IT’S MONDAY NOON…

 

And the poet wanders

In the world of thoughts

 

Piercing

Like the spears

Of a juicy song

 

Dazzling

Like the stars

When the night is set

 

Enchanting

Like the rose

Sparkling in your eyes

 

Revealing

Like the sun

About to set at dusk

 

But blind, yes blind

Like me, lost in you

 

…our love swaggers

In the ring of words

 

 

 

 

I COULD NOT GIVE YOU A LOVELY KISS

(For Ismail B. Garba’s ‘FOUR POEMS FOR CHARLES SIMIC')

 

As you

Twist

Turn

Twirl

Wiggle

Wriggle

Waggle

 

And moan lyrically

 

In response

To the softness of my caress

 

I see that:

 

Your rhymes

Are static

 

Your rhythm;

Loosed

 

Your cadence;

Broken

 

And

 

You have no title and such

I could not give you a lovely kiss

 

 

 

POETRY OF THE BEGINNING AND END

 

As singing sounds

Race through the future

In a blaze of light

With the Piercing rhythm

Of a perfected past

 

And

 

Flying stands of words

Quiver into the web

Without the gems of the living plasm

And without the perfect rose

 

I wonder and ponder why

 

The poet seeks the muse

And the muse seeks the poet

 

In the poetry of the beginning

 

 

 

 

SILENCE

 

Silence

 

Silence

 

Followed by:

A long heightened hollowed horror full protracted period of wait

 

Silence

 

Again silence

Then: A RANCOUS THUNDER!!!

 

As renditions exploded

In  the  Goitre of the  Griot