On the Road...

by Nemesis Fixx scribe bio

Published by NuScribes (nuscribes.com) on Tue 09 Feb, 2016 |

Book Cover Art

A collection of poems and prose for easy reading, fun and well... the joy of language!

673 Swallows Flying South

673 swallows,
And many millions more,
Are flying south
With no option but to travel or die;
Following instinct, with a discipline
Humans would never enjoy.
"I wish I could fly"
Fantasized the daydreamer
But how more fair it would be,
If all wishes were eventually granted.
Many will have to fall
And die;
From exhaustion
From hunger and thirst
From arrant storms
From a failure to fly,
While on that journey
Towards the south.
Their salvation
Hidden away in Africa
Beyond the arid plains of the Sahara,
In those majestic lands;
Where the first of humans
First learned to walk and talk.
But some won't trek the puritan path;
Some will aim for the table mountains
Over hills and valleys of fufu yams.
Others will guide Somalian pirates south
And still others will glide towards Sikh delights.

But no matter what happens
673 swallows and more
Will have to fly south
Or die, when the ice age comes. 

When the sky was below

When the sky was below
I felt limitless
But also vulnerable
Like the boy flying close to the sun
I sometimes felt the need to be cautious
However,  there was a different life out there...
Where I'd seen fields of green
Where I'd heard the crying of birds
Where I'd presented my dreams to the heavens
Where I'd walked on solid ground
I saw endless fields of white and gray
A sea of smoke and fog
Curled in one place, plain elsewhere
And then we got lost inside of a huge, endless cloud
It was misty everywhere
Then I caught sight of the earth below
Once more.
There were sands below...
Endless fields of them
Maybe a desert, or something like it
We passed over empty plains
I saw empty hills
Places with no signs of human life
Then I saw a coastline, beautiful
And geometric from high above
Oh mother earth
What a sight!
With blue horizons,
And no other ships in sight
I felt blessed to be sailing so high
Not dreaming
But experiencing another one of my dreams manifest.
Then there was rocking
Signs of needing seat-belts
And the euphoric rush of touch-down...
Promised land
Here I come.

All mankind is African

All mankind is African
Then there's Africans
There's African Africans
And there's Africans afraid of being African.

She sells to my Soul

I can tell she's still young;
Her eyes are still light, her smile still fair.
She's filled her jugs, but likely never served.
I've noted every night, how she beams with delight.
She sits the same way, the same place and same trade-
She sales nothing else but big green avocados
My wife loves the lot, and I really love their source
But can never tell her why it's the same fruit everyday.

She works in the park, and a legion she does see,
But till when my eyes she sees, there is
No smile they will see.
She lights up when I come, "Hey!,
You've brought me some income!"
And yes, you've guessed right, 
That does make me want to spend!

She always has the best, or that's what I would believe
I pay her with a smile, and love just how she replies
She laughs, "Oh it's enough!"
When I joke that she's in love,
I always walk away, unsure if there's more to say.

She's likely been to school, or I always wish she could
But she never talks to me, in the way I wish she could.
I think of who she is, just a vendor of a fruit
So blessed to sell her kind- simple beauty in my mind.

I'm almost reaching home,
So I'll stop writing this poem
For if my wife did know
I'd have lost what feeds my soul.

In the Forest of Flowers

What do you do, when you walk through a forest filled
With myriads of flowers;
In all nature of shapes and sizes,
In all hues and fumes.
In every direction you look;
Some beautiful, some hideous,
Some alluring, some abhorrent
Some rewarding, others plain carnivorous!
Some dying, others just unfolding.
What do you do, when you walk through
A forest filled with myriads of flowers?


Whatever it is you would do,
Likewise do, when you walk through this
So called forest, Earth;
Filled with myriads of women;
In all nature of shapes and sizes,
In all hues and fumes.
In every direction you look;
Some beautiful, some hideous,
Some alluring, some abhorrent,
Some rewarding, others plain impotent!
Some dying, others just unfolding.
What do you do, when you walk through
A world filled with myriads of women?

Hey My Blood Suckers!

My dear mosquito, blood sucker 
Don't you just love to see me woe 
Or is it, you can never live without 
dragging me into war? 

I really hate your battle cries 
And how you love to scream right  
into my right ear! 

Okay, your calls I've definitely heard  
And I'm pacing about the room 
Or lurking in the dark, waiting for you. 
You call out for blood? 
Blood's definitely coming for you... 
And I'm not a blood donor you sucker! 

