Showing posts from April, 2012


The morning comes again. Sunlight steals into my room, Like he always does, And I awake at the robin's song. Why does the sun's fingers Chill the blood in my veins? Why does the robin's melody Scratch the drums of my ear? Shall I live through this day, Stained with the ashes- From yesterday's raging-fire, Yet warm in my heart's hearth. I wish I could part this air like a veil- And see your face before mine. I wish I could clutch her slippery hands- And feel your warmth cloak me. So I breathe in this formlessness, Hoping that your fragrance- May fill this strangling emptiness- Sagging the holds of my heart. Come, love come to me; Come marry your voice to my ears; Come plough my frame; For I am, now, but a fallow land.


I am the lizard I climbed the mighty Iroko; I leaped from its heights to the earth below But no lips sought to sing my praise. So I shall beat the drums And write for myself an ode. Born of the stock that walked afoot, I rode rode on Failure's horse, Through fields of fear, Into Success stables. I swam the raging seas of doubt, And lived to say "Eureka!" on this shore. I collected the bile of rejection And the frothing spittle of shame And brewed for myself The sweet wine of honor. Now, all men sit at my table Seeking a drop from my bottle. Castles did I build From the stones of scorn And my battlements I crafted From the missiles of my foes. Now I here I stand, King, in the safety of my walls. I sing my song For the one, drowning In the spittle of them that mock. And the one, buried In the sands of a thousand falls. Eudoo!


If He had left The angry words, Unbirthed, In the womb of his thoughts... If She had heard The words With her ears But listened with her heart... If His shaking hands Had pulled her back As she walked away Teary-eyed... If She had turned And saw the hurt In his moistened eyes Pleading wordlessly... ...Would Her heart now be The wilted rose in the noonday sun And his soul, The homeless Ghoul, in a formless land?


Failure Reached out And plucked me, Though I be Apple yet unripe. She has Eaten me From within. Now, I am but a shell. She poked her fingers Into my belly And took away my heartbeat. Now, I am but a carcass. She came With an empty basket, To plunder me. Now, I am an empty barn. Rose, I am; He offers me, She sniffs and smiles, But they see not The abscess in my stalk.


I. Again You have come, Visitor That never overstays. I laugh at your cries; An echo of the first time You rented My now weary womb. Do you see tears In my eyes? No, the wells therein Are drier than the dessert sand. This time, I pour no libation, For the gods Are drunk from my river Of prayer gin. I hold a lamp in my hands, The snake at the door Shall be crushed Before it strikes my heels. I shall pair your cry with a cackle; For the child that says His mother shall not sleep Must not his eyelids close. II. So expect not Goats and cowries, For my yams are dry And the barns are empty. I shall deny you the warmth Of the god's swollen foot- Is the vultures' belly Not grave enough? No longer shall I be The ripe palm kernel That lies in wait For the squirell teeth. The butcher shall not Call the cow Baba To get beef For his teeth to chew. In my barrenness Shall I find fruit; For we shall not call the river another name Becau