Leaves of Ink: Hope of Bright Mornings (Mirror Sestet)

Leaves of Ink: Hope of Bright Mornings (Mirror Sestet): Contributor: Ayoola Goodness Olanrewaju - - Yesterdays bloat with hays Hays once green in the rays of the sun god of yesterdays Pas...

cacophonies

I



and poetry speaks to my poetry
in the echoes of noises in the heart of a hole
this hole is my heart...

these are the tears of my hands
the pains of the claps that killed emptiness and not the flea...



of youthful chants of sorrowful psalms
in the blurring tomorrows of the old testaments...

these toothless wrinkled gluttons still want meat
they crush the characters of tomorrows within gummy teeth...bloody

in the covetousness of mobile adverbials...

II



i hear voices rend in shrills
like the chorus of metals in the skulls of tambourines

like the branches stomped by the wildness of the wind
shaken bruised and broken...

in silenced cacophonies of falls and frails...



and there are the creased voices in the tangle of sheets
craving for folds and smoothness...

tell me where again do we find rhythms for celebration?

when our drum-skins are beaten to tears and tears
when our drummers are maleficent at heart...

III



these voices eat me deep
like a gluttonous distance
who dines on the meals of the fast and furious...

i feel heavy and defeated
like an incomplete destiny of a phrase...



only if these were not cacophonies of dirges
we would have blessed our legs with beads of rhythm...
and dance
even on the face of a can concession...
 
how do one dance the melodies of war?

IV



i swallow a thousand times
to drench in pleas in mucous libation
for the clustered spirits of noises within me...

i hear piercing whines
cacophonies in the pockets of giant terrors...



shall i not scream from their screams
and cream your ears frustrating tingles?

shall i not scream from their severed screams
screams from scorching torture and silence?
and spell your luxury of sleep restless ghouls and cacophonies...

V



when we tuned in the rhythms of felicitations
for the hairs that grew over our baldness...

did our songs not melt into distressed cacophonies?
did we not summon tidal waves of cries for our eyes?

when we found out we have gone bald again...



what stories do we tell our children?
do we tell them the lies they told us?

when we have promised them the candies of hope
and boast brightness for their days of darkness...

tell me...do we return again with this empty hopes?

VI



i feel cacophonies burst in my bowels
like formidable streams of dexterity
in the arms of a passionate drummer...

i am a market of noises
am i a market of noises?



could that be the beats of rains
or the cheers of dancing beads over the belly of the gourd?

ah! it is the weeps of soulful spirits
the spirits of mothers who lost their gold
to the wickedness of the ballot boxes...

VII



they steal away the rays of our brightness
from the blessedness of our suns...
 
they spill darkness on the canvass of our days
the darkness in the city of their hearts...

they play the deaf to our cacophonies of succour...



how they maim our binds of friendliness
with keen daggers of hostility and blood...

they break in asunder our placenta of love
and rip-rape our sister, peace
under uncouth libidos and dangles of wars...

VIII



our peace has the price-tags of wars
the peace we never bought...we never had...

a minute silence...

booms.bursts.fires.blasts.sands.blood.bloods.wails.voices
echoes...cacophonies in pods of paradoxes-deadly and death



if you want peace prepare for war
if you do not want peace prepare for war
if you want war prepare for war...

pieces.piecemeal.wars.peace.pieces.piecemeal.peace.wars
how do wars find peace?

IX



i have walked the night
in the nakedness of darkness...unclad
 
my ears crave for silence...

and within the silence is the loudness
of my heart...louder than silence...



the noises for alms of many mouths
the noises of street children estranged and violated
the noises of the mothers and daily dirges to the sun
the noises of pleading victims...corpses awaiting coffins...

the noises of scenes hollowed, hidden in my heart...

X



and yet it is these noises within me
dry bones fluting for flesh... for life...

craving for breath
the breath of peace from putrid belch of wars...

crying... ‘do not give up on me’



i am a poet of troubled noises
a poet of tears

i shall wing and bellow the ears of heavens...open
i shall scurry and burrow into the soul of poesy...deep
until these cacophonies trade for celebration.

emptiness I-X

I
i

i prey on clusters of darkness
and trap some between the palms of my hands

i stake my fisted-games
over the lashing tongues of fire

i eat the meals of emptiness...

ii

i am a hunter of words
and my heart knows me well

i hunt from an emptiness within
an emptiness, burdened with words...

an emptiness of everything.

II

i
there in the heart of space and time
is a broken nothingness of something...many

emptiness like the dusts of dreams
scattered in the heads of deep sleeps...

the emptiness in the rest in peace...

ii
a poet’s weave is from the threads of nothing
from the deaths of broken and forlorn words
and silence...

a roast of darkness over lines of lights
for transformation.


III

i
 
and in the beginning there is an emptiness
a pen and craving spaces...

a poet and thoughts
lines and then poetry...

and the poetry is good...

ii

here lies the creation of poetry
moulded in an empty emptiness...

like the emptiness in the lifting
within the veins of a trodden thread
 
heavily light.

IV

i
 
poesy is a loom of cadence
in the emptiness of sustained notes...

the loud soundless of soothing sounds
in the soft whispers of slowed lyrics

the magic in tender smiles empty and pure...

ii

a foetus in bloody pools of emptiness
in the wombs of barren silence

in the pregnant echoes of lines...

in the breaths of nibs
of inks from fountains void.

V

i
 
i sit at the shore of waters
and i net not for fishes in the deep...

i fish peaceful stimulus of words
from the hovering emptiness 
on the surfaced silence of shallow waters
 
ii

do you know poetry dances in
the flickers of dust?

empty and light

unscathed
in the slices of the sun rays...
 