See, I'm your favorite enemy: 
Where others intoxicate rooms or  
entire villages, I only utter a curse or two, 
And then hunt you down with mine own 
hands and feet, just so I can kill you and 
Each one of your matured, embattled 
sisters, in a most honorable clasp of death. 

Accompanied not by song, but with  
the unmistakable thundering of clap  
Or the devastating bang of a book- 
Totally unacademic, against the wall; 
which actually leaves your remains  
And bloody legacy, visually pinned  
On the wall; 
As a one, irritating blood sucker,  
black, skinny vampire,  
Created for, and whose death is painted in blood. 

A truly blood sucking bitch, 
That's occupied the least and greatest   
Of minds over centuries,  
And yet seems so insignificant to most! 
An admirably irritating bitch that's 
undoubtedly more important to the 
affairs of man's survival, than many 
names ever splashed on the walls of fame-
and that even includes Gaga's! 

So, fly close and make us heroes 
Let me splatter your entrails all over. 
And if you must bite me once, do it fast, 
Or do it while I slumber, 
Otherwise, I'm not sleeping anytime soon; 
Not till every last one of you whinnies 
Is dead and stamped  
Onto their final resting place... 
Most likely, in bloody pieces. 

Alright, here she comes...

We, Joseph

What's in a name?
Joseph, the Egyptian, the Patriarch
Joseph, the Father of a God
Joseph, who led Jews against Romans
Joseph, who discovered Carbon Dioxide
Joseph, the Nazi that persecuted the Jews
Joseph, who Analyzed 5000 languages
Joseph, who shaped the Classical Symphony
Joseph, the discoverer of the Electron
Joseph, the first surgeon with an Antiseptic
Joseph, the discoverer of Boron and Gas Laws
Joseph, the father of Complex Embroidery
Joseph, master of Light, the impressionist
Joseph, a discoverer of Oxygen
Joseph, the Publisher, the Journalist
Joseph, founder of the Mormons
Joseph, the Communist, the Dictator
Joseph, the Last Mafia Don
Joseph, the Rebel, the Killer
Joseph, the Creator of Tom and Jerry
Joseph, My Father
I, Joseph.

A Book, with Paper & Axe

A militant south African white got the guts
To persist his arcane experience using the axe,
In a medium sized book written and
Covered in unsuspecting green for a tome
Covering more than just the bloody tool within its
Pages. Then, as I skimmed titles and looked at covers,
Many a good writer did I cast away, rummaging through
The book shelf at the front of a classroom.
And then, when I'd almost given up, there, buried below
Many insipid volumes, was this book about doing mystical
And bloody things with an axe! There was no way I was
Leaving such a book condemned to a dusty shelf.
And so, excited I was, hurrying to the rear of the class,
Cast away all mundane things, and lost myself
In the musings of a weird scribe.
I consumed the chapters, quickly so,
As a glutton anticipates the twist in a plot.
Soon, I was past the unpalatable introductions, and was
Tasting the meat of his exploits, when a bizarre thing
Manifested; right there,% betwixt the start and end,
Lay strewn about various pages, paper that didn't belong,
Paper with attractive numbers upon it
That couldn't pretend to be afterthought page numbers;
Paper smelling of eclectic colors stamped with names
Of the Bank of banks on it!
My first reaction wasn't shock that such could occur
It was the bliss of reaping from a book corporeally!
But then, after I'd stealthily rounded up all such paper-
About four of them, worth something like 100k or more,
I overheard the eternal fiend inside of me begin his rant
"It's definitely a mistake, a (stupid act) and cause of concern,
That a man like you, should think someone forgot money
Inside of a book on death and magick,
Just so a broke, vice-bent soul like you can eat of
Low hanging fruit. It's a trap!
You might not be able to undo what's been read,
But you definitely can try to undo the heist."
Undoubtedly annoying, right? But
I wasn't about to loose both, and so,
Returned I the axe trap to its place;
Among scribblings and musings of men, and as
For the opinionated paper?
Back to where it best exhibits its essence -
In the hands of needy or greedy souls like I.
And thus the dream halted before my eyes.

Behold! More Fishers of Men!

