#Conundrum, #Greed, #lust, #poem, #poetry, #the human-condition, Uncategorized

Lust, Hope and Lost. (English and Sierra Leone creole)

We sat down and
spoke about many things in a sparse time,

from shelved dreams and move-ons’ to tilted relationships and speed runs.

Then a tinted SUV drove by,
dropping out that Betelgeuse ‘out of reach’ type of girl that crutches on crushed hearts leaving everyone jelly legs crippled.

Switching gears from the sweet ride with the hot lady ,
and our
hours long conversation lapses into the realm of fast fine mush money and getting in galore beautiful cat euphemisms.

Harems, Haram.
Money is Halal.

…refill , refill..drinks should repeat.


Wallet on E.
Tank nonexistent
Kekeh ain’t free.
Okada padi on flee.

Underdog compensations conversations as we head out.

” ‘So and So’ started broke and hit rock bottom too.

Who knows or cares now about the name of the rich neighbour Hemingway or Obama had? ”

Hope and Dreams.
Denials and Distortions.

Tin foil wrapped as the nights get late;

‘ sam we go see next weekend and bind back’

We’ll catch up next month; again.

We are leaving.

We are living.


#Conundrum, #love, #lust, #sierra-leone, Uncategorized


She was jealous of my music, constantly worrying that I valued its taste,

more than I did her lips.

So she prayed for the words of affections she whispered in my ear

to hold sway than the rhythms of songs in the seesaw of my heart when they take wings.

A true thespian, but I hate her drama.

If only her man could see her now,

brewing a mug of hot tea and emotions for me,

he’ll probably leap on things and spill my Lipton.

She said I was a better liar than I was poet, more than she was a nympho in a demure lady’s skin.

The prelude to our duet intertwine as we drink a draught of oblivion in the peaceful lies,

we sleep in

and awake in dreams of lost blues.

Let that beat drop,
this may end but our symphony is as fluid as the soul,

even when we cease to exist,
cupid’s arrow in it’s countless cliches may never glaze our heel.

If it does,

 may our song expire with the glory of Achilles with a move-on partner,

insomnia for company and a late playlist at 3am.


#love, #lust, #poem, #poetry, #sierra-leone, Uncategorized

No Care

She expected smiles filled with warmth and echoing laughter,

so loud that it would awaken and rival the joy of lunchtime in nursery school,

for in her mind, h
is textual attraction was the fuel that lit up her days more than her phone charger did.

Two blue ticks worthier than 50 greys,

late night convos laced with kinky words,

dressed up sexier than honeymoon lingerie.

She found solace in the drifting space of his words even if they were lies,

and his tongue took her to places that tornadoes could not when they touch down.

Selective amnesia for the half truths, because all she wanted was the moment with him


nothing else.


#lust, #nature, #poetry, #sierra-leone

Peasant Dreams

In an alternate warped life, I must have been a farmer’s son,

who nodded and hummed in tune to the rhythm of bird music.

A gifted playlist from nature to salve my boredom,

no money greased Dj palms to repeat my favourite songs.

So under a palm tree I lay swooning,

a lazy past time in windy harmattan,

then I whipped up that palm wine with orinch(oranges) cocktails,

a ‘munku’ fruity punch concocted in a time before bartenders uplifted souls with that extra liquor drop.

You see,

 my avian artists lure me to dreamland with lullabies,

then feast on my rice and corn fields like insecure actors on weak drama.

As I drowse of, 

gifted with the curse of sleep.

They munch and harvest months of  labours with their innocent beaks into the welcoming pit of their stomach quenching their gnawing hunger.

Rows go.

Me, in Rated M dreamland go;

strokes, strokes, strokes.

In a siesta wet dream of Sata,

the shapely village belle with the sexy tumba(behind),

 soft lips, dusky sunset eyes and coconut sized bosom.

A week or two back with a wry smile and the ghost of a laugh dancing on her fulani fine features,

 she granted me a peep or two,

 down by the village stream as she bathe.

Memory saved and aids the megapixels of my noon imagination.

Almost in… 

So close.. 
Then comes the pain.. 

A falling tree branch 

ends my vision hub; no pun intended.

The birds, they’ve 
stopped singing when the cello-like twang of

my catapult ends their cereal buffet. 

‘R must continue

me dream, I must continue my dream’

Then I slid back in to the 

DM of my slumber like 
  ‘where were we?’ 


#Conundrum, #earth, #KamandaKoroma, #love, #lust, #nature, #sierra-leone, #the human-condition, Art, Blogging, Uncategorized


Dawn has a hymn

It sounds like water greased in a piano played by crickets.

Don’t ask me what I mean, only God knows.
Even when I wake up early, lately I feel like i’m still dreaming

Sleep on that thought, I’ll come back to it if my amnesia doesn’t remember me to forget.

So I was on a bed;

disoriented, lingering hangover whilst my brain was stitching last night’s memories.

I sat up, I gazed at a familiar stranger in the sheets,

was this my home or hers?
These days I can’t tell.

This Bad Cancer Tho…

Its her place, the tell tale sheets figure it out.

Next thought; usai me phone day? My hands rove under the bedspread and I remember with a slight giggle,

way me korkoh padi say some too cheap for call sheets.
I mean the sheets, not her

But fuck it…

Who go know baing?