VI

i
 
i gaze at the mumblings of insanity
how words drool from the hotness of rants
and emptiness...

i see poetry
and poetry sees me...

ii

give me emptiness
and i shall give you true poetry

for in this emptiness
i am filled...

muses void, weaves of wordy wonders.

VII

i

when your eyes see the world
upside down...

and emptiness hemmed at the
dangling up down, down up

there...is a poetry to right...

ii

i see poetry to right

in the emptiness of a careless loss
in the emptiness of death, dying and death
in the tongues of ruin of an empty fire...

in the emptiness here, on the slate of my heart.

VIII

i

words weaved in the threads of peaceful muse
lie on the bed of leaves...
 
in the beauty of emptiness...deep...

in the comfort of a fluttering emptiness
of a dancing dry leaf to the music of the wind...

ii

now...i feel empty
an emptiness in the abundance of words...

like the emptiness of a mirror 
without a face

i itch of poetry...

IX

i

i fry the flies of failures
in the words of excellence...

failure is a forced poesy
excellence is a true muse...

a true muse... woven from emptiness.

ii

i see dead emptiness breathe
in fluid muses...perfect for thirsts...

in the creation of light lines...empty-
in the purity on the slate of the tongue...

in the nibs of fine poets.

X

i

this heart moulds emptiness...

in the likeness of thoughts
 in the clay of lines

he breathes in it figures of speech
and the emptiness becomes poetry...

ii

be fruitful and multiply
have dominion in lines pure...rhythms

in rich rhymes...vast verses...sweet stanzas...
and let this emptiness...

your starting point to poetry.

reveries

i
as the night spreads the pigment of grey
over the fluffy clothes of the firmament
and the moon tucks in half like a bronze coin
into the breast-pockets of the passing clouds

i lie lost in the garden of your thoughts

between my head and my heart
between my nibs and conversations of sheets
between here and there...

ii

i see the slivery winks of the stellar stares
and i remember our best of laughters
when we raced in the cooling chills of pure water
hand in hand...

the unspeakable sweetness on your lips
and the beam of brightness you saw in my eyes

how we laughed loud and drew lovely echoes
on the jealous face of the roving breeze...
iii

shall i forget quickly?
the griefs and the tears we shared
i remember how you sobbed bitterly
upon the shivers of my shoulders...

how i manned my tears and failed...

how we cried silently
how we both cried silently loud
how we finished crying and cried even more...

iv

i remember the tonic of your voice
when you called my name...

the tremble in my voice
when i looked into your eyes...

the charm of your giggles
that brought rhythms to my cheeks...

the lost into the worlds of angels
when your hair fluttered between the fingers of the wind...

v

like the loss of a lone star
i plead forever twinkles of your thoughts

as they journey farewell into the night...
my eyes birth a teary flow...

between my head and my heart
between my nibs and conversations of sheets
between here and there

you were my here and there that was...

Ayoola Goodness (c)2015

stimulated vibrations I-X

I

i

ilesanmi...

this life is a bullet of words
shot into the depths of craniums...

it is the wails on the lips of thousands
echoes...

i have been hit
and i bleed profusely...

ii

these tears are the wetness of my sore
and my sleeplessness is not of a lost love...

it is the nurse of my worded wound...
i see myriads of lines swirl in my bleeds

i recuperate...i relapse

tell me...
are these my dreams too?


II

i

ilesanmi...

yesterday...how i tried...
to hide from this force within, eating me
from this poetic burden and breeds for words...

but which mother neglects the weeps of her womb?

the wails of empty spaces
the cries of quills, tender...

held me bound!

ii

i wish i could tell the day i gulped this water
fashioned in the rituals of words...

a thirst for a thirst for my thirst
for in my drunkeness, i still thirst

tell me
what happens to a drunkard thirsty for words?


III

i
ilesanmi...

remember when you seek drunkeness at poetic shores
let angels fill your cup the bitter brews of humility
and beware of the sweet brews of pride of angelic demons...

for many men puke poetry pours with the stench of pride
and clothe in the mad yeast of their poetic puff puff

remember...poetry is humble and sane...

ii

remember...poetry is true...
let your poetry spill truth to truthful truth to lying lies...

when you grow wings of poesy
let your wings intertwine humble wings
for in the kindness of poets...you shall soar heights

and please tell me
when my poetry exudes not the prides of humility...

IV

i

ilesanmi...

vibrations ride the corridors of my veins
and have denied my pupils the meal of sleep...

a drunkard of words nurses a thirsty thirst
a constant thirst bound in the deep waters of words

look closely and read the dance of my quill
and score the music played by my flaming fingers.

ii

i write myself lines of lights
for brightness in my springs of darkness...

when dark days may want to roam my sanity
and make my nibs wander
in the ink of attractive ghouls in strange thoughts

hear this today and learn
a poet's time wheels have dark days and very many...

V

i

ilesanmi...

shall we stand a minute silence...
for the death of vowels and consonants of lines

the lines of poesy that bloomed under the moon
and withered at the brightness of dawn

shall we stand a minute silence...
may their muse return if possible.

ii

when lines shall bloom your stem of poesy
find the patience to engrave on pure leaves

for they are like roamings of grieved ghosts
panting for rest in nibs and paradise rooms on leaves...

they are like slimy dreams
and in neglect slither away and die too soon...

shall we stand a minute silence...for lost lines...

