Man: Why do you smile like that?
You should have a small smile
You know you do not have a nice dentition.
Lady: Okay sir…
Man: Why do you walk that way?
Learn to catwalk
I mean, even those with bad legs can right?
Lady: Okay love…
Man: Why didn’t you apply make up?
Your spots are too much
I like my women always on point
Lady: Okay baby…
Man: Why is your nose so big?
Don’t worry, when next we travel
We will definitely stop at Dr 90210
Lady: That will be nice…
Lady: He doesn’t love me, he thinks I’m ugly. Maybe I’m not his type, maybe I should leave this relationship….
Man: I love my lady, and I’m sure she understands how I feel, not like I’m trying to make her feel less of herself, I just want the best for her….
She stayed glued to him
for a thousand years,
yearning for his heart beat
or the helpless breath of awake,
yet he denied her loyalty
and spat on the love she offered,
mocking the tales of Ivory Cast;
the epitome of a fine skinned woman
with the prudence of half an angel.
He said to her, I know thee as beautiful
dauntless like a sapphire, you truly are,
with eyes sparkling tenderness
and lips tearing down denial
but to me, you are nothing.
Weak men see the plastered deceit
but I see the falsity of thy love
and I hear the voices that roam say,
“do not look too deep,at a beautiful woman
for her eyes carry the tempt
that will murder you to insanity”.
If beauty was my choice dear Ivory,
you will be my queen for all thy life,
but nay, beauty is the wrinkle of the skin
and character, the beauty of the face.
See now my dear, that you are nothing?
Your beauty is nothing but dust…
©2015. 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.
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Let your mind spin in a merry circus and give light to your eyes in a dark world
For in the shadow of a dark world, only an ignorant soul triumphs
The eyes that sees through an opaque beauty, is truly the eye that passes on
It makes patches of illuminating ideas in a world so dark
The thoughts of a native mind meanders into a ring if antiquity
As it is the soulful trust of those that live in a trail
Open your eyes before the diamonds are thrust into a chest of escape
For your eyes see not the truth of the entirety of the dark world
The trouble that shoots in darkness, drags the flesh of the present along;
This is only true to a man who faces trouble in fear.
Let your soul meander through a light fountain of possible eruption
Bursting through and setting free the voices of captives held in dark walls
For the walls of a dark world, is built to trample on plastic minds
Minds with blurred intentions on a casted glory.
By Ruth Brodrick
All rights reserved©
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
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…
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
You smell her skin; kernel and groundnut oil
a cluster of butterfly eludes you
your wildest imagination cuts through the fragrance
under her bed, you stole the secret
you wore it, yet it wears her on you
you look ravishing, but with her glory
now you tell the lies to antique minds
but they can recognize the origin of the cologne
it wears a grin on your face that resembles village
the cassava farm recognizes you as you walk by
it mocks the worn out pride on your face
and praises the ghost of the woman you wear
you are vexed; you sneak it back under the bed
the rumble of the sweet smells of lavender bows to you
you want this one, but you rather not wear old grin
so you leave, smelling of coconut oil instead
By Ruth Brodrick. All rights reserved ©. This poem should not be used or shared without the author’s permission.
Your sister hates me
she curses my curvy and short figure
she says I took her good features during creation
or that I came from the ocean floor of hell
now she gossips me with her broom-stick sisters
and stares at me with eyes of arrows
when I walk, I wiggle; my heavenly endowment
when she walks, she bends: too much hormones
when her suitors see me, they stare at me head to toe
but they only look at her lagoon face
even your mother wishes she had buttocks
so suitors can bring money
that she will use to train you in school
I see that I have become an idol for her fantasies
but it’s not my fault she resembles the riot of hell
but why is she jealous
she wears foundation and designs her face; I do not
she wears long beaded ear rings; my ears are not pierced
she wears short skirts; I wear long gowns
my natural beauty overshadows her playground face
when we walk down the road together
heads turn to me and she becomes my shadow
she hates me even more now
but I look at her and wish I was tall
or that I had her hormones
that feature; she stole from me during creation
and I hate her for that
By Ruth Brodrick. All rights reserved ©, this prose poem should not be used or shared without the author’s permission…