As Clinton and I walked our steps and movements along the way were almost a jig. The day carried an excitement in it. On the way to the Observatory station we discussed whether or not paying for the ticket would make a difference to the economy of the country. He argued we should just hop on without paying while I argued if everyone did that there would be no train. My point of view amused him.

I threaten to preach on the train on our ride home more to embarrass him then to make disciples. He laughed telling me he would pretend he did not know me. We paid for our tickets and waited for out train to arrive. Clinton hated riding first class but today I wanted the comfort of it. It would take more energy for me to ride third, it was my birthday so Clinton obliged.

First class offered better seating and I thought I could maybe prop my legs up and rest my eyes a bit on our forty-five minute ride to Muizenberg. Third class seats offer the complete opposite. People ride packed in the cabins and often standing. I was not feeling like being a missionary. I reasoned it’s my birthday and I could take the day off. 
We spent the time waiting for the train in the pavilion. The sound of Clinton’s cell phone prodded me to listen. We argue a little about the rapper he was listening to. I argue the song is obnoxious nonsense and he argues it’s brilliance.

The train finally arrived and we boarded. It was packed even for a mid day ride. I managed to take a seat while Clinton rode standing till the train cleared a bit. A few stops later there were fewer people allowing Clinton to take a seat beside me. I had my iPod on listening to India Arie. I joked with him throughout our ride pretending I was getting up to sing a song or preach on the train. He looked mortified with each attempt.


While on the ride back to Muizenberg many people enter and leave our train. Some we notice others go unseen. Lives that we encountered but had no idea that we have taken the same ride. Unaware that we have sat in the same place and breathed the same air; People who went unnoticed by us and many other passengers.

Yet, there are some that I will not forget. Like one particular Coloured woman that sat next to me. We noticed her as she got on the train. She weighed at least a good 250lbs., which seemed like all muscle. When she entered the train immediately we looked at each other, half smiling half amazed. She sat beside me and part on me for three stops.
 There are passengers that ride along side you or stand near you that you forget as soon as you leave the train. There are also passengers that you carry with you seconds, minutes, and hours later. Those you close your eyes and remember their smiles and eyes. There are four for me.

They got on at Retreat, two stations from where we were to get off. They entered the train and wrecked my heart.
 Four Coloured boys, their entrance like a scene from Slum-dog Millionaire. The boys, none of which are above the age of eleven, were all barefoot. Their feet were black from walking the hike from either the township or wherever they call home. They entered our cabin and no one else existed to them. They made their way to the last seats on either side. Two on one side and two on the other. My eyes are glued to them. I lose sight of India Arie and forgot about Clinton. The lady who once sat beside and on me no longer exist, she had become a memory to relive late.


The boys stuck their heads out of the windows and smile and laughed at each other. In their own world of pure enjoyment as the train makes it way down the tracks. There was not one word whispered to each other or to any of the passengers. I watched them intently as they enjoyed their ride. The guards must not have taken notice of them while they waited to sneak on the train. I am sure they would have been kicked off if noticed by security. They did not seem to have a care as they rode heads out the window full of life.

The lady across from me is amused by me staring at the kids. I had become lost in their world. Her giggles break the hold they have on me. I lean over to Clinton and ask him where are their shoes. “They don’t have any,” he said like I should know that. I had been in Cape Town for over four months and was unaware of the truth of its poverty. The lady across from me smiled half laughing at my ignorance. I did not care what she thought. The boys again gained my full attention.


I am captivated at first by their freedom, then by their enjoyment, and finally by their reality. A booster came on to the train selling snacks and trinkets. I only noticed him by their eyes. They had forgotten about the ride and the reality of hunger hit them. They each watched as he makes his way to his seat. Their eyes were fixed, not on him but his box of goodies.

I have seen a kid want but the look in their eyes surpasses a kid wanting a cookie, it was the look of a kid needing a meal.
 “Jesus, I don’t know what to do; I have nothing to give them. If you would just give me something,” I prayed silently. I remembered I had coins in my pocket from buying the tickets. I asked Clinton to call the older kid over and he does so in Afrikaans.

The oldest boy comes over to us yet the others eyes did not move from the bags of nik naks. I offered him R55 to buy snacks for him and his friends. By then we were at our station they are purchased the nik naks and I have to force myself to leave train. Who will feed them? How will they eat? Where are they going? Who will buy them shoes? Who will take care of them?
 These questions flood me as I make way to the exit.

I can still close my eyes see them. I see their dirty feet. I see them staring at the nik nak seller. I remember them. They entered the train and bombarded my life. There are some people that you ride with that you forget as soon as you leave them. And there are some people that you carry after the ride days, and weeks, and yes years later.
 I carry them.

