"ADE'S JOURNAL", 79

  Sweet and sour, is the juice squeezed from a scarred ripe lone orange. Left behind, beside an upside down dog frozen in time on a dark chocolatey satin sheet. The taste of the beehive lingers, from the hoard of bees working hard and infusing rich honey into the fruit tree. Squeezing at and squashing into it's succulent flesh, you taste delicious uniqueness, as its natural flavour sips into its rich yellow core. The tangerine taste moves far away from its lemon cousin to give it a cool balance. This lone orange, Snatched from my place of abode. I dare to use the word Kidnapped.  Even hear and endure the whispers screaming in my vocal receptors; A Septuagenarian Duped Many Of Million's and lives to squander and brag about it. That is until he was caught red handed, linched and disgraced...

"ADE'S JOURNAL", 78

      Recycled plastic, lines the floor of the uneven contoured array of dome shaped pyramids, constructed by tiny giants with large hearts. Ants on fire, fueled by an unending passion to build, to defend their home and to procreate. All designed by nature to, not just survive but to thrive. This time and there after, populating the earth and motivating the world and it's inhabitants that everything is possible, every dream is buildable. Reminding everyone that, an Anthill Is A Monument Destroyed And Rebuilt Over Time.
    No excuses, only the task ahead.

"ADE'S JOURNAL" 77

    Dangling unripe and without strife, for all to see, like two mangoes on a Fruitful tree. Out union is a dream, a fusion so supreme, merged by love or convenience, it's the thought that counts. Two beings forged by time and formed high and wide, to prove to the world their love works. Or to escape from a place that lost cause? The reason makes a lot of sense or none at all. So, when you are one of one hundred and seven wives. You make history as the one that stayed or the one that escaped. The description of my experience can only be seen, felt and voiced out by me. Although, the pair of one hundred and one in-laws plus, makes making this work, a living nightmare or a crazy lifetime adventure. Should I tell you which it is?

"ADE'S JOURNAL", 76

   Nothing in life is simple, not the lone mudfish staring at the crack in the almost dried up puddle it just crawled out from. Or the half frog half fish, watching the starving rat, standing there by the muddy bank blocking it's path to redemption. Nor the spectacle displayed this hot afternoon, as a mother hawk circles above. I'm not sure which is predator or prey anymore. All I know is that time is ticking and the choice has to be made quickly. Do I paddle my way fast, away from the scary rat? Or move closer, towards it to reduce my chance of been the target of the hungry hawk above? There is only one thing to do, I will pull and fight, scratch and bite and be heard and be seen. Yes, it will be Like Dragging Your Infectious Lover To The Police Station. In broad daylight and I don't care what anyone think's. All I want is for all, to feel my pain, see my dilemma and hear my cries. For the truth of the matter is that.. If you die in silence, You are on your own.

"ADE'S JOURNAL' 75

   Bound to repeat the mistakes of the past, forming patterns repeated and cast on the shores of time. Wiped clean by cloudy waves, soaked deep by tainted memories. All filled with promises that it would never happen again. Promise's of clear bitter experience that i swore would never resurface. Bouncing off the whimsical winds, rammed hard into solid roots. Holding onto flexible arrays of slender palm trees coughing and swaying until they stop and stand back upright and watched their audience watching them. That's how I feel right now, soaked and  Reminiscing On Many Unsaid Words.

"ADE'S JOURNAL" 74

  Grinding hard at even molars, grating zigzag motion as incisors peak clash and seperate. I wonder why it takes so long to Unmask And Taste The Truth? Maybe because we like to compare experiences. Sweet to honey, chalky to limestone and sour to lime. No need to dwell in the past, let's move forward to a new beginning
I will start by Pointing hard and digging down, creating groove's and valleys so deep. So that each contour, bends and curves and sways and falls, forming and forging your beautiful face as it is. No lies, no reason's why, just you saying and showing it as it is and not as you want it to be..

"ADE'S JOURNAL" 73

  Cradling the life in my arms, saying the prayers in my heart and savouring such wonderful memories, we will have. I shiver and shudder and whisper and wonder. The afternoon is so hot and the cold breeze, clashed and clustered around our love. As I show case to the world my majestic being, my new born baby. My first born child, my all. But all is not well as it happens at lightening speed. It hits me, snatches violently from my delicate hold. The horror smacks me in seconds and I raise an alarm. Three men race away through thick trees, carrying with them my delicate new childs. I run after them, crying, wailing, digging deep into the abyss of terror, melting away far from me...
  We are close now and have caught them by fire and by force. I am slowly calming down now and curve My arms into a cradle position. My baby is safely in my arms and I hold her close to my heart. The clouds gather, then roar scatter and briefly I let my eyes wander and find the chaos. I watch the crowd all chase and blame and latch on to tyres and fuel, tossed and forged by rage. Burnt Dumb Baby Kidnappers Race Through Plastic Forests, melting into plastic flowers, tyres, burning into ash. All now lifeless and gone... 

"ADE'S JOURNAL" 72

   Shaving off mud Caked termite pathways, crusted on an abandoned wall. Watching empty shells fly off and give away nothing. Scrapping hard and fast, the tiny mud moats jump and reveal all. An army of off white soldiers stand guard and latch on with oversized heads. The dark golden syrup heads look harmless, while their scissors mouths bite careless. Digging deep, defending me, their queen, until they find refuge. Not far, as Dark Green Spirogyra Hides Beneath The Hay....

"ADE'S JOURNAL" 71

   Dried seeds swallowed up by winged creatures. Resemble falling angels, trickling down to a fertile soil, feeding quick and
growing roots. Spreading leaves and extending branches that yield flowers and plump seeds. Until it is fat and wide, ages, ready and ripe. Cut down and ready to be marshed up, into a pulp to be written on. Spreading stories of an Enchanted Preacher Frozen In A Fishnet Of Lies....