Sunday, 28 December 2008

Dreams, Hopes, Aspirations...

Dreams, hopes, aspirations
desired manifestations
of promised situations
so near, yet far away

Frustration resides
for time seems to slips away
one tick, one tock, on day a time

But a whispered prayer
of hope and faith, anchored in believe
propels the uproar of renewed visions,
dreams and decisions, making way and room
for the reality and manifestation
of impossible situations

Dreams, hopes, aspirations
desired manifestations of promised situations
so near, yet seemingly far away,
but soon to be a tangible reality

©Remi Banjo December 2008
***Pictures by Photobucket***

Saturday, 22 November 2008

I Miss...

Staring into the far, yet near distance
I envision situations not yet experienced
My senses are alive with thoughts of you;
who you are, where you are, if you are near or far
My senses are alight with the knowledge that
somewhere, you are very much in existence

I miss being a two, for its lonely being a single one
Where are you, my appointed someone?

I miss his daring, yet knowing stare
you know, the one that pierces through the soul
holding my heart spell bound within its hold

I miss being him and he being me
Like I miss being a trinity;
Him, me and the holy spirit right there in between

I miss being his silent strength
when all he has is gone and spent

I miss the essence of his kiss
that transforms everything around me
into a welcomed faded bliss

Being one, can be lonely and sometimes not much fun
So, daily in anticipation I look forward to the day
he comes into view, to the day I meet my very own someone

©Remi Banjo, November 2008
***Pictures by Photobucket***

Thursday, 9 October 2008


If I could be your angel
my wings, they would shield you

from the sun and rain
My countenance, it will protect you
from the world's needless pain

If I could be your angel
I would command the moon to guide your path at night
and the sun to raise over you, from
the first glimpse of the morning's light

If I could be your angel
I'll walk you through streets of love
your spirit will be healed from strife
and your soul will come alive

If I could be your angel
I would walk you through the very gates
that leads to eternal life

©Remi Banjo, October 2008
***Pictures by Photobucket***

Monday, 6 October 2008

Almost... Does It Count?

Almost felt it's smooth, velvet ambiance
Almost visualised the depth of it's rich colours
Almost walked into it's manifested reality
Almost skipped in tune to it's heart beat
Almost dared to think happiness had finally found me

Almost lived within the realms it's essence
Almost stepped onto the platform of its staged promise
Almost got bestowed with its constant presence
Almost got caught up in it's talked about relevance

Almost took a ride in a beautiful white carriage
Almost understood the meaning of becoming
Almost went on a road trip into forever after
Almost got ready to love with renewed courage
Almost lived the reality of my hearts desire

©Remi Banjo, October 2008
***Pictures by Photobucket***

Monday, 15 September 2008

Fragmented pieces...

Her hand raises to Caresses her chest seeking desperately to calm the dull pain that makes itself known beneath her silk shirt.
"It hurts", she whispers, to no one in particular
Stings like a thousand stab wounds delivered by the one you love, whom you entrusted the fragility of your heart with

Gliding her fingers over it's surface
She can feel it's brokenness
Fragmented pieces constantly moving and breaking off, like frozen icelandic plates
separated pieces caught up in the rivers frozen current, some
lucky ones, swept up in autumn's afternoon's breeze

"How did I arrive back at this junction"? She mused
It's all too familiar, like a child's favourite blanket
The patterns haven't changed their shape,
And its colours? Well, they are still very much the same

The cuts and bruises leave permanent marks.
Marks likened to heart shaped words carved into an oak tree

"Why can't I ever get this right"? She wonders...
"What lessons did I fail to learn that has brought
Me back to
'destination familiar'" ?
She ponders...

I tried with all my might, even put in a good fight
Gave all I had to give, yet got the winners prize called misery!

Taking a deep breath, hoping the air will soothe
the remnants of her broken and bleeding heart

She breathes in hope that the fragmented pieces will float
their way beyond the clouds, towards heaven
and maybe, just maybe each piece will be collected in a golden bowl,
and somehow be put together like brand new,
presented back to her by the author of love,
making her whole and reconciled once again to love

©Remi Banjo, September 2008
***Pictures by Photobucket***

Tuesday, 2 September 2008

Behind the Mask

Behind the mask lays a map of corridors whose walls are heavily decorated with pictures of present and past lives; illusions, fantasies, dreams and notions

Behind the mask, is where she takes permanent residence, her safe haven, where she comes out to play, where she dares to brave

Cool is her exterior, but false her facade
Every movement is propelled by an unnoticed agility,
surrounded by an invisible reality, which collectively
presents a picture; mirage, an illusion, expressing a desired notion

Behind the mask, resides puts to bed raw emotions,
emotions that define
the intricacies of who she is,
the reasons of what she is afraid off, to show or mention

©Remi Banjo, September 2008
***Pictures by Photobucket***

Monday, 1 September 2008

Phone Call

Whilst day dreaming, she is presented with the beauty of his voice. Fingers, they trace the outline of it's smooth, yet rugged surface, giving her subconscious something tangible to embrace.

In her dreams, his love, it plays her, a calming, yet ferocious melody, encouraging her heart to beat in alignment to it's rhythm
She is eager to grasp each note played, scurring to write them down, fearful they might be lost, forever within the realms of her dreams.
The warmth of his love, is subtlety disguised in
the ambiance of the shadows of his tone,
drawing her inwards, desperately calling out for her
to be a part of him, a reflection and extension of him

In her consciousness, she is waiting to be his love,
his one and only, his everything, his all
So, she sits quietly, by the phone
patiently waiting for him to call
©Remi Banjo, September 2008
***Pictures by Photobucket***

Friday, 4 July 2008

A New Season To Be Blessed God's Way

Let the righteous rejoice
Children of Zion, give praise to the Lord
For it is a new season,
a brand new day
The wait is over,
everything ever prayed and hoped for
is finally coming your way

In diligence and in faith
you have laboured and prayed
all through the father's grace
Now, the wait is over
the harvest starts manifesting today

It is a new season in God's will
to show off his glory and
proclaim him as the faithful king
His words never go back to him unfulfilled
Every prayer uttered is about to be fulfilled

It's a new season, it's a new day
Stake your claim
on it, write your name
It's time to get paid
the glorious father's way

©Remi Banjo, July 2008

Wednesday, 18 June 2008

Poetry... An Aspiration

Life is likened to written poetry
It reads and presents as a novelty
The indescribable, the ascribable
Visible and tangible
Yet transparent and very intangible
Sometimes unattainable

It presents parallel understanding
With Deep meanings and much resounding
Poetry within me is outstanding

To be or not to be...
Is not a question within my reality

Poetry… encrusted within creative treasures
Residing and printed inside of me
Surrounded within my vicinity...
Entombed and entwined
Within my every possibility
Wrapped in the very expressions
Of my creativity

Poetry… medicine to the soul
Awakening the fire within me
Keeps me warm from the cold
Glitters and glows for all to behold
Creating sparkles like droplets of gold

Poetic rhythms within my medium
Poetic situations within my inspirations
Poetic aspirations, visualisations and creations

Indescribable, un-renounsable
Residing within my every molecule
Transparent words coming forth
Visible meanings taking shape
Visible transformations taking form

©Remi Banjo, April 2005