He calls in whisper
Reminding of times past
Memories like love
Overtaking mind and body
Softly He’s speaking
Tone pulling you
Voice drawing you in
This is what love sounds like

He speaks only what you two know
Reminding you of secret times
Whispering your heart
Recanting His heart for you
Calling you closer
Make you yearn for all He is
This is what love feels like

He touches places only He can
Speaking so gently
Tears rolling down cheek
Smile paints face
You deep sigh this love
Amongst rooms noise
He is all that is heard
He has become all that exist
This is what is love is

He calls you back to Him
Back to places forgotten
Whispering His love
You sigh its Peace
Feel Him in You like life
This is love

Sitting at Iris Nashville tonight and this what came out of my worship experience. Good time.

I get asked a lot about the content of my Poetry and the weight of its delivery. I get the same response when I speak or teach. People often ask me how I write or speak like I do. For me it comes completely natural and just seems normal. Its me walking completely and unapologetic in who I am and sharing it with others.

I have been thinking about this for the last couple of days. Thinking about when I have been most affective and flow more freely. I noticed it is when I give what I have obtain through the years. It is when I offer what I have gained through experience, trial or perseverance. It has become a grace purchased through pain and/or trial.

God uses what we have gone through. He uses the mess of it all, the lessons in it to grow us and those around us. I think about David before he was a king he tending sheep. I think about the heart he had to have to fight the lion and the bear to save a sheep. It was in that time of shepherding he was learning what it is to oversee a nation. The same with Joseph it was serving Potipher that he learned to rule a household which prepared him to lead a nation.

It is through these experiences that a grace comes that differs from a talent. A grace that came with experience. It carries a weight. A weight we sometimes call anointed. Anointed as in the Holy Spirit/ Oil on something or someone.

Sometimes in the midst of trial it is hard to see what God is doing. We can become so overwhelmed with what we are going through that we loose sight of the fact that God is still at work. Even in what seem to be a pit or slavery that God can use what we experience to bring us into a fulfilled promise. He can use a prison sentence to position you to save nations.

Sometimes we are so ashamed of what we have done and what we have been that we don’t reach our full potential. I hear it said a lot the thing that we want to hide is the thing that God wants to use. There is a story in the bible that sticks out to me.

Jesus is in the temple and there is a man there who had a withered hand. Jesus told the man to stretch out his hand. The man had a choice in the moment of invitation from Jesus. He could have stretched out his good hand. The hand that looked normal and like everyone else or he could stretch out the hand that had the issue. The wounded withered hand. The one that he struggled with from day to day. The hand that hindered him from doing what others did daily.

The bible says that the man stretched out his withered hand and Jesus healed it. It goes on to say that the Pharisees were angry at Jesus and Jesus used that moment to teach. What if that was all we had to do for God to use us. All we had to do is stretch out the thing we want to cover up. Stretch out the pain we encountered as children, the trials that we endured and allow Jesus to heal it and use it.

I decided a long time ago to stretch out my place of wounds and pain. To show it and allow God to heal it and use. My poetry and talks are just me stretching out the pain and wounds I have endured or experienced. Its not that I am just so talented but that God uses our brokenness. He chooses to use the stretching out of a withered hand to teach and to heal.

We often think we have nothing to offer. I think this of my self often. Then God reminds me of people like Mary, the mother of Jesus. She was not gifted or talented but she was willing to be used. Through her willingness God brought forth Salvation. Gideon a man thought to be a punk hiding out God used his to defeat an army. Rahab a prostitute who hid some guys and ended up in the lineage of Christ. God used people who it seemed had nothing to offer to deliver others.

So I encourage you today. Stretch what you want to hide. Extend to Jesus you withered place, your pain and your brokenness. Allow him to use what you have called useless. Its when you have nothing to offer that God sees the potential to use everything you are.

Can you be loved and not know it
Touched and not remember
Wind ripping through city
Water past damn
Love washing over me
She was my strength

Face bringing peace
Hugs calming me
Voice easing my pain
Embrace like the rain
Causing nurture
She was my strength

Like sun at night
Peace in war
Comfort in pain
Not present
She is no longer
But she was my strength

Your song unsung

Or at least they’ve sung it wrong

I see you

Dark like night or Light as yellow

Blood of the ancient African

Screaming in your veins

Forming your bones

Resonating in your voice

Black Boy of many color

Slavery couldn’t kill you

Called Nigger, Thug, Lost cause

Still standing tall

Words wont destroy you

The world watches to imitate you

They listen to echo you..

Poet with Rhythm, Rapper. Singer

They all of many lands desire

Black Boy of many color

Leading in change

Warring for Justice

Educated there’s no stronger weapon

Media cant kill your strength

Hatred will never prevail

For through the years you have overcome

Building nations with you hands

Now reigning in place

Black Boy of many Color

Never forget who you are

Remember your fathers before you

Protector of you sisters

World changers. Inventors

Coloured. Negro. Chocolate

Greatness in more than just your pants

Black Boy of many color

The world watches.

They wait…

When you speak you paint earths face

Full of color

Black Boy of many color

Paint with you life

I wrote this piece after listening to some “black” dudes talk negative about other “black” dudes from other countries/cultures.  As  ”black” dude  myself it was disheartening to hear.

Daunting suits and ties calling themselves Sanctified

Woe to you Pharisees!

