Fare-well by Morgan Weru

a romantic, wrinkled note
was found underneath the mattress of a young, bed-ridden soldier
who wrote to his wife in Rome.......

I jot down this note for you to reply not,
for as you read this, am probably somewhere in a military morgue, lifeless,
for the enemies bullet in my spine penetrated, merciless,
while i inked this note with my pen,
in two hours, something demiseful was bound to happen,
weep not, darling! But spare the tears for nostalgic moments,
then you can freely express your emotional comments,
open the tender slices of your memory
and squeeze-in this sweet sensation,
for Abigael, the reaction of our body and soul chemistry,
will one day:-need a solid explanation!

Yours loving,
Antonio Daniels.

In wait

Joy dint make it this morning as well,

Done waiting, done hoping,

Did they lie?

At crossroads I sat in wait,

Anxious,

Heart and mind fighting for control,

Hoping they dint lie,

At dusk, Reason came through,

He’d been watching,

Lonesome,

Bruised, weary and waiting,

He came,

Whispered that this is pointless,

It could be a lie,

Reason saw love speed away,

As a slave driver, had compelled me to work for no gain,

And took pity on me,

Seeing that I gave more than I had,

And sunk more in debt,

I stripped my mind and robbed my soul,

And almost sold my sanity,

Trying to buy my freedom,

Thinking Joy would be here to pay the debts,

But they might have lied,

For its been many moons and joy hasn’t shown up yet,

Reason prevailed for me,

Wrestled control from heart and gave it back to mind,

He knew freedom is all in the mind,

And numbed those nerves crying for attention,

Froze the heart over, and made it quiet again,

Peace and calm now rests with me,

Here where reason abides.

2010© Ivory Confessions

Nonsense

Nonsense,

It’s the Sound of your hand

At the witch hour

Violently banging on our front door,

As a mad man seeking rescuing,

From the demons that I suspect poses u now,

And a reluctant self contemplates course of action,

Do I open and attempt rebuking them out with my scolding?

Or do I play dumb as you wish of me?

Nonsense,

It’s the sore Sight of the drunkard that you’ve now become,

Hurling insults at the incompetence you now see in me,

And me wondering what happened to him that I promised forever to,

A chameleon, I now see, as your true shades now dim my existence,

Nonsense,

That’s the smell of the slut’s perfume,

On the clothes I picked out for you this morning,

My furiated pride dictates I throw you back out,

Just like the trash you’ve made yourself to be,

But the sleeping angels need a daddy,

So I bid my time and think of praying for your sanity

Nonsense

That’s the Taste of the bile rising in my mouth,

At the thought of you sleeping in our bed,

The couch suffices for you I think

But morning conversations with the angels of why its so,

Would render me speechless,

So I grab all the covers,

You can freeze for all I care,

But you are too drunk to notice this,

Nonsense,

Is the Touch of your hands on me as we sleep,

As you shamelessly mistake me for one of the others,

Should I use the pair of scissors lying on our bedside table?

To do the sensible thing or not?

Sense however did leave our home a long time ago,

So in anger I turn to you ready to pounce,

Only for my sixth sense to stop me,

As an epiphany, you are not worth it I realize,

I rouse, head to our angels room,

Beautiful they are to me,

As they peacefully rest, I lean and kiss each and smile,

Because they make all the sense in my world


2010© Ivory Confessions

Sojourner

Our heart dare not deny, the stirring inside, 
An uncomfortable unrest that cannot subside, 
A glimpse of the unseen, a touch undefined, 
A tune unheard, a taste mortally unrefined, 
Some call it nirvana, some call it heaven, 
All beings ache for something transcendent; 

Are we earthly beings that are heaven-bound? 
Or heavenly beings with feet planted firmly on the ground, 
We long for greatness beyond our reality 
Of life that goes on throughout eternity, 
A communion with something beyond what our eyes can see, 
An experience nothing less than extraordinary. 



2010© Yvette Ntagozera

CONFESSIONS BOX

Here, a treasure box we present,
for all who've wished to share their
confessions with us and the rest of the world,
email us, Ivoryconfessions@gmail.com

Brisk Fire Tales

So the story goes,
A game of fire in the winter,
Letting it rise and rise,
In its warmth to bask,
Hypnotized by those vibrant colours, 
As they swirl and mix with the cold air,
Alive and restorative,
After a long winter spell

And now winter has come and gone,
The heat is beginning to graze the skin,
And the smoke hangs loose in the air,
Evidence of the ongoing fire,
So now, silly ways of trying to get rid of the smoke,
Without killing the fire,
For memories of the cold winter nights are ever present,
After a long winter spell

It’s the tale of the peril the fire poses,
Hazardous to one and all,
Should it get out of control,
So the tale goes,
The fire ought to subside,
Slowly but surely,
It’s dangerous and all consuming,
After a long winter spell,

2010© Ivory Confessions