Tin Man

He was a hulking man

With a voice edged with authority,

Body parts designed for hostility,

And narrowed eyes that awakened

child-like fears.


In the distance  I hear a clang,

It’s the tin man.

The unmoveable man;

Feet sunken so deep into the ground,

That he could feel the worms slithering around

But still chooses to stay.


A white wall that hears but never listens,

Was he too much of a man to show compassion?

Were these hands incapable of loving,

What is love if it’s not given?


I heard that the dead lie in graves,

So I dig and dig,

Only to find,

That the man I wanted him to be

Never really existed.





Sea shells, sandy shores and crystalline waters,

a paradise filled with wonders,

Karang, Makro, Red snapper,

You’re hooked from just one platter.

Sir Selwyn Selwyn Clarke market; a canvas of colours,

a sea of shouts, clustered streets and peculiar odours,

Koko-de-Mer, Delo Koko, and coconut rum,

plump mangoes, bananas, green string beans grown from

the backyard of my childhood home,

grey rocky headlands, salty sea breezes, the golden horizon,

bubblegum sunsets; A wildfire sunrise

spear fishing beneath the baby blue skies.

Sunbathing, skinny dipping, deep blue diving,

pink-faced tourists sipping daiquiri,

smoking and savoring a Mahe King.

and us, chasing  the sunset on

our late afternoon drives,

How could I not be happy in such a paradise.






Can you imagine having sex with your clothes on?

That instead of exchanging breaths,

we could intertwine our lives,

and explore the slippery surfaces of our pasts,

rather than the shape and texture of our tongues?

Would you be capable of nurturing

my mind and heart with the same

tenderness used when caressing my inner thigh?

when you delicately trace your fingers

down my neck and onto

my left breast,

do you feel the thundering of my heartbeat?

when you kiss your way towards my navel

do you sense the storm brewing in the pit of my stomach?

tell me,

could you imagine having sex with your clothes on?