VI

i

ilesanmi...

i write from a depth of emptiness
the emptiness of life...

the emptiness i have found within the self of myself
the emptiness craves...calling for creation...

do you know?
poetry creates fine rhythms on void notes...

ii

when you gavel poetry on the slab of creation
let it be on the mines of empty notes
for in emptiness you shall find rhythms...

fine rhythms of light...luminous paths
in the corridors of darkness...

let not your rhythms lie on faltering scales...

VII
i

ilesanmi...

a poet is a metaphor of spontaneous feelings
heavily vast into the lightness of every thoughtful weave
the weaves in the wools of words...

a poet’s wealth is not in the treasury of mints
or the mass of accolades on the cliffs of fame...

it is in the currencies of deep thoughts...

ii

a poet is a baker of poetic powders
a bowl of arts that reunites fragments of poesy...

a kiln of fine rhetoric
a spice bag of figures of speech...

a model of forms and styles...

a platter fashioned in the finesse of thoughts
on which a sumptuous poetry is served!

VIII

i

ilesanmi...

shall i not tell you?
that my head pillows on bundle of quills
and i dream nights into the wilderness of words...

the dream of a poet is a wordy sickness
a persistent urge, a waxing furnace, a thirsty thirst

a poet is a pouch of words...

ii

when words steal you far into the woods of poetry
hunt deep and trap your nibs rich games
fat meats for now and decades to come...

refuse not the desire to get lost
and trouble not your mind for your find

words do find words
your poetry shall find you again...

IX

i

ilesanmi...

when poetry buds burning thoughts
on the plate of your heart
let your nibs find pure patience
and then a perfect peace...

a true bloom of poetry is plucked
in a perfect peace, patiently pure...

ii

let your flaming fingers scorch your thoughts steady
for if hasty...the words may burn to burnt...

tell me
who eats with relish a burnt poetry?

let your eyes assess the beauty of your thoughts
and if ugly...lay it at the altar of poetic priests...

for poetry must first carry the burden of beauty...

X

i

ilesanmi...

poetic strength lies not at the tip of a bottle
or in the rolls of shredded tobacco...

a poet’s might lies in his pouch of words
the heart is the pouch...

a pure poetry pours from the heart
an expression rolled in deep feelings...

ii

if your poetic pours must be pure
wean not your heart from meticulous breasts...

let your muse pour pure pours
not after the contentions for poetic crowns
or after the foolish forces of muses
a poetry forcefully brewed stinks...

poetry is a feeling not forced...

Sorrowful

Your eyes hold memory of sadness
I see your soul this morning
Sick with a sickness of sorrow.
 
Your life is a life of deep sorrow
For your smiles are not prided joys
In your sweetness lingers a great bitterness.
 
Your legs are not happy
I saw you dance last night
Those were not playful but painful steps.
 
You have pretended happiness as helps
You fought a dream a fortnight passed
You war nights to not be sleepy…
 
You are sad now
A look at you, a maintained frown
Your tales of delights were none.
 
You are just alone
Alone in the darkness of your plague
The pattern of pains is in your brow.
 
Your lips are pursed in revenge
You play strings of slights
And told not your story to know!
 
The world has become your foe
Life has been harsh and not fair
Your vengeance is a paradise pledge…
 
To fight with life hurts lives…
A torrent current desires no dives...
 
I wish I know your tale of sorrow
For your safe tomorrow…
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Courtsheep

 
My bed premises a bodily smile
Like a plethora of cooling breeze
Your thoughts visit my mind
Now I know I am drowning.
 
Better is you every leaving mile
I long for your lip-read rhythms
They tell the truth of your kind
Sweet like a fresh drawn honey.
 
I have refused the might to struggle
For I relish this pleasure to sink
As I remember your biding cry
When we played under the tree.
 
The stars are gazing at my angle
And the waft whispers words in pink
I feel my tongue three-times dry
Leaving rivulets of sweats surge free.
 
Your past has such chained me tight
I burn and I love the scars
And for this love found I am bound
You are not the manner of some shallow water.
 
In you I see my lifting flight
A prisoner behind your loving bars
Favour is in a good wife found
Such you, no war alter.
 
Our union is golden ringed
Our love purely felt and bought
And as we hold on the divine edge
Our nuptial someday...
 
Our promises are not winged
 And no end to the joy of this court
Our days will thus one day merge
It begins today…

the snake and the lass

i

the osculation thrusts long and deep
and a rude rod-like rising
snakes in the zippered cell…loosely!

a big tongue loses in lust in a little mouth…

then the frippery gifts…

the lass hoards her hands in fisted holds
and a coyish rage stars her eyes…

the kiss…again!

ii

it is not new
the story in the penny pamphlet

‘uncle kisses her from cradle…
his nice nature comes in kisses’

ask my curious cheeks of the stinging slaps
in thundering thuds of a hand of fury

once beaten twice shy…

i mute uncle’s kisses and beyond kisses…

iii

and today that she turns sweet sixteen
her gown is drenched in a ruddy stream

a cutter shimmers clutched in her hand
drowned in a baptism of blood

a naked testicle in bloody spurts
drops to an unheard beats of agony

and a noisy silence seals the seeking ears

‘mother, i cut the snake today!’ she groans…!

silent words

i
silent words are whips
they singe too...

mother has them in her looks
and in the flicks of her index finger

i remember…how she had looked…

and lashed the legions in my coveting eyes
counting the visitor’s morsels…

how her index finger

had made me wet my pants
when I mounted the horns of disobedience…
 
ii

silent words are bladed fangs
they cut deep too…

jane, the orphan, has it in her tears
and in the gasps of her sobs…

i remember how at her tears

my heart melted…
and a snowy love froze my steaming blood

chilled my manly pride…
and cut me into flickering fragments…

her sobs tethered my wrongs in remorseful twines.

