Friday, 16 December 2011


L  is for learning to live with the fact that without you there is no me

O is for opening up and allowing your heart a chance to see

V is for varying contradictions about the Lord above

E  is for ending the conflict within and surrendering to love

Copyright © 2011 Lena Fiagbe. All rights reserved

Thursday, 15 December 2011

Trafvulgar Square

I lost my gloves in Trafvulgar square.
Bloody tourists milling around everywhere.
It’s not as if I put them down for long,
but I turned my back and they were gone.
I trundled back to the National Gallery
and spoke to their security.
An African gent who looked bemused
as I explained, remonstrated, ranted and enthused.
'Have you seen them? I was just in here,
I may have dropped them over there.'
He looked slightly peeved but still he smiled
and spoke to me as one would to a child.
He said: 'I haven’t seen them. Are you sure?
Please, look in your bag just once more.'
'Look. I know I’ve lost them.' Said I to he.
Still, I looked in my bag out of courtesy.
Can you believe it? I felt mortified.
There they were in my bag, and so - I lied:
'No. They’re not there, but thanks for helping anyway.'
I turned fast on my heels and scurried away.
I really hate Trafvulgar Square!
That’s the bloody last time that I go there!

   Copyright © 2011 Lena Fiagbe. All rights reserved

Wednesday, 14 December 2011

Ego II. Something Is Wrong With My Ego.

Okay. So my ego’s in overdrive,
but I assure you, I don’t feel ill.
I’ve never, ever felt more alive,
though, my shrink begs I take a pill.
It’s far too easy for her to inject
her biased opinion on this subject.
And what with her constantly obsessing
methinks she may be projecting.
She sits there listening in her dispassionate way
to every little thing I say.
Waiting for me to drop myself in,
to her neat and tidy filing bin.
‘Yes. Textbook case. I can file you away.
This session’s now over. Come on, hurry up and pay’.
I can read your thoughts, you smarmy cow.
Whose ego’s slipping out of control now?
I don’t know why I bother coming here,
Your talk about ego and how ego is fear.
Me? Afraid? What am I afraid of?
My parents divorced but I had plenty of love.
Now you imply I’m insecure.
Why do I come here? I’m not even sure.
Oh yeh, it’s because I’ve become quite a bore.
Still, I don’t need you and your jumped-up cure.
My friends say I’m disruptive and attention seeking
but what they don’t know is, inside I’m shrieking.
Because, the mask I wear on the outside
is only there so that I can hide
the pain, the heartache and the crippling fact
that my whole life’s a sham, a display and an act.
I’m running out of energy, can’t keep playing this game,
I’m hurting myself and that wasn’t my aim.
I only wanted to try and fit in -
great job, fab clothes and a body model thin.
How was I to know when I had my first line of coke
that my life would turn in to this interminable joke
I looked in the mirror one day and it cracked.
Now it’s over. It’s finished. I don’t want to look back.
So yes, you were right, shrink, my ego is out of control
but you can put me back together. Come on! Let’s go!
It’s all rock and roll!!!

 Copyright © 2011 Lena Fiagbe. All rights reserved

Friday, 9 December 2011

Ego I. What's wrong with my ego?

I have an ego, this I know
because my shrink done told me so.
But is it really such a crime
to indulge in thoughts of my sublime.
I love myself so much it hurts
I really envy all my skirts.
As they languish on my skin
what heaven those skirts must be in.
I really must control myself,
The shrink's warned of my mental health.
She says that if I don’t hold back
I will incur a mild attack.
Delusion she says is a dangerous thing,
Me? Deluded? Is she joking?
I merely say what I know to be true,
I can see it in your eyes - and you know it too.
You see my divineness, you also know
I’m great, I’m fantastic. Go ego, go.

Copyright © 2011 Lena Fiagbe. All rights reserved

Thursday, 8 December 2011

Hello People! Yes, it's me!

Hello People! Yes, it's me,
in my poet court of mystery.
They seek me here, they seek me there,
they seek me in the atmosphere.
Through time, through space and back again,
a wanderer I will remain.
In and out and around the mind,
if you seek me there you'll find
my words a hop and skipping through,
a merry dance they do for you.
And just as life has no real aim,
a wanderer I will remain.
Until such time that I am found not to be
of sound mind, disposition and memory.
Until such time, here I will dwell,
Yes, it's me, the Poet Pimpernel.

Copyright © 2011 Lena Fiagbe. All rights reserved