Care For A Ride…

“Winter is coming”

Well, it’s already come

Why don’t we get into some writing

Or maybe you should come In more ways than one, get what I mean?

Some nights shouldn’t be spend alone

Lest you wake up and find you’ve turned into stone.

Time sure has passed,

Seasons have gone,

Built up feelings are high,

So here we go,

All put aside as we couple up,

Your pen at hand,

My canvas all smoothed up,

Let your pen color my canvas,

Draw it all on me.

Tonight we let all guards down.

Because in us there’s no height too high No depth too deep

Roses on the bed,

music playing…

Let’s get to some freaking

Let the temperatures rise and the rains pour

Tonight imma get you flooding for sure

You and I at sea we are,

You the captain

I’m your vessel,

Up and down the tides we go,

Set my sail and there will I go,

Watch me rise and turn as you steer,

Down below to the ocean bed too I can reach.

I’ve read Kamasutra but let’s make our own shit

Let’s make a song with our bodies

And let the union be our melody

The up and downs: damn! let me look into your eyes as I go deep

Let my hands draw a picture on your body That only me and you understand

The night might be cold but we are on fire Our bodies yearning and our eyes burning with desire

Hold me down!

Pin me against the wall!

Lemme be glued on you.

For in my arms I need you not,

On my skin I want you not But in me…

There shall you strike your staff,

On you…

There shall my nails draw their path!

Make me sing…

Sing to the melodies of your heart,

Watch me dance…

Dancing to the rhythm of your beat,

So yes…

Let’s make the music,

Lemme feel you drum me to the core,

For then shall I resonate,to sync with the symphony of your love!

I will make your body glow With every push and pull,

every single turn let your voice grow I will go up the hills Down the valleys and course through the curves


I’ll be your Alexander The Great Let my tongue make you sing

Let my fingers do the walking


I’m going to make you my slave I’ll be gentle

Slowly sliding in where your waters have made wet

The thrill of this ride will take you to another level Give you pleasures you never thought you’d get

Then I’ll slowly increase the pace

Taking you from grace to grace Love, tonight is your night

Let’s make this our kind of fight I love it when you close,

I love it in dim light more…

Seeing your body glistening amidst the sweat.

Hold me softly in your arms,

Lay me at our alter,

For the ultimate sacrifice,

We both shall pay…

For in joy and glee,

Down the slippery path we shall tread.

With raised hopes I shall lay, In faith before me you bow,

A word or two to bless the ancestors,

As smoothly but firmly you devour!

Tonight’s gonna be one hellova night

Your body my ball and my bed the pitch

I want to tease you till you clench tight

Please you till your body feels right I’ll hold on till your end is in sight

Then let go when your gates can hold no more

Let the sheets tell it all The creases showing the story of our nightly show

Then we’ll play naughty till the dawn is in sight

Then we’ll close our eyes To dream of the next time we rise

Let’s ride this carousel,

You and I as one!

Let’s make this our Merry go round,

Ride after ride just you and I,

And when we reach the peak of our ride,

With our arms outstretched and our skin as one,

Let’s dive into oblivion…

Into the passion that joins us,

As we surrender to our throng’s of passion,

Till we reach our downtown, And exhale in unison,

For the journey we have shared,

Would be worth our every sweat!

All credits…thank you Kelvin Mutune

© Eisenherz Poet




“You should never read just for “enjoyment.” Read to make yourself smarter! Less judgmental. More apt to understand your friends’ insane behavior, or better yet, your own. Pick “hard books.” Ones you have to concentrate on while reading. And for god’s sake, don’t let me ever hear you say, “I can’t read fiction. I only have time for the truth.” Fiction is the truth, fool! Ever hear of “literature”? That means fiction, too, stupid.”

— John Waters

Word of this day,as we await the coming month!!