iii

my wife is lost to the paws of infidelity

she covets…flirts with the testicles of tycoons
and mounts the horns of disobedience

i have got the looks of mother
the flicks in her index finger

the tears of jane and the gasps in her sobs

i will lash, wet her pants
melt her heart ….cut her deep
tether her wrongs in remorseful twines…

and gain her back on the pyre of silent words!

arise O grains

i

the grain sacks shed tears of emptiness
their heads drop in pathetic folds

the gluttons are the green caterpillars
eaters without replenish…

and the keen hoes at the corner
are blunt from rusty whet

the land groans in the groins
from the grips of callous and ruthless roots…

and now hunger umpires
the lawns of our bowels…

ii

they leave the house barren
and cart away the seed of hope in the barn…

alas! their breeds of white fowls
are concealed leeches of lies

they plant debts… grains of debts
a canker for the aging baba

they have plagued baba’s hunt
a decoy for the games of change…

dennis, things happen in this wilderness
vines die and the caterpillars live…


iii

baba has shaken the sacks
and here it is…

the last cup of grains…

and this must suffice
for mother and ‘wazobia’

shall we soak this in the water of hope?

and sing ‘arise O grains’
to the beats of these hopeless spoons

for the soaked grains must rise
to be enough for all.

The Little Man

The Little Man
 
There is a care in the illiterate mind
Who sells pepper and salt
For food on the king's table
The elixirs to the pangs of starvation.
 
The monger sells fish fresh and fried
A lover of fish and the stench insult
For meals delectable
A relish lend for man's consumption.
 
What of the bald and simple butcher?
Who has learnt the ways of meat
He oozes the smell of dung
For teeth hails and chewing prides.
 
The cobbler on his dock's stretcher
Saves soles to mend and to knit
He sweats between the whistles of a song
For feet in giant strides.
 
The young seamstress in the corner
Stitches clothes' wears and tears
For fads of newness and time
That beckon the eyes of admiration and envy.
 
The love of the bus driver and owner
Who serves lives and dares road fears
He beats distance at speed and prime
For destinations at an unworthy levy.
 
The mechanic dexterity and sacrifices
Who desires dark paints and oils
Lends therapy to auto sickness
Aids to waiting legs and hope.
 
The news in the vendors' hands and orifices
Printed-balm for knowledge-thirsty boils
Crossing in swifts… painless
For a penny newspaper to live and cope.
 
Should we around in fancy suit
Judge and plague their lives with guilt?
 
Should not the little man
Be worthy of respect and a look of human?
 
Should we not hail them shoulder high
And pelt not their choices with a terrible sigh?
 
The little man maybe prone to repel
He is our dome and survival temple.

The Piano (Mirror Sestet)

Intro

Bliss of breeze gusted in the open air
Air misty lodged in nightly beauty bliss
Ahead raced eerie echoes of darkness
Darkness scared of the sun partner waxing ahead
Alone I breathed a lone sole
Sole with the piano alone.

Do

Chords stormed the aura floating
Floating rhythms in the cuddles of chords
Slowly -told soothing mild melodies
Melodies in bright beauties lying slowly
On keen keynotes in bold blacks
Blacks nurtured in flat whites switched-on.

Re

Fingers fled in controlled crescendos
Crescendos tunes mystical dipped in fingers
I remembered our first day…
Day one of our hearty stitch, you and I…
Accidents ran amidst the blacks and the…
The keys reminded the pinching pains and accidents.

Mi

Sustained rumbling dwelt on mighty strikes
Strikes of the bass line in a fainted sustained
Of wars in the minds of warriors
Warrior’s dreams are no less made of
Fated life or death, victory certain uncertain
Uncertain certain victory, death or life fated.

Fa

Soft touch breezed in a strange silence
Silence strings dual and soft
Peace fueled my confused spirited loss
Loss of comfort in mutual bones for peace
Clustered vibrations lulled fainted sounds
Sounds skillfully clustered.

So

Hasty fingers stole into my thoughtful forte
Forte of a wounded life, restless and hasty
Tears flowed and trailed the soul beats
Beats protruded with itching tears
And I cried in wails
Wails melded in reverberating notes and …

La

Thoughts of mother culled in calmed notes
Notes cascading in pools of throbbing thoughts
Softly on watered dreams and fantasies
Fantasies staggering in rhythms softly
Sad arpeggios scaled in broken octaves
Octaves twisted sour and sad.

Ti

Allegros melds grew wild and fine
Fine andantes flattened the chords in allegros
Escaped clefs painted my visions
Visions past, once bound and escaped
Again, in rhythms of reveries lost
Lost to start fresh and again.

Do

Chords stormed the aura floating
Floating rhythm in the cuddles of chords
Slowly -told soothing mild melodies
Melodies in bright beauties lying slowly
On keen keynotes in bold blacks
Blacks nurtured in flat whites switched-on.

End

Slippery keys plagued my played end
End of the music slimy and slippery
Left in a bloated clouds of moods
Moods switches on the right and the left
Leaving me and the haunted surges
Surges singeing my cowardly leaving.

the guitar

i

my ears catch a tingle on music
from the cascade of rhythmical springs
the springs of right rhythms…

but ….these are dirges
and the eyes are out of water…

ten fingers shed their wails
in rusty springy tears
a gaped cry from a gaped box
 
the lips are stripped of mourn…

ii
 
i hear the songs of the greedy rich…
and the blood of wild wickedness

how they summoned the king
to punish and kill poor ilesanmi
for he sniffed the aroma of their lousy lots…

how they had and had
and had the added add
that had not been had…

the green greediness in our hood.

iii

the rhythms fret a memory
flying in my moody mind…

these clustering of chords
hearse the coffin of iya alaro

the woman who warred for change…

and change did not do
the deed to be done to do
the deed that she did done the deed for.

our constant dream and disappointment…

iv

then silence…
and a rumbling stormy strums

i hear the bitter sobs of adunni
the needle without thread…the belle

who wedded and wounded in the web
 
she was the lost loss
lost to the lost loss
that was already lost.

