One of my pieces I wrote 2 weeks ago. Let me know what you think of it! 🙂

J. Adamee

I wake up and whisper out-of-worldly woes
Of how I rose in your name and in your name I am composed
I whisper so I can measure how sincere I can be
But, scrupulosity is the sister of satan
And the cousin of the angels that left heaven
And now walk upon the Earth.

I am composed,
I am sure that in my name is my ultimate goal –
only through loving your name.
But the night before this morning
I posed under a moon’s light,
And cried a wolf’s cry, attracted the Dark away from The Dark
And entered the parked horse and carriage
Which then lead me to my lover’s patronage
Oh, my lover’s patronage.
He provided for me last night, and loved me like he shouldn’t
He encouraged me to love him without prudence
So he fucked me hard and I fucked him right back.

I love…

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Under my instruction,
the servants turn my swamp into a beautiful garden,
underneath which rivers flow.
For they know that today is the day
the basket that carries Moses, will float by.
Egypt knows he’ll be the one to stand up for the world’s plight.
Mount Sinai is delivering his prayers with the wind
sending a calm along the river Nile.

The clouds promised me they won’t cry today.
Along the riverbed the trees arch forward to provide shade
for my baby’s coming.
I’ve perfumed my hair and worn my best clothes
ordered the sun to provide the day with a Middle Eastern glow.
There are villagers plucking their olive trees
wringing the juices from aloe vera leaves
in preparation for the King’s celebratory feast.

I’ve laid down white flowers
lit candles
and paper boats on the river,
so my baby won’t have to float in
by himself.


You were meant to be here a day ago.
The tree’s backs are breaking
the sun is becoming impatient
and the orange glow has turned
into a burning sensation
and the flowers are returning in a shade of red
that the mystics would question.
And a storm is brewing
and heavy drops are starting to fall
and the Nile’s tide has turned spiteful.
And the Israelites murmur under their breath
that I am cursed by the resonance
of Abraham’s infertility,

I go to ask the King for the key to the dam.
Maybe my Moses is stuck.
Maybe he can’t find his way.

I feel a chill coming from Mount Sinai
as the King denies me the keys.
Tells me that the astrologers believe
I’m not ready for the tests that Moses will bring.
That he’ll ruin me and he will not turn out to be
the son that I hoped he will be.

I notice the birds sitting on the window ledge
who sit waiting for my response.
They fly away upon hearing nothing but a solemn silence.
The red velvet curtains hold hands, blocking out the peering sun.
I demanded the truth from my husband.

His lips tells me that the people are not ready
to part from their ancestors’ belief.
His hands tell me more as he clutches on to the stones of his crown.
I see the keys around his neck when he sits on his throne.
I see the smile on his face that says
I’m crazy for crying over something I’ve never had.
I see the look in his eyes that says
it’s my fault for believing that Moses could ever be mine.


I need your help!

Right, so I’ve decided I want to enter into this years Muslim Writer’s Awards. They’re a great bunch o’ people that really believe and celebrate creative writing among the youth. What happens is that every year, you can submit your work – whether that be a short story or a poem. There’s different sections which thousands of people enter. I want to be one of those people this year, so I need your help trying to figure out which poem I should enter.

There’s Def Jam poets, writers from amazing publishing companies and notable figures who will be judging. I could have a chance at actually being trained by these people and secure a job at a publishing firm.. IF I win my category. Also, a chance at getting my work published! So yeah.. it would be great if you could have a read through the poems (if you haven’t done so already) and help me decide which poem is the winning one! You’re more than welcome to share this page so I can a better idea of which one to pick. (Psssttt! You can pick more than one.) Thank you 🙂

To make things easier, I’m going to put the links for the poems here so you don’t have to go search for them 🙂

A Means to an End:
For You:
Don’t Be:
My Curator:
Tap Dance:
One Look:

That’s all of them. Again, thank you!

I need your help!

Audio: Means To An End.

I thought I’d try something different for a change, yknow.. mix it up a little. I decided to just practice the poem ‘Means To An End’ as a spokenword piece. I recorded it and viola! The link is below, it’d be great if you could have a listen. Maybe you could also pass on some advice or just any comments. Let me know if you like it, so I can figure out if I should do more or not! Enjoy 🙂

Click for the audio link here:

Audio: Means To An End.

A Means To An End.

I see him through the sharp blades

The green of the grass succumbs to his shade

Shimmering in the rain he’s dancing for His Day

Whispering silent prayers, asking Mother to marry his heartache with gain.

I rest upon an oak tree, not far from where he stands

And watch his movements

Face down, head in his hands.

The breeze holds him up

And whilst he stands, he introduces his silent cry

To a future plan.

A plan now gone awry.

A force of nature falling to his knees

Fist clenched, resisting, compelling to his suffering.

He looks for answers in places

Where questions are not welcome.

Busying himself with pursuing what’s already been taken

All that he knew, everything that was his.

He’s giving up hope, losing his patience

He looks up at the sun and he’s jealous

It can disappear into The Darkness.

His blood is boiling, eyes lose It’s Shine

You won’t leave his mind.

He paints you with rough strokes

Angry that you’ve left him alone.

Paints you with colours you’ve never heard before.

Scratches your cheekbones into a piece of wood.

He relieves his final image of you

Pale skin, brown eyes, curls in your hair looks like a soft tide

You were wearing a blue and white gown you learnt to despise.

You were clutching on to the necklace he bought you,

On the 2nd Sunday of May,

The Day they all cried.

Fearful of becoming weak for Your Demise

He paints a smile on Your Face

For he couldn’t place one before you passed.

And now you’re the past,

And memories of you are passing him by.

His pain is now posing as a Desire To Be Great.

He won’t let his pain get in the way

Of making sure you’re proud of him. One day.

He places perfection on a canvas

On his mantelpiece

So he can be graced,


With A Memory.

A Means To An End.