I Would Be A Fool

And I would be a fool

To try and listen to a mime

To copy the movements of a marionette

To heed the advice of a puppet

I would be  fool

To gamble with a counterfeit

To purchase an imitation

To dance with clubbed feet

Would be a fool

Who seeks the wisdom of a sorcerer

Who spits manna out for greater blessing

Who drinks poison and calls it sherry

Be a fool

And doubt the Voice of Never Change

And reject a divine present

And fail to believe

A Fool

The definition of

Within the sound…

Of the word itself.


And so am I.

Full of faith.

No matter the norm.



A Missing.

It hasn’t been near as bad


But at times I can still feel that ache…

I’ll be with friends

At school

At work

And feel



The weighted.

Your memory 

Has kept me bound strangely.

Betrothed unwillingly.

And the love given me

For you

I can’t put it away

I asked the Lord

Help me put it away

On some shelf

But I’m afraid

It fills up the whole house.

I fear when you do come home

Because this territory, for me


But I fear more…

The density of my love for you.


New Orleans Masks…


St. Charles & Napoleon: God’s light shining through the clouds. A new hope through the dark and dreary. 


You just want to dance. At least for me, dancing is something that’s in my bones. A part of me. Much like running, I may not be fast…but I feel free when I’m doing it. It’s in my skin and I can’t shake it. So, after the Magazine Blues Fest was over on Saturday night, I chirped up: “LET’S GO DANCIIIIING!! Anyone up for Bourbon?!” My friends were a bit hesitant, but decided to comply as a result of my persuasive smile. 

For me, Bourbon is strictly a place to dance. Not a place to drink, as I don’t drink nor do I need any outside catalysts to let loose. So, we went with that intention and came upon a place that was playing some serious Michael Jackson. It was fun. No really, it was.

But something about this street and the places therein was more heartbreaking than ever before. This certainly wasn’t my first time to go out dancing on Bourbon, but I had changed a lot since the last time I’d been there. In other words, God had done a lot… had brought me to a new level. I was more spiritually sensitive.

And what I could see was a whole lot of empty smiles and merriment that were a mask for pain, for sadness, for an internal sickness. People come down to New Orleans and put on literal masks for Mardi Gras, but every day in this city…there are heavy masks that you can see so plainly. Go down any street, and you can see it…feel it. There’s a heaviness that you can smell.

It leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

But the pungent nature of it also brings tears to your eyes.

My darling Jesus Christ, what have you done to me? Your grace, part of my name, Neema… or “Grace” in Swahili. Your grace, given to me…and the life there. Not deserved, but also…not in vain. 

You light a match, let alone a candle in the darkest of caves?


The time has come to wipe off the stale face paint. Only God can do that, but he uses His people to wet the cloth and go forth on the ground. 

Look. See. He is about to set this city free.