Our persistent passionately fine folly…

v

i hear fainted notes

and now deadness
in springy cuts and breaks

i lend a lengthy belch
from the feed of the food of sorrow
 
what ends the end
of the ending end
that ends the all of all ends

our candidacy in the scroll of time and death…
 
 

the wood insect

i

the cock crows and i am up
i take up my regalia of poetry
washed and dried in the rainbow’s glitz

i chew on sticks of lines
and my spits there…are dancing symbols

i pick them with flaming fingers
and engrave the slimy soothing sizzling
on patient leaves…

ii

see them…

looks under envy heavy eyes
eyes of venomous incantations

they want to burn my poetry coat…

they lip noiseless mutterings
pulses to make my poetry pride putrid

they do not know...

my muse malady is incurable.

iii

who says there is a cure?
for the wood insect that gathers sticks…

i am the wood insect
and this poetry is my burden…

if I lie, ask abeni…
who sells poetry in the market…

doutbing temeduns…come your bloating eyes
i have poetry scars to damp your dirty doubts.

Father

i

if my pen soars
into the blue yonder …vast
and my cloudy bursts of famed rains
will soon be willed to demons…

if this madness runs
in the veins of lines maestros…

this madness of man made God

take it from me…

ii

if this wordy prowess and power
corrupts to worship one
a demigod…

and mislead many…

if this pen
bleeds lines vacant in your bid
if it is this pen…

i will be okay with You without the pen

take it from me …

iii

if these feathers in poetic estuary
held within my flaming fingers

will soon…Father…

drift into the fame of dark ink…
and bring me dreams of greedy ghouls

save me
be in my dreams

and this pen…

take it from me.

Miser

i
The Friend
Lakasegbe, is a generous
Friend in deed and indeed!
He gets six scores of eggs
And gives me two…
He stingily begs my stunned
For I do shower him my kindness
He is a generous selfishness.
ii
The Wife
Bose tells tales
Of his unkind kindness
He buys her nothing
But baggy words of brags…
He tells her of me
And the two eggs he gives…
But not the six scores…
iii
The Children
The children averse him with love
He promised toys
He buys the effigy of Moremi
The African toy of the Wonder woman…
He buys cheap scary effigies
His version of frugality…
What toy is in effigies?
iv
Denouement
I have kept two eggs for him
His rainy days come soon…
Bola is packed to pack
What husband is in a greedy miser?
The children pray in their silence
His speedy demise in a wild Amen
May his punisher be brutally generous.
 

My Love

I
Hold my hand and let us run
Swiftly in this pure rude ruddy sun
And trap sparkling dreams in cloudy blue
Calling me and you.

We can sit here on the cold sand bar
And search the sky for the fainted star
The seal of our doting binds
Watching us behind the whitish blinds.

Can you hear the calling echoes?
Telling tales of our falling foes
The eyes of envy on our fostered penchant
Blinded for ever like a greedy merchant

Let us not hide in shades of nights
Where lay tempting wrongs in ghostly rights
The light shining there is our friend
To keep our love firm to the end.

Now, my nose sniffs a rosy scent
As your head wafts a hairy rent
I wish your hair grow in my hand
As we race the nuptial island.

Shall we rove far and wide?
Laugh tinkling jokes as we glide
Close our eyes into the silent within
And whet the ardour blooming.

In your eyes are coals of diamonds
I desire decades in their bonds
I am not a man of treasure…
Forever with you is my pleasure.

II

Show me your heart
I will tread with caution its path
They call me the gentle man
And in you I see a gentle woman.

Here, in my heart, tryst
My soul is void of the manly beast
I shall keep you unscarred
For our love is sacred.

Would you smile?
If I am gone for food far into the mile
Promise me, would you?
Without, life is without clue.

Would you give me your grief?
That we could both cry to relief
That I may find strength
That you may find breath…

Come, let us nude
Forgive me, this unintended lewd
I seek not the strip of clothes
But the past drowned in loathes.

Should we not our careless past
Unhidden and nakedly cast?
For there is no future built
On a ground miry with guilt.

Whisper into my sickly seeking ears
Sweet words I had sought for years
And in the streams of this grey light
Love, be in my dreams tonight.

III

Lost from the orb in the firmament
Sparkles of rays pinned your garment
Obsessed in a flood of fun
For your charm is a sunny pun.

I see a place in the crux of your heart
Furnished in a special craft and art
A throne fashioned in the hue of love
And a crown in the feathers of a dove

I feel something trace the rails in my bones
These tributary of crude hormones
Luring burning lustful essence
Please, bind me with cuffs of patience.

I am a man and potent
Yet, I desire this libido ace latent
Till my love for you is ringed
We shall copulate closely winged.

Shall I ask?
Find not my sought answer a task
For I perspire a fear…
Your love only can take care.

When lost to the curiosity that befalls men
Would you my heart grave with the love pen?
Would you forgive my manly errs?
And gift me to wisdom, forever hers…

If I dance to the music of anger
Would you pilot this love a safe hangar?
When you find not in me an angel
Would you save me from the fists of hell?

IV

I fear looms of disappointments
For my muse holds hidden in selfish moments
I sweat in my roam for worthy inspiration
Could I be broken of words for your adoration?