There's nothing in the universe,
That's not been willed and caused by God;
Not the multicolored stars against night,
Nor rats or the blindness of bats.
Tyrannies and monarchies not left behind,
Nor the instinctual brutality of black widows.
Neither increasingly shorter Ugandan women,
Nor their increasingly shorter blouses turned dresses;
Their numbers are increasingly alarming,
Everywhere and in the birth registries, God's on a rage
To fill the planet with increasingly more women than men
So that, before the apocalypse or probably
The lord's second coming, every man'll have a duty to be
That rare and shared man every woman's love'll ensnare.
So, as God has guided mankind before, with numbers
So it is in our times, that with the ratio of women to men
Incessantly increasing, that it's only fair,
That a man ought to take for his wife, as many women
As God cares to entrust in his care.
It's not lust and it might not eternally last,
But for now, it's certain, that polygamy is a divine calling
For all men without vows, as those in the priesthood have
Always been one for all, their love offered to all by vow,
So it is for us all, short and tall, let's gather them all.

There is a God tonight.

There is a God
Now watching over me
As I retire now to rest,
And I beg that upon this bed,
Might you arrest a truth in my chest
With eyes closed but looking
May you guide me towards the true light
Whilst I dwell in the dark tonight

Dance! Before the Flood!

And in the last days

Aah, Noah said, 
If you can't dance, You
Can't come on the Ark!
And there was so much trouble
As folks figured out
Just what the messenger of God
Was trying to say...
Well yeah! There was no room
For gloominess, and stiff ribs
On the Ark
And definitely not in the New World.
People had to dance
To get saved.
Oh My God!
There was shuffling of feet
There was shaking, much gyrating
Some would twirl, others would twist
And many would tuck!
Damn, it was such a dance and work
In the name of salvation.
I miss the Old Testament
Someone give me a trance
'Cause, I can't find my DJ
In this New Testament!

Ungodly Traffic!

3 oh 3 hours & 30 minutes
A hell of a timespan to survive seated
With arrested leg space, an imposing
Thick and gloomy chaos overwhelming all
As in our taxi of 15. At a pace any mollusk can detest
And a procession of cars no living crawler
Can beat.

God, where will all these
Secondhand cars go when thy long
Awaited sons finally overhaul our civilization?
Will there be more scrap metal than fossil bones
In future museums or will Homo sapiens be remembered
As the most illustrious parasite of Earth ever -
Exposing onto her skin all her inglorious malleable internals,

and having carved em into nomadic prisons,
Arresting himself inside endless variants of these, for
Ungodly durations of his active life.

Time for Lust

Love is great

Greater is that moment
When Lust
Overpowers your soul
And forces you to 
Give in 
To Desire.
Not even love
Can stop Lust,
Whose fleeting time has come.

What an Age!

Behold the heirs of tomorrow;
Cities filled with a surplus of girls
Lonely concubines and widows.
Brothels turned schools
And Hollywood headhunting male blood!
Whatever it is that's been injected in us
Whatever it is that's been added to our food
Whatever it is that's been mutating our genes
Whoever it was that wrote the Vagina Monologues
Whatever it was that introduced the curse we suffer,
Has left us no happier than the Passover
Probably even worse!
The whips of our capitalist masters have left
Many a male brain softened into a feminine mash.
God, spare us the pain,
Could it have been the gays?
Please send us some more boys!
Your dice are too biased than ever before.

White headlights, race by us

White headlights, race by us
Black smoke fumes at my window
A gray sky envelopes the horizon
There's rows of cream, French cut shops on either side of the road
I can see red flames on each car
A green, Mountain Dew billboard shows up
Here comes a pink barbershop!
A brown highway below us
Oh hills of black, with yellowish spots
A home with fluorescent green lights
A yellow, blue, red petrol station called Mo
A blue truck pulls out of the station
Lots of rainbow LEDs lining bar walls
More constellations of whitish residential stars on all black hills
A red Coca-Cola fridge
A yellow phone booth
A purple shop
A red block
A true blue bar
Trees of dark green
Gray smoke rising
A yellow curtain inside a mosque
Big Bright white lights at the factory
A green pharmacy, then a yellow one
Where's a black House?
Another yellow line of shops
Ah, rainbow LEDs
A TV shows a green football pitch
A red and then yellow shop
Where's Orange?
A cream hospital goes by
And then a flat of pink!
A yellow and black stripped sign post
A red neon sign reads "Highway Forest Park"
Black trees, everything's black around here
A white taxi whishes by
My phone's action menu is a purple
Everyone in my taxi's black, including me
A lime green hardware store
A white flat with brown windows n doors
A cell tower glows red against the sky
A taxi glows with brilliant green on its baselines
We are being sucked into the bowels of a black monster
And something in red reminds me it's time to check just one final message.