So you are the poet…

A sought after artist,

A musician with the voice to die for,

One after Picasso’s own heart,

A lyricist that gives words to all tunes…

So you are all of these and maybe more,

Well,that’s great of you!
So this fine bright morning,

With a happy soul you rise up,

With a cheerful heart you awake,

A warm smile spreading on your lips,

And with your head already in the game,

You are ready to face the day,

To conquer and rule,

To set the pace all will scramble to follow,

You then set the ball rolling.
But all that you planned,

All that you had set up,

Just like a house of cards,

Like perfectly arranged dominoes,

Comes tumbling…

Crashing down,

Right before your eyes!
What if you lose your charisma,

Your outlook for the world changes,

Your response to the world offsets you,

And in the charade of it all,

You realize you just lost it…

Lost all that made you sane,

Lost all that kept you grounded…


What if you lost yourself?
Your words keep you sane,

Your voice adds beauty to you,

Your paint and canvas tell of your life,

The dance steps talk of your feelings,

All these art show of your humanity,

Show of your emotion,

But with a snap of a finger,

With a shake of a lamb’s tail,

You just lost it…

Lost it all.
What if one day you lost yourself,

In this big wide sea you are set afloat,

Sinking and floating with the high and low tides,

Being carried in the ever turning tornado,

And in the midst of it all,

Its the peace found in the eye that you seek,

And despite it all…

Its the peace in the storm that you yearn.

What if you lost all that makes you sane,

In this world full of ravaging storms,

Will you fight to remain sane,

Will you fight to find your words,

Your voice…

Your dance steps…

Your canvas…

Your unsung lyrics…

Or will you fade away,

Absorbed and swallowed with the world,

To be forgotten and be written off,

Completely erased from the books of history,

That are presently being written in your memory!
What if you lost you,

Will you remain lost?


The first time we kissed there was no rainbow neither the feel of butterflies dancing in my stomach. There was no music: nor golden specks of sun rays in the morning as it perched through dew. The beaconing of hope and flicker of desires of what was yet to be, burnt vehemently in our eyes; yet still remained elusive. But the angst,  the blood rush in my veins as our senses heightened, drove us to a distant world. A world broader than ourselves. Where, like waterlily on shores we could float. Lest we forgot to close our eyes. 
There was silence.  Nothing new. But the rhythm of our lips as they munched against one another in soft abrassion. The tasteless taste of saliva as they exchanged greetings in a two way traffic along a busy street; Was accompanied  by the natural scent of animals breathing ghastly; the sweat that formed the creases of their beings. Nothing ever came close to the power of sniffed glue till thy moment. The odour of our smell mattered not anymore.  This world, only but temporary, heeded better promises than begging for change along the streets.
Vehicles hooted. Mates, caught up in brawls over money, drugs,  or somebody took more than he ought to; more than once hurled bitter words against themselves. At night, the chaotic streets tend to be calm and kind, but not to my kind. In darkness We awoke as we keep tabs on the streets. Always out to make livelihood from the lives of the unkinds who carelessly become our prey. Patrol officers always on the watch,  they consider us as lost course. The masses distaste my kind. Enmity exists between my kind and the police. Shots frequently ricochets. Two days ago a stray bullet maimed One of us,  an eight year old boy. They called the press saying it was “robbery with violence, the authority had to act quick”. Shame. We are the infidels.
In chaos such as this, we find peace and happiness in our ownselves; however infinitesimal. Here, lies my crib,  my space.  No furniture but just piles of rags which plays the part of a bed. It’s dark. Needles for administering narcotics nakedly punctuates the floor. Here we lie. Assuming it’s the perfect place to be.  Oblivious to the sounds of cockroaches and rats in a hit and run on empty cans of whisky. There’s silence not anymore.  Her long dark nails embeds my back; scratching my skin, peeling off layers of my epidermis. My fingers braze her unkempt hair.
The first time we kissed we were high on glue; in our precipices it made us strong, made us who we are, to break the chains of hunger and forget of the outside world. We knew no better when to stop nor what   next. Duty was calling; I had to pull myself from her and be on the watch as others slept. This is my home. Dark, saddened with melancholic hues. This is a forgotten world where those who dwell survive. Not everyone thrives.