Restless fingers riot my trembling strands
And I feel a lump growth in my ardent glands
The rhythmical breeze laps me a scorching coldness
It is your voice wrapped in a whispering Goodness.

Love, I find not my passion on beds of books
It is here in your eyes, in beautiful rosy looks
My bondage embraces a timely loose
And there, in a staunch smile, lies my muse.

We will fly away somewhere far and safe
In twiny wings from this world of pain and grief
Last night, you called me your father
I fetched relief that I have got in you a mother.

I shall bring you soulful beats of ardour
Anklets on your fine feet to adore
I know the wield of dance in space
Ask… They know me well in the market place.

This love of ours is fine and faceless
Shall we go blind blinder and remain flawless?
Season not this race with games
And char not these feelings in fleeing flames.

We shall camp at the shoulder of the ocean
And draw its sweetness to ease our tension
At the peak of my hearty castle
I shall sing of your love to the windy whistle.

S.S.S

i

Sweet soothing death…

Come one, come all
Buy sweet soothing death

Come one, come all
Buy sweet soothing death…

Be warned!
You may die young…

ii

Bode testified of his testimony
His graduation was very quick

He smoked paper
Smoked a smoke
Wielded the wrapped weed!

His fine future…ruined!
Ruined in weedy whistling puffs …

iii
Tade
Smoked to read

Smoked to sing
Smoked to act

He loved the sweet soothing smoke

And met madness …
In madness, he smoked madly
                                                                     
He kicked mortality.

iv

The smoke seller’s son…
Lamori was very young

He took the sweet soothing smoke
And died very young…

She neither stopped the sold
She traded the lives of his friends

Sold them the sweet soothing smoke
Her way to avenge her son…

v

And after this commercial,
A bold irony slapped my face …

‘The Federal Ministry of Health warns!
Smokers are liable to die young…’

What a fiscal embrace of death?

A brutal slain of health
On a balance weight of choice…!

OBSEQUISE

In this moonlight milky mood
I penned my brood…

The wailing hearse cried a slowed silence
Pent–up petrifaction brewed in blurred draught
And the dawn shaded a dark attendance
The chronometer ticked for the last respect.

The casket carved a lucid opulence
A waft of affluence smoked the heavy draft
Restless crave, tears and the coffin acrobatic dance
Hungry hasty eyes eyed the torso death pecked.

His living rest was a broken bed and bed-bugs
The house he lived was a poverty chance-
The children railed far to return on his rust
And it came to pass…His time…

In couture, lavender soaked laid the corpse
Such fads were scarce for his appearance
When he had his breath in his wrinkled dust
But now, it is his gathered grime.

They wept…They must weep the weeps
In pure pretence of pity and nugatory nods
How they loved him to have gone…
Their prided shame beyond the clouds…

The dust was thrown in petulant peeps
What a life of odds?
There, are the sons’ sons who neared not his sun
Attired in ‘ADIEU BABA’ amidst the crowds…

Life goes on! Life must just go on
On the meadows of feasting tarpaulins
Finger flicks flaunted fresh minty fragrance
On faces lighted with strange happiness.

Praises of the rich son
For the deceased face, did the runnings
For the casket bought from France
And the rare gem laded from River Ganges.

Mouths munched meaty pieces a many
But the cadaver had just a plate and a spoon
The cassava grain was his saving grace
And the sanctified groundnuts in the lepers’ wood

He was not remembered for a penny
How come the strange bounty at his full moon?
Food and plates in amazing displays
Lost into the abyss of human hood.

And it all ended…
As sundry and all returned
Neat and drunk for the libation of the dead
Here once lived is once desolate.

Why these heads wrongly headed?
Why cared only when dust is turned?
For the breath that borne their born and bred
Why celebrate neglected exit in glorious plate?

In this sunlight shone, shining soon
I shall birth my brood…

AYA WA (OUR WIFE)

i
Alade got a wife…

His first meal was a peppery furnace
Burnt his tongue and bruised his lips…

He ate with a strange joy
Mix of anguish, mix of hate
Mix of anger, mix of love…

He chews on the sticks of doom
His Mrs Fortune is a misfortune …
His mother met him
And SCREAMED!

ii
Alade is now a phantom
He is thinner than thin
His wife is a woman of noodles…

A cook of surprises,
Terrible in surprising cuisines

Alade wants a real meal
Like the poetry dishes
Of Adewale, the Poetry chef…

Alade is hung on a suicidal hunger
His teeth dance to a deadly starvation
 
iii

She pursued the stars in dreams
In the garment of black and white…

She despised the little stars
That makes a woman for a man…

A man’s heart is the stomach!

She is the paradox in vogue
A bad cook is enough
To spoil the broth…!

Alade remembers Amuda
Amuda, the charm and the cook…

iv
Alade is known
Master of all refectories…

Alade wanted Amuda
Only that she has no class…

She…Mis-fortune
Has the class but not the pass…

The pass to his heart…

And today that the cleaner eloped
With her fears of food and poison
His wife could not sweep!

Let's Ponder a Little

I
I know my thoughts came up again
Like the rush of a heavy a rain
My finger tips swollen with symbols
Drained in paints of inspired constructs.

I have heard of a poison bought cheaply
And killed in a twinkle twinkled twinkly
The songs of a massacre done
Of many men under this sun.

I have seen death bodily bottled
Inherently laden and mottled
Ten times macabre
In abandon and without care.

I know a company of bush meats
That roams in pride and strange feats
I know of the dread of a disease
That has crowned many their lives to cease.