Dressing up cant hide mess

Cleaning only the outside of the cup

Cloak or coat

You still have to undress to wash

To cleanse yourself

Pretenders we have become

Looking the part and lacking His heart

Seeking signs and wonders

While the lost wander

As the poor lay in hunger

Too consumed in our programs

Woe to you Pharisee!

For we love the best seats in the house

We love to be greeted and celebrated in the public

Have we lost our way…

Cause I see him at Pool of Bethesda

Among those in need

While we sat in our comfy church seats

Trying to teach each other new ways to believe

Seeking new knowledge

And I hear him calling…

My people are destroyed cause they don’t Know me…

They don’t know me…Knowledge

No knowledge of me

Have we forgotten our way…

The Pharisees have traded their robes

Sporting heels and prayer clothes calling themselves Born Again

Laying hands and screaming tongues

Yet when the poor reaches his hand he is left empty

No words of comfort for the least

Cause we only see them at monthly outreaches

Have we stopped too soon

Have we reached the goal…

Have we become the goal

We sit among ourselves judging ourselves

Making each other the goal

Seeking titles, praising position

Men have built for their king a throne

And pastors reign in his stead

Have we forgotten Him

Woe to you Pharisees!

We lead men to become blind to truth

Teaching them to become like us..

The Pharisees have traded their robes

Clothed with Religion instead calling themselves Saved

Whoa..Cause I see him in me…

We who love well in church walls

Whom cover up the fact that we fall

Have we forgotten that we are blood washed

Pharisee…

Serving so others will see

Forgetting the God in me

Covering myself with my own righteousness

Dressing up in my works

Whoa..

Pretender. Hypocrite. Actor

Feigning to have no issues

Woe to you Pharisees! The Pharisee in me..

You’re the enemy to the God in me..

I can’t Breathe, I am trying…I try to…
I gasp for air, but I rise with my lungs full of water
I feel it’s too much for me
And my legs are kicking and my arms are waving

Trying to stay afloat

And then I swim and when I feel like I have gained my rhythm, my flow
This new sea brings a tidal wave, that again takes me under

And so I feel I am drowning yet again
I am in a Academic Tsunami!
I scream I shout…no one hears me
All that I thought was solid foundation beneath me is shaken
If you want to study eschatology then study me…
Cause I feel that I am at the end of me, yet what will arise I don’t know!

But there will be a difference
Because the storm, the sea has changed me
Not only has the salt changed me without
But what I have consumed has brought a revolution within me

When I get my breath again I will swim
Though I see no shore I will swim
In the distance I see more waves even greater than before
I still swim, knowing that ahead of me lies truth

I am trying

I cannot drown

I know there is a shore!

And when I get there, there will be people who are waiting to meet me
I must share with them my story
I must teach them of the hope in why I swam
I have to keep swimming and persevering
Because I must one day teach them to swim…

With every stroke of my arm I get stronger
With every kick of my leg I get closer
My head under and up for a breath
Though waves come I will fight through
I must swim….

I swim for those children who are in distant lands and far away

Those who have no food, skin clinging to their bones

They are too weak to cry and too feeble to walk

They are fragile…so I must swim

I swim with them in mind

They keep my arms moving and are the motivation behind my feet kicking

So I swim cause some are alone and without someone to love them

No source of strength

No one to nurture them

And as I swim I pray…

Oh God hear my prayer!

From the ends of the earth they cry unto you, My heart is overwhelmed

So I come to the Rock who is higher than I

And my tears are not for myself but for those I swim to

And though I cannot be with them now I hope that through prayer my invisible hands may be able to touch them…

Sill I swim

I swim for the little girls in Africa who are raped

Because an AIDS infected man believes she holds his cure

And their innocence has been robed

Their oppression far to great to look on, so many have turned their heads

These babies raped and molested everyday and left to die…

Deep Breathe and I swim

For the little girl in the Philippines

Whose only hope at a meal is to rummage through a dump site

Digging through trash no shoes to cover her feet

Where are her parents? Some might ask, right beside her in the hunt.

They have no food stamps or welfare

Their only hope for survival is in the trash

And they will not cry for themselves

Because this is the fate they have grown to accept

Head up and under I swim

I swim for the little kid in front of the Catholic Church in Sao Paulo

One leg withered and he is cold

His parents both dead, he and his older brother left to live with his grandmother in a shack

He prays, if you are real heal me!

He pours his heart to God and I feel what he feels

And the tears that he does not cry because he has become numb to his pain and his poverty has become the fact of his life, those tears he will not cry have become mine

I swim for the children we call invisible…

The ones who are in Africa who are forced to carry a gun

Who are forced to kill their families…

I swim for them…I fight for them…I pray for them…I write for them

I speak so they will have a voice…I sing so someone will hear there song

They can be invisible no longer…I See them…you must open your closed eyes and see them too

They are not that distant…and you can help…and so I swim

Right arm, left arm feet kicking

Heart racing I must swim

This swim has become my reason to live so I must swim because they depend on it!

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