Phill Ibsen 

(Master Of Descriptions) 



After the strings had sounded it’s highest pitch, Kaka could not wait for a second coming. He withdrew his instrument which had by then loosened its strings and showed signs of _not ready to play the tune of pleasure again_. He quickly raised himself while pulling his trousers and fastening his belt as quick as he could. It was as if he had saw trouble twerk at the face of the earth. He was happy. He was sad. He felt proud of himself. He felt ashamed of himself. He was confused like _Swalla_ in a list of  gospel songs. Moods wings, I don’t know. But of all, there was this that persisted without seeking his advice :Guilt. 
Diana remained prostrate on the savanna earth. She saw the moon rise from below the mountains. She felt ashamed that the moon, with its one eye, observed the undoing of her dignity. She began thinking but there was something itchy about her theatre of untold pleasure. The instrument had played the tune so loud. Then, she felt something wierd about herself. She felt hollow like something heavy but precious had been removed from her body. So she was happy to be light but sad to lose the precious thing. She was also experiencing mixed emotions and feelings. She decided not to rise but decided to watch the moon glow with brightness for it had seen what was an abomination in the savanna land. To add insult to the obvious wound, it had watched it happen with its naked eye, no clouds to impose a PG rating. 
Tears are destiny chemicals that when shed wash away dust of misfortune and disappointment that we can view our destiny more brighter. She shed tears uncontrollably as if she wanted to view her destiny in three dimensions. With a torn dress and a soiled dignity, the tears reminded her of how she was no longer a good girl. Kaka noticed that his partner in the music of pleasure was having problems coping with reality. He ignored the strident voices and sounds condemning him and listened to the soft voiced thought of helping her. He went down and laid Diana’s head on his chest. They did not talk. For ten minutes, they did not talk. Diana raised her head and looked deep into the eyes of Kaka. She could still feel that spark of desire ignite her into flames. 
Kaka hugged her tight. He knew he was to blame. It was a crime described as penetration by the enlightened. The law abiding citizens call it sexual immorality. He felt pity for the girl and more and more guilty about himself. Meanwhile, Diana could feel the abyss slowly fill with a desire. She got better and better the more she listened to the rhythm of Kaka’s heart beating soundly. She was at peace once again. That was what she wanted. That was what she needed. 
Kaka watched the girl lie peacefully on his chest. Since every man is a member of the ever salivating boys of the vibrant _Mafisi Sacco_, wierd thoughts started bombarding his eroded brain. He could feel his strings tightening once more. ‘Do it again, what is it that you fear? She loves you look at how secure she is with you. You fear sin? What sin? Man, you’ve done it. You are now a bad boy , feast on it while it lasts!’. Once a bad boy, always a bad boy. He vowed. 
‘Diana… ‘
His voice stroked all her pleasure zones. She looked up and a smile escaped amid tears rolling. This was the assurance that he needed. It evaporated his saturated sorrows and melted away his guilt. Diana felt the same and thought of opening up only that a trace of guilt existed in her blood. 
It is artistic how light chases away darkness unapologetically while darkness slowly covers light while swallowing it with pleasure in a silent tone. Darkness had ruled the sky and they realized it was time to say goodbye. It was time to walk alone regardless a Liverpool fan or not. Kaka stole a glance on Diana. She never appeared innocent to him. He knew that he could not stand a one minute face-to-face, eye-to-eye dialogue. What was wrong? 
Diana stood, tried to mend her torn dress by tying knots to cover her soiled dignity. Her efforts showed no signs of being near to achieving any success. She stopped. Kaka stood, extended a hand for a handshake as a signature for all that happened that evening. Diana looked at his hand. Raised hers and amid officiating the informal events, she dropped her hand. She declined. She raised her eyes to the moon, lowered them to the savanna earth, then stood firm. She jumped onto Kaka and hugged him. She was crying. The thought of tears on the girl’s face saddened him. He took her arms and made her look at him with that lusty look. As they were an inch closer to a _proper sendoff_, something happened. They heard a cough right behind the Acacia tree….