I have heard of a prostitutes’ notification
Stripped of their personification
An animalized synonymy
‘BUSH MEATS ACADEMY’

I have seen the beasts in men
Like the draught in lions’ den
Many out of many
Dry wells without comfort any.

I know of the husbands’ experience
Where anger holds their manly evidence
Too hot to control their fisting prowess
A cowardly way to husbandly express.

I have heard the sheer foolishness in beauty
That robs off a woman’s intellectual quality
And the integrity in ‘Iwalewa’
What then is beauty polished every hour?

I have seen beautiful Agbeke chew her husband
And dashing Abike throw the food with one hand
The noise of Orekelewa Aduke has woken me
My standby alarm every early morning.

II

I know of a weep become wept
And wishes that are unfaithfully kept
I know of the sense in ‘life goes on’
Hatched in all being said and done.

I have heard the dead cry over a dead
A cry…a wail that seem not an end
And then music, laughter and a feast
For death had come and passed.

I have seen a joy quietly shared
And a loud joy that smelled snared
I have seen sorrows, celebrated
And a sorrow not planted, harvested.

I know a brief smile that means much
And a loud laughter that meant not such
The cry display of the guilty that is pitied
And the dried eyes of an innocent thought-speech-tried.

I have heard of a lie end in a pilfer essence
And a truth ridiculed by a lie preference
The works that boast in darkness
And the victory that wields in the light lens.

I have seen friendly likes of the palm oil hands
And at a finger bleed jumped to other lands
The love expensively attractive
And the one without class tagged repulsive.

I know of a repented young-witch
That erased not her call of an old- witch.
The shameful tales of innocent Mary
In the business of many men taste before marry.

I have heard of the stupidity in chasing two rats-live
And a patient kill that tolled more than five
The hunger in the face of a sumptuous meal
That a low-class meal can heal.

I have seen Corper Kunle hunts around
With his dangling bell every virgin on ground
And Dauda, the soldier, that loves his gun
He scares the old and shoots the young on the run.

III

I know of the pity of a man who had bare-foot issues
Got some and still wants more shoes
The good of good luck with some odd
Forgetting the cast crying patience in there is God!

I have heard orifices of a promise edifice broken
The bad nut sugar- coated in a ‘Burger’ token
The slander of the cassava grains of unhealthy gains
To procure a plate of rice, sweaty and full of pains.

I have seen the joy in a pot of stew shared
The poverty that abides in a fisted hand
The tears in an earn, guiltily amassed
And the blessing in pure proceeds, amazingly laced.

I know the fierce flight of the mother hen
That nurtures the chicks to independent men
The news of the ducklings’ murder
At the unconcerned sight of the mother.

I have heard of the poison in small gossips
And the crime in the uncouth lips
The venom in the killer tongue
Captured in the very utters of the wrong.

I have seen a mad enjoyment in a song
Meaningless, loud and supposedly lyrically long
The celebration in the vogues of lewd
Where many and more are deathly lured.

I know of a tale not told
Etched newly like a strange cold
I know of a battery of shame
Spreading like an opened flame.

I have heard of ‘Ikun’ and sweet bananas
And the healing taste in the bitter leaves
The danger in a liberty forcefully obtained
The patient dog and fattest bone gained.

I have seen young Malomo drive a lorry
And ten year- old Dauda writing a bike story
Graduate Charles’ commitment to frauds and drugs
And Ayedade, a now- breeding -grounds for thugs.

IV

I know the pure greed in old men’s pouch
And the youthful silenced hunch
The old men are drunk with power
And the youth run for a bouquet of flower.

I have heard of an uncompromised testimony
And a clear reject of corruption in a bribe of money
The pleasure in evils done in the closets
And the deceitful share of holiness baskets.

I have seen the pride in the parents’ eyes
Of a well trained future in all wise
And a grave and an unnamed sorrow
When profits vacate the throne of a tomorrow.

I know of the Saturday’s clamour
And a pure shame of honour
The backyard neighbour’s constant tussle
The man and his fat wife’s hustle and bustle.

I have heard of the creativity in a beat
Such that the head is caught up in the heat
The sweat that goes into the defeat of a giant
And the celebration in a succeeded fight.

I have seen the silent killer in lonely days
That everybody needs somebody pays
The peaceful tears shed for the left of a voyage
And the favour in a right partner advantage

I know of the song in the face of a sweetened meal
And the pretence preference of an over spiced cereal
The lashing whips of a deadly hunger
Like the noose of a criminal hanger.

I have heard of the fall in the garment of pride
A smooth lane of a great fallen ride
The friends, humility can conceive
The floods of blessings a lowly heart can receive.

I have seen Aduke make friends with the witch
She is now fearless and can cause a twitch
Young Yemisi has got a promiscuity purse
And our generation is such blessed with a curse.

V
 
I know of the sweetness of repose after labour
And the danger of rest that steals honour
The vacancy of peace in a bed’s finest
And the true ‘rest in peace’ in the place of final rest.
 
I have heard of the loot done in a hurry
Decorated in a plagued pleasure and a strange glory
The grace of contentment harnessed duly
And the myriads of blessings it brings truly.
 
I have seen life at the tip of a well stringed rhythm
And an outpour of grace in an inspired hymn
The bores in a careless stringed-strike
Oozing an offensive stomached dislike.
 
I know of the essence in time
And each second is worth a dime
The disgrace in how time flies
In the place a dead man lies.
 
I have heard of the love of a false tale
And the hate of truth that desired not a hail
The celebration of an embroidered lie
That welcomes an exclaimed “Chai”
 
I have seen the bloody hunger of the flea
And the desperate thirst of the dry tree
The shared jealousy of many women
And the colossal stinginess in many men.
 
