Hello dear, my name is Robin. I’m a male red feathery creature of the avian family. Some folks call me a bird of prey, well…..yeah…am an owl. Funny isn’t it? Am an owl and yet I bear the name Robin. I love robins who are meant to be my natural prey (dessert, licks beak), but fuck it I love them. I got one in my crib, oh sorry my nest as a pet. I eat any bird that has nothing useful to offer apart from keeping my alimentary canal functioning. Wait a minute I got some exceptions I don’t eat owls (am not a cannibal and am not from Calabar) and robins.
I was born in Nairobi, Kenya, in the wild where we have wolf’s liver for midnight snack even though the UN and animal right say we are wasteful birds. But they got nothing on us. You see am unusually feathery so I decided to relocate due to the killing sun here in the tropics. With the help of my friends in the EU Air force, I mean the European white storks (some restless migratory birds that shuttle between Europe and Africa). I got into Scotland my main crib, a large fine nest in one old-arse manor. In my nest I got a great choir that keeps me entertained. They render me nice musical pieces, you did think it is The London Philharmonic orchestra singing. The choir consists of all sorts of songbirds you can think of, including the mocking jays (they can’t sing they just help me render some nice echo effects by mocking my choir at accepted intervals).
In summer, I go to the Caribbean beaming in my bad-arse Ray Ban or Maison Martin Margiela Wrong size sunshade. Drinking some leftover champagne or coke, smacking them Caribbean butts with my wings. In the beach I remember the song ‘His eyes are on the sparrows’. Why? Because there’s lots of food. Seafood – from the delicious chilling oysters to that sad looking seagull (yummy-yummy is the phrase). Think of it seagull suya. Sometimes I go too far for them albatross, those folks are difficult to handle. Sometimes I decide to go vegetarian I eat some cashew, mango, apple and weed. Oh! The latter is so medicinal, almost got arrested once due to my taste for Nigerian weed.
When winter comes and the bears go to sleep. The penguins are out there for some ESPN special. Skating, swimming, fishing…I am right there in Alaska with them. Watching the games and catching my own fishes. How do I move a tonne of fishes back to Scotland? I know you all call that overfishing. Don’t ask me how I move them, it’s a trading secret and my fishing methods a patent. At midwinter am in the Swiss Alps skiing and watching the skiing championship. I don’t go near Russian territory because I don’t want the Tigers locking me up in Siberia.
Late spring, am on the move, partying around the Mediterranean ocean with the finest and richest folks in their yatch. The truth be told, I don’t know any of these wealthy folks personally. All I do is perch somewhere hidden, it’s at these point I don’t eat seagulls, because right here we both want to sip these folks’ cognac and wine, eat their desserts and pastries. As a matter of fact we do.
I really don’t have a specific job, except having fun all around. But am a very smart bird, I learnt a lot from my fox pal in Nairobi. We do what is called cooperative hunting. I do the surveillance, he does the killing.
Power and respect is what I use to survive in this crazy food chain, something I learnt from my Italian friends, the pigeons (don’t tell anyone, there are very important members of the Sicilian Mafia).
In my nesty estate I have got three magpies, very intelligent birds. They help me with my innovations. One problem I have got with them ‘they never stop stealing my jewelleries and even my brightly coloured silicone strap swatch time pieces’.
What I do for these folks helping me in my estate, because I never want to cheat anyone. I offer them protection and food. I have got that POWER.
Am sure you all want to ask me something, being a very cute bird with hazel glow-in-the dark eyes.
I will answer that straight away, I have got a pretty owlish wife. As a matter of fact am not saying anything about her again. Nothing personal, I just don’t want you folks tripping for my pretty she-owl.
Above all, I’m that humble fun loving bird.


The White Theme

White and blue is the atmosphere; winter solstice

In an old life, this very day called ‘Yule’

Paying homage to Odin, sprinkling some red everywhere

Giving the gods a very bloody treat

Drinking some ale

I never celebrated Yule, because Noël stole the show

Yule became Noël, Still in the whitish blue atmosphere

My evergreen tree emerged strong and beautiful

I decorated it with blue, red, green, yellow and gold baubles every Noël.

My evergreen tree later got bored of the colours, its beauty got cloyed

Noël is here again

This time, am using silver and white baubles

I am putting no sinterklaas or nisse on the top of my evergreen tree

At the top of my tree, I shall place the Star of Bethlehem

With the Star of Bethlehem, my tree shall remain green forever and disobey laws of nature

I want a theme of white and silver

The star’s light shall make my tree warm and cream yellow and no more blue and white

My tree’s warmth shall no longer depend on bulbs or diodes but the Star

The White Owl shall guide my tree

My tree shall enjoy the music of the robins

The robin shall be a reminder of the love of friend for friend

Its red breast shall serve as a reminder of the great Star’s good deeds

Joyeux Noël

Reddish Black

Reddish Black

It is Power

Formed from the life essence of some beings dead and everywhere

So dark is this power it can make things mercury hot and afterwards turn everything it kissed into fine soft black powder

It’s power, no one man can wield; anytime someone tries to

It invites the evil of death, pain and agony along

Due to this it gets tainted with red

With many trying to hold on to it, it gets redder

It all seems buried in evil, but it’s really not; because it is treasure

Its other side is the trouble

The presence of its rotten half spreads like cancer

To be more specific ‘it’s’ is a she

She spreads into the heart of her master

Decays it no matter how pure or impure it was

Only a divine heart can repel her deceptive beauty

Long enough the pleasure cloys but her master notices not

It keeps fighting the next thing, its longtime friend turned enemy

The enemy is a huge glowing orb, the sun.

While she herself is a viscous fluid

She goes into hell

And comes out assuming many useful forms

She is called Black gold

Still stained with more red

Reddish black