A Walk from Work

Mmm, the thrill of being alive!
With the noise of traffic whisking by me;
Trucks, cars, jogging nikes and smiles.
A chilling breeze plays with my eyelids
And busy feet overtake me briskly,
Once again, it's the evening rush hour
And I can swear, there's life everywhere!

So this is it.

(sighs, picks up a stone)
(the child looks at her dad in desperation)

We're going to die.
Well, we've run out of eggs!

Quit! The Boss

The boss keeps a Bible in his hand

The boss wants 100% efficiency

From a team of 1 man

Architecting, Constructing and Testing

Software, for about 5 different products

All rolled-up into 1

Within less than 1 month

On a budget of less than $1K

In a currency with dying value

In an economy that is bursting.


The boss insists on buying me a slice of pizza 

Every once a week

The boss barks - it's his style of asserting his power

Every now and then

The boss fires - he's fired 3 quarters of the team & now me

In less than a year


The boss believes in nothing but money

It either comes in, or you get out

The boss employs people

But wishes he could do anything he pays them for

Oh, he actually does everything he pays them for

And when he fails at it?

I'm left with no option but to quit.


Oh Capitalism!

My old Arch Nemesis!

Why ye not die, so I might die in peace?


Oh, those Mbale glows

It was a hot a dry October
On the road to a Greater Uganda
There was fun, across the east we run
Across the east we run.
Through Mabira, Jinja and past Iganga 
We ate the chicken that's grilled with gonja
Kinda tasted raw,  but hey it grooved the jaws
Hey it grooved the jaws.
Having stops to shoot the star
Or just scoop what nature unfurled 
Hey we saw it all,  what the east could roll
Yeah what the east could roll.
Then the night feel like gehena
Over hills,  the streets and much deeper
As we watched below,  contemplating more of Mbale than we know
More of Mbale than we know.
In a hotel close to trouble
I harvested herbs of yore
Then the night got warm,  there was heat below
There was heat below.
As the rest scavenged for breasts
I beheld what I deemed best
And locked the doors,  of room C94
Room C94
We played tango trading mangoes
With incense flowing through the jungle 
It was hot,  as the emcee flowed
As the emcee I flowed.
We came and went like waves
Like the bliss flowing through the veins
I forgot of Ebbs, on that rocking bed we graced
On that rocking bed we graced.
Next day, well I didn't remember
As to sanity I did surrender;
Letting her go,  and instead trekking those Wanale rocks
Trekking those Wanale rocks.
But I can never totally forget
What a town that was to crown
And I will ever know it, with every subsequent afterglow
Every subsequent afterglow.

there were fireflies in the heavens above...


how did it begin?


i waited somewhere in that small town

my mind filled with blue egrets and the 

tummy with rainbow butterflies.


were you alone?


lonely, but hopeful.

i wondered which direction she'd arrive from...

the sun had just bid me farewell

and there was only the promise of

a heaven filled with eternally floating fairies.


and then?


i felt my pants move.

no, i wasn't getting stiff on a cold night

and someone wasn't robbing my phone

it was Pavlov's rap.

i picked it without checking

and looked ahead of me...


what did u see?



next to a small mall

simple, yet adorable

stood my petite beau

irresistible like a hyacinth petal.


tell me more about her...


her dress was delicate but fair

i definitely noticed her legs

and no better could have carried a princess.

she wore a hint of flowers

that played with my nose as i approached her.

the eyes were glistening

the smile was undeniable.

she carried herself lightly

and i thought she might float away

or carry me along with her.


did u stay there?


we hugged and then

entered the tiny mall

with coy laughter

and a little money to spend.

we could have picked bloody reds

blue vanities or thick malts.

we could have picked the fruits of genius

crispy bites or soft bananas.

we picked a bottle of cream

that hinted at nothing but milky romance

and placed a pack of hearty cookies beside.

we had it all...

love, food and drink

we could have survived the apocalypse of hate

without anything else.


so where is it you went?


to a place far from empty lives

we rode upon a boda bike.