So my hands were busy searching for my kori kori fone,

they dance and trace over the maps of her skin which I laid claimed and made conquest to yester-night.

I let my hands linger in the soft crevices.

Lord forgive me,

you forgave David and blessed Solomon.

I’m just a lowkey conquerer with no land to call home.

Other ego laced thoughts butt in like.

Did I win here?

Or did my strokes come fast first like Usain.

No time to dwell on that.

I find my phone.

Destination: Jump go WhatsApp

Eyes scan what and who to reply…

Fuck a two blue tics..

so I switch my data off and read,

a recipe for future denials to say,

‘ I never saw your message’.

With a sly chuckle in my head that I feel within that dark half stone muscle I call a heart.

I feel alive;macho like a mexican cartel Boss yet dead inside.

All whites gone…cocoa leaf broke, unsaintly.

This Bad Cancer Tho…

She awakens, I know.

I feel her before I hear the yawns tasting where she had my madinka snake in,

Such a crude thought imagery, mama forgive me , you raised me to be a decent gent but I fell off.

I smell her before her hands reach the nape of my neck,

my Bvlgari cologne is all over her,

the hint of whiskey she drank from my red cup scintillates around her too.

She says GM.

Funny she doesnt call the words , just ,G M.

I, L O L within.

Even better i’mma eat her breakfast and go home,

with my raspy growl I replied with a smile that I am good.

‘Me man get for kam soon o’,she says.

‘So no eat nr day for me’, I respond.

‘Eat day but oda tem now ‘she says with a wry smile dancing on her lips

‘Ok…i’ll sapp you’ I say.

I don’t plan to or maybe I will.
This Bad Cancer Tho..

So here I was..

Under a drenching downpour of rain that makes one think of coupling pairs heading into Noah’s ark.

and Me ;

As the day breaks tinap day bell okada man for balance police na corner corner and promise for add 5grand ontop d money at 6am.

So dawn, does sing a tune,

only, its different to who we are when it saunters in, and where we are when it arrives.

The sunrise isn’t always warm.

So yeah, maybe, strong memories do override that amnesia I mentioned earlier.

So here I am a lost soul who found solace on a misty night only to be cast in the storm at dawn to wallow.

Sleep on that.

Judge me or don’t.

Just blame it on…
That Bad Cancer Tho.


#Conundrum, #Drug Abuse, #Greed, #KamandaKoroma, #landmark, #love, #lust, #nature, #poem, #poetry, #sierra-leone, #sierra-leone literature, #the human-condition, Uncategorized

Cosmic Logic

She was a swift one, graceful like a cheetah in custom high heels

you couldn’t take your eyes off her,

in her gaze men found demise in their lust to own her as a trophy

yet they were left petrified permanently piqued

medusa tinged brazilian hair flowing way below her nape accentuated her shapely hillcut road curves

over the edge with a smile she drove men

but they crawled back pleading with gifted apples of a different sort than the one Eve knew..
you see, Andromina was a bad bitch.

love poems or deep lyrics had no sway with her

neither did gene passed fine features

she wasn’t that sentimental

to her..

sexiness was the sound of that green paper, handsome was the revving of that shiny new G Wagon and funny but smart she found that slick crib with the swimming pool.

this was her religion.
.. damned she was to the temporary bliss it brought her and blind to the world

she deafened her ears to the whisperings, blotted out the prejudiced looks and numbed her heart to the memories she deleted

.. she convinced herself daily she was a good one and only the Most High could judge her.

… and not anyone.

In that hope she laid her bet.
she hoped to wear white some day and walk down the aisle to be ringed by some mystery gent who either forgave her past or knew nothing about it…

for this she made crusades her second home and absolvitory social media religious posts a daily dose…

her faith in miracles was unchallenged
… sadly it wasn’t to be

for in her prime, her dreams were cut short

not by the viral infections of her night escapades or some moral backlash for her sins

but by a drunk taxi driver who after a rowdy evening of fermented cocktail of kosovo and stanky kush slept on the wheel and ran her down to her permanent slumber

… and the world did not stop.

.. afterall

It was just another dead human.


#Conundrum, #Hate, #love, #lust, #poem, #poetry, #sierra-leone, #sierra-leone literature, #the human-condition, #thoughts, Art, Uncategorized


The curse of knowing outweighs the bliss of ignorance,

this deep vault of mine overfills with confidante memories hoping for an Obliviate spell that never seem to come.

Summoning the will to wear that smile is a miracle that I’ve come to see as ordinary

Loki got nothing on me with his mask,

I got them galore like these emojis.
On some days, I stare at my reflection seeing a stranger gazing back.

Broadway needs me

Hamilton could do with a new cast member, I come highly recommended by Pence.

These days I am increasingly fueled by a raging desire to overprice depressed thoughts

Or get lost in the flow of books in the jungle of Amazon.

Nothing is real, ebooks leave me thirsty

I miss the smell of pages

their wrinkled edges and the torn covers that tells me it’s earlier readers validate it’s dopeness

I miss them all.

Even my Red Devil’s trident is broken,

so when I finally drown to the depths of my reverie, I may ask Poseidon for another

and stab Mourinho with it
Or I may not..

Until that next bourbon shot …

I’ll leisurely swim in these rambling and crazed thoughts of mine.