and also upholding the virtues of poetry is what I call Ruthspoetry…


I write because writing is my only escape, it’s my little inner goddess that propels me to explore words and metaphorical phrases in a world not so far from the normal… I actually love writing poetry because it’s easier to connect the abstract with the normal, creating a communication between two people who are far away, making lives better and putting smiles on faces. I am usually very elated when people comment on how they loved and enjoyed my works. So the reason I write is to speak for those who can’t through my poetry, hence making lives better…


So this is how it works for me; I could be walking down the road and in my head the tap that guides my words is opened, I have to either start typing with my phone or in a book when convenient. I don’t usually scramble through to find words or ideas, my mood tell the story. Being creative I think is a thing of your spirit connecting with the environment, and that’s exactly how it works for me…

Thank you Sam for nominating me, and these questions. And you can visit her here



I was nominated for this award by Nadine Tomlinson. I was indeed fascinated because I’m now in the sisterhood of bloggers.


🔸Thank the blogger who nominated you, linking back to their site.

🔸Put the award logo on your blog.

🔸Answer the 10 questions sent to you.

🔸Make up 10 new questions for your nominees to answer.

🔸Nominate seven blogs.


Questions for My Nominees

1. What’s the best advice you’ve received?

🔸 The best advise I’ve received was “always do what makes you happy, try not to displease yourself so much in other to please others, and love yourself always”

2.If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you choose?

🔸 I think I’d love to live in an island, probably the Bahamas or since my new crave for Asians has grown, India😍

3.Flats or high heels?

🔸Oh flats, I do not like the unnecessary stress involved in wearing heels in my day-to-day activities. Would wear heels only when it relevant…

4. What was the last book you read?

🔸The color purple by Alice Walker… It’s truly American, it’s a must read for everyone…

5.What’s your biggest pet peeve?

🔸 I totally dislike Proud and Arrogant men, as well women who are full of themselves….

6.Who inspires you?

🔸 I am self inspired actually, because I believe my mistakes and failures make me a better person. That way, I am inspired to never be a victim of that circumstance again, and I think that’s what life is all about…

7.What’s your style?

🔸My style is simple and can be called “chic but decent” I believe one doesn’t have to be half or totally naked to look good or be admired..

8.What’s on your musical play list?

🔸 I personally love all genre of music, but I find myself attached more to “rock and RnB”

9.What’s your number-one chill spot?

🔸 My rooommm

10.What’s your philosophy?

🔸 Here goes my Philosophy; ” the reason we live is synonymous to the reason we learn, learning to be better, stronger, and bolder”

Because I love these questions set for me, is be passing it down to you guys..

1. What’s the best advice you’ve received?

2.If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you choose?

3.Flats or high heels?

4.What was the last book you read?

5.What’s your biggest pet peeve?

6.Who inspires you?

7.What’s your style?

8.What’s on your musical play list?

9.What’s your number-one chill spot?

10.What’s your philosophy?









Congrats to the nominees and thank you Nadine for nominating me. You can visit her here



The bridge is broken
I lay sinking in desperation
The waters are angry and fierce
Inviting me to a call to glory
Please help; somebody help me

I killed a man before I drowned
Running my knife through his skin
His tachycardia was palpable
Clenching on his skin; I feasted
Enjoying every part of his blood

Deriving pleasures from his screams
And from his fleeting breath; I danced
Now I am drowning to hell
The demons are already with whips
Ready to repay me for my actions

I see now the line between death and life
Spirally tearing down my ritual hands
Now my murderous soul denies me
I have done evil but I don’t want to die
Please help me; somebody help me….



When the heavens became dark
you dashed into her room
and soiled her bed with the evil you grew
now the gods spit thick saliva on you
and the blessings they owe you, they have withdrawn
the hands that blessed you now curse you
the lips that first kissed you now sigh
your mother laments your foolishness
she has shaven her head for you are dead to her
she now asks you, ‘who is your mother eh?’
your father is deaf to the insurgence
he thinks you are mad

are you mad?

she is now with your seed
and hates it and you for the rough linen scar
she curses your manhood, but you still want her
you call her love; she is the only woman you want
the priest will now take you to the shrine and torture you
he will put fresh pepper on you and pour palmwine on your sore
he will tie you under the sun, so it will melt your black skin
but your mother still comes to clean you at night and whispers to you

I am still your mother, but you are not my son
and you do not have a father or a sister
only a child that will hate you when she finds out
that she is the daughter to your sister

By Ruth Brodrick.

All rights reserved ©

Dance With Me Babe

I’ll make
the first move
just hold on
and dance with me
step by step
hand in hand

you and I
rocking our body
we can go samba
if you want
better still
do the ekombi style

if you wanna go western
fine by me
we can do shmurda
or ballroom dance
making a show
in the eyes of life

and when your tipsy
I’ll hold you tight
close to me
your chest against mine
head on my shoulder
then we slow dance

when the feeling’s strong
I’ll take you home
you will wake up on my bed
curled on me at dawn
still dancing with me
in your head’s trip

if you doubt my charm
come dance with me babe…

Robbins- Makarova-thumb-560x820

By Ruth Brodrick. All rights reserved©



He is just a little boy
Not even up to 6
With no mama and papa
He is living under the bridge
Surviving from your trash bin
Yet you are so selfish
You give all the leftover to doggy
You see him looking tattered
It’s no business of yours
Your children, they wear fine clothes
You’re happy, and tell them shuu from him
You call him baby devil, he looks like one now

Now he robs your house and he’s mean to you
He rapes your girls and shoots your woman
You’re bitter with rage, he is bitter with pain
He smiles at you with his brown caked teeth
He knows you sentenced his papa to death
And made his mama die on a rope
He ain’t gonna forgive you for that

‘You, the devil here’ he says to you
My papa, good man, you did evil
You blame him, they kill him, you alive
Mama, she gone mad, kill herself
Me I hate you, I shoot you, I hang you
Clean job, like I did no such thing
I go with your money, free man
You go for judgement, bastard!

No no! Too easy Mr, you die in pain

You begin to beg, he hits you hard
Now he shoots your girls, takes you with him
He buries you alive on the farm
And invites the birds to feast on his dinner
They pluck your eyes , you scream
They haunt your skin, you scream
He’s watching, laughing, enjoying it
No more life, he says, he takes you
Cook you spicy and steamy
Now he asks bingo to eat you
Good boy, good boy he says to doggy


mami water

The night has come to our land
and the tune of the river fades away
leaving only the rats to report to the spirits

blatant fears of rioting silence
growing into stunted rigor of strength
she sits, and listens
she has become the dreaded voice that weeps
her plight now is hay dressed in cow dunk
stealing away the glow of the sapphire in her
the mask she now wears is crafted to light darkness
as the spirits now feed on her trembling
unravelling the dirty waters of bloody feast

you look at her and see water spirits
she is not like them, they are like her
cresting to the threshold of her thin tears
go closer, look at her again
is she not your daughter?
see the snakes on her hair
they conjure her to the gallows to drain her
now her bitterness slaps your mouth from anguish
her colour; black till the break of dawn

By Ruth Brodrick. All rights reserved ©, this article should not be used or shared without the permission of the author