near, my chest upon her back

we held each other

the air buzzing in the ear

the bike racing

and whispers from her lips 

whizzing past mine ears...


you just wanted to run away?


escape, that's what we wanted.

we'd chosen to seize the moment

and make it last forever.


this place...?


it's a lonely place

as where lovers with warm lit faces would embrace


who chose the place?


i chose the place

and the world could have come to an end

but there was no other place we'd fend

except that rocky cliff

upon which we lost awareness of our innocence

and accepted to dwell where only angels trek.


it was dark, wasn't it?


though love is blind

we carried the light.

the candle was red

and its spirit danced with the wind.

there were fireflies in the heavens above

and some flickered or flapped their fiery wings

little sparkles of delight

capturing and remembering every smile

to forever remind us of that night

from as far as a million miles of flight 

across spaces and times.


you adored her...


she was unlike anything before then

sitting in lotus like zen

i silently adored this gem

as we toyed with fantasies

and spun dreams 

with the aid of cookies

mild hints of bitter-sweetness

and sensual scents escaping her warm breast. 


was it silent?


there was song

how could i forget?

but it's not the music i reminisce

it's both the taste of her tongue

and the memorable notes of talk

that danced off of it

envied by bellowing crests

that cheered and cried as they hit against the rocks below

but which couldn't muffle the echoes of her voice

that still vibrates in my heart unto this moment.


tell me more...


the touches were mild

but we were out in the wild

so our passions got loose

and we tasted each other wildly

in all forbidden ways

in all forbidden ways

and we let passion lead the way.

















it was timeless?


it's the curse

of being alive

that even the sweetest of things

come to an end


how did it end?


all our desires were spent

but love needed more.

the bottle was empty

and so we were inspired more

to do something

that could carry our promise

and store it away from jealousy

and future spells of amnesia.


what did u do?


we made the spell

two blossoming and beautiful minds

bonded in love and spirit

and we cast it well

to last for ever. 


magick in love?



two sorcerers in love

that even god can't separate.




we are all but saints

in search of others

whose demons play well

with ours.


and they had just created a memory

to last forever.


but, did they stay together?


the memory lasted, but not their love-

that's always fleeting...

Dressed to Kill, Oh Kill the Dress!

She'll wear the mini skirt
She'll look into the mirror
She'll love what she sees
Then she'll add lipstick and some dirty high-heel
And then she'll hold her purse and go pursue the kill...

She'll beg to be honored
While asking to be scorned
She'll try to kill fame
But will attract the lame
And when power is near, her thighs she'll fear!

Some will follow her
Others will borrow her
Some will cheat her
Others will beat her
And when it's all been done, she'll be the THOT.

She'll cross her legs
Puzzled by her own dress
She'll fend off lust
But attract the worst
Then a hand gone stray, will surely approach, 
And then with reproach, she'll not dare claim-
Oh wait, My God! What's wrong with men!

Oh Jam! Jesus Come!

Surely, Jesus isn't coming soon, but
Will this traffic-jam end soon?
Boredom kills all within sight
As death,  walking about with no shadow
Mocks us with suffocation!
Besides the occasional hooting
From those with burning horns, 
Silence gags all, as anger bugs us all.
I'm not thinking, I'm just roaming;
There's confusion brewing outside,  
And nothing amusing my inside.
Boda-bodas roam about; bulls with no fodder;
Bayaye, who thrive on such disorder!


I'm forced to see perils of money on either side;
Those who sniff the chalk off the board,
And those who choke the board with chalk
I mean,  look at those girls and picture this;
Given those mini-skirts, would you rather
Think, sink or drink? 
There's no trouble with them, but see
How they drag the gravel with them!
No,  I won't police them;
I can only loathe and release them!


But, note those stupid folks
Serving us empty talk on local radio shows!
There's enough beef boiling in the air
But in this city of dust?
Airplay is but a grueling commercial insult!
So do I hate Kampala,
When I have to conform, trapped;
Between potholes with roads,
Inside these taxi-infested jams,
That undoubtedly cook these brains into jam!

She mkes me ynG again!

I taste the same amazing fantasies
I relive the thrills of getting free for the first time!
I taste and touch innocence once more
I enjoy music, food and fashion like I used to
I write sweet things, and dream those dreams
I guess, rebel, explore and hunger for action
Oh sweet God!
I recall each moment
And create new experiences
I feel so much energy!
Damn! She mkes me ynG again!