*(Session 1)*
Pin point everything you detest about death; like a butcher, lace them up! Place them on the table; one by one we wanna cut them into pieces! Sieve them! Feed them to the stray dogs if we have to. Or perhaps; whence the verdict is given; carry death high on our shoulders; praise him; beat drums and sing victory songs.
Death is on trial; handcuffed; in a frail body that supports itself with a stick; he feebly walks along the hallways into the courtroom; where the masses await! His skin, visibly pale, shows no signs of life; He makes his presence known; he talks less, but even in his speechless traits, silence envelopes in the midst! The masses who thirst for his blood; constantly shouts;
“Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”;
while spurting mucously thick saliva on the defendant; oblivious of the court rules; are mad with rage! But this doesn’t bother him too!

Onto ye! Where are the plaintiffs?
“All Rise!!”
The judge makes an entry; He is rather a huge old man, with round glasses that slightly suspend itself on the nape of his puffy nose; leaving space between his eyebrows and his glasses; he’s slow to everything! Slow to sit; slow to speech; slow to think! But quick for food. His face, graced with cholesterol. His belly sags; none of his robe befits him; his belly button protrudes revealing his hairy stomach. But this too we’ve become accustomed to. He is good at his work. He’s of sound mind.
The masses are the plaintiffs; in existence are the victims of death, stakeholders of death and policy makers!
Heads down like hens scrapping into the ground; Each group conversing amongst themselves.
Meanwhile, opposite the jury, stares death. He smiles deviously like he owns the court. Yes he does! He summoned everyone here, or yet he volunteered to be the accused. Everyone knows him. Everyone abhors him. The CNN, BBC… The camera’s are on. The world is watching; *”Breaking news: A trial for death.”* This is what he wanted. An audience for his muse.
“Can we have silence in the court?!!!”
The murmurs dim away slowly.
As though in an agreement; the rest of the policy makers sit back as their representative rise to speak.
*POLICY MAKER:* “We think we have a solution on how to deal with death…”
The jury draw attention to him. As silence prevail. Even death himself seem to be perturbly curious. Curious about his end time.
*THE JUDGE:* “Let’s hear it”
*POLICY MAKER:* “To solve the mystery of death… To banish death from our societies then its prudent to erase its roots”
*THE JUDGE:* “Where are its roots? I’ll be delighted to know”
At this point, death has nothing on his defense; he didn’t prepare for this. He never scripted this part. He has no idea what’s on the table.
*POLICY MAKER:* The Coffin Makers!
The masses burst into uncontrollable laughter. Death on the other end; takes a deep breath as he rests his handcuffs on the bar. Deep inside, he says to himself, “it wasn’t life threatening anyway!”.
The judge hammers his gavel; at once order is restored.
*THE JUDGE:* Do you have plausible evidence to support you sir!??
*POLICY MAKER:* yes, your honor
He clears his throat as everyone awaits.
*POLICY MAKER:* we should pass a law that bars carpenters from making coffins. This is the reason why…..
Before he continue; A voice of a middle aged man sprouts from the masses. Dressed in a blue overall. Tooth brown with tarn. His shaggy hair laced with particles of timber. On his ears lies a pencil. He speaks with vigor.
“Then what!!? You’ll feed our family for us? We don’t ask people to die. We don’t advertise the coffins. Its the people who place orders… Young man I respect you but watch how you trade….!!!”
As if he’s the priest signalling the congregation to hurl Amen; the rest of the carpenters in unison, “Yess! That’s right!!”
*THE JUDGE:* (As he slams the gavel) This trial shall end today. The court will go into a recess for 30 minutes, to allow the carpenters and the policy makers come to a compromise.
(Slams the gavel again)
Lonely; death looks around in sympathy. He has no one to care for him.
As the masses walk out of the courtroom. The judge takes 15 seconds to step from his chair. He whispers something along the lines of, “God. I’m starving” its inaudible. Nobody pays attention.
The court is now empty; only silence reigns. And death sits there unmoved. I ignore it as I finalise my notes.

Phill Ibsen

(Master Of Descriptions)