I know of a joke tagged expensive
Not at a cost but in the light of offensive
The one that is called comedy
And brings a deep tragedy a remedy.
 
I have heard tongues of deceits
Of feat-posed show of defeats
The loud trumpets of mockery
And the beautiful dance in misery.
 
I have seen Mara’s beautiful imperfection
Ugly Chioma harbour of inherent beautification
The celebrated profession of lewdness of Saint Janet
And Omo Ole’fo plague us an unsafe planet.
 
 
VI
 
I know how to smile
To shame the taste of bile
I am dying to live
In the garment of humility and love to give.
 
I have heard of the true thirst help
It is in the purest of a water drip
Shot down in cloudy stringed bow
Showers of a divinely liquid arrow.
 
I have seen a dream fight
In a dark dread and fearful fright
The one ended in a glorious victory
And the young man deadly story.
 
I know of the smell of shame
Strikingly rich than the fart's spreading fame
The disgrace of ridiculous jeers
Defeating sounds of the muddy smears.
 
I have heard the tale of the lover bird
From life she thought a human gird
She married a soul soldier
And she grew quite quiet and quick older.
 
I have seen myself amidst foes
Like a grain and a river of woes
Pelting silent daggers and darts
Friends without friendly hearts.
 
I know the pain of the rotten teeth
The painless penniless poison of death
The wan smile of a vicious villain
The heart and the countenance of Cain.
 
I have heard the amazement of the bud of maize
So be it for evil and good repays
The telltale of the Capricorn
And the mystery lodged in its beautiful horn.
 
I have seen Ajoke's skirts grow shorter
Maami eat bread without butter
Brother Chike earn money from blood
Again, Prophet Noah prays for the flood.
 
 
 VII
 
I know of the sorrow in the eyes of pains
And the agony of the loss of gains
The hungry thirst in the game of survivals
The drives and chronicles of man's revivals.
 
I have heard of the tree of pride
Rooted in the poor just turned rich hide
The deadly habits poverty could conceal
In wealth, revelations and shocking reveal.
 
I have seen the life of lies
Innocent looks and deceptive eyes
The notion of bad men omen
And the wild plagued of good women.
 
I know of the blessing of wisdom
Lodged salient in the tongue kingdom
The sorry nods of a foolish utterance
And the jeers of an uncultured dance.
 
I have heard of the boasts of experience
Assured and spiced in the light of confidence
The rags intelligence could never buy
Not in a display of gifts or try.
 
I have seen the sauce for the goose
And the deprivation of the gander's choice
The amass of the bread of ease
And the crumbs display on lease
 
I know of a garden of aiding
An Eden of thieves and crimes biding
The promiscuity of tongues
And the piles of the house of wrongs.
 
I have heard strange guests' plots
The share of delicious porridge in fired pots
The news arrival of angels and demons
The rants of the true lies sermons.
 
I have seen Uches' new begging systems
Chioma house money and ritual items
Poor Ajoke give birth again
The next door herbalist conjures to cease rain.
VIII

I know the death in a learning process
And the burial of a graved success
The might in the flight of an eagle
On the roaring zenith of a stormy jingle.

I have heard tales of evils
Cooked by men and delivered by devils
The goodness that lies in wickedness
Ephemeral and last to nothingness.

I have seen friendship so pure
That brings ill-fates a lasting cure
The true love in a mother’s eyes
To the sick child of the villain ties.

Iknow the hurt in a valuable loss
The crispy feelings in a thoughtful toss
The relief found in a found
From the sweat in the search ground.

I have heard of thorny beds
Where blood of an innocent sheds
The virgin kill and quest of beastly groins
Pouring filthiness in ruthless groans.

I have seen the teeth of destruction
Crunch little lives into extinction
The intimacy of the oil and scarcity
Leave fettered scars for dreaming posterity.

I know the sadness of the fading afternoon
Plagued by the pride night echoing soon
The brevity blueprint of life
That widowed many a wife.


I have heard of the greed of a sycophant
Like the deadly flight of an elephant
The wounded heart in a betrayal
Of trusted pals in a concerted fall.

I have seen the craze of Obi, the beggar
Who prays only from fists of hunger
The pride in Ibidun’s built of sorrows
Puncture Iya Agba’s bright tomorrows.

Thorny Palms

i

Again!
This lightness in my mind
Is ruined by a hedged harmony…

Thorny tendrils of lines having teeth
Choke my heart…and

Bruised memories clot in
Weeping welts ridged on my fleshy coat

Like bloodless fleas and blood
My fingers scavenge over loomed characters.

ii

You were my friend
And I had sworn to keep you…

I did this and that… pouched pure
Positive pour portion of passion…

And you did neither that nor this …

Love was not there for a moment
Your witchcraft was the chameleon

I was a child craft in heart
And you were a deceptive charm…

iii

I despised the loud cries of caution
Of the gentle Spirit in my heart

I remembered under the heavy rain
How I beckoned on the thunder
And willed my life to its lightening staff…

I daily dangled on a fragile geniality

I cursed…
Burnt myself on the pyre of gods

iv

For you and you alone

My tongue reposed on fangs of imprecations
As though God was not enough

I invoked…
Strange gods to attest to our mutuality
Sango, Obatala…Esu Odara…

Ignorant that some men are beasts…
For I was lost…obsessed by the truth

The truth hoped to prop us friends forever

v

They oft called us the snail and the shell
And you prey me a snare and a hell

You were the leech
You drained…sipped sapped… emptied!

Like a shade of shadow I fooled followed
Accepted you as a fate robed in friendship

Now that I have forgiven you
How could I forget....?

You ripped raped my sister. Trust…