The Nuclear Ghost Towns: Poems by Adeola Ikuomola

Image: Pixabay.com

Image: Pixabay.com


The moon is a spark on decency
Swashed in colourful eloquence
With live pollen, petal and sepal
Mourning with a weeping dawn

The moon is a spark on greenery
Like virgin rains on the rainbows
Baking emeralds for embryology
Cleansing the stains on the bride

The moon is a spark on peroxides
Breastfeeding times with seasons
In the colures done on starry eyes
Blended with perpetual calendars

The moon sparkles in peace aches
X-raying the Nuclear Ghost Towns
Deaf to races and blind to tongues
Like bright bridal doves in descent

(Nuclear Ghost Town, Pripyat, Ukraine.)



They are anguish-ruled bears
Mourning-borne turtle doves
The men thunder as wildfires
Nursing pains of circumcision
In the banquet halls of vanity
Where gluttony is enthroned

Amidst hallmark with scarcity
Like obscurities and darkness
Coupled in scary might mares
Like a soul’s missing compass
Administering a furious storm
Like the breaking atmosphere
Exhibiting horrors and terrors
In the altar for broken mortals



There is my pain on the window pane
There lifeline lain on the country lane
Leaving moor mourning for the moon
Like the goat shacked by coated bears

Flying clowns from the sinking crowns
Like the pieces from the broken beach
Fountains of bitter folly and blindness
They play their lyres within lying spirit

Letters are laurels’ and litters’ interns
Plucked from obscurities and security
The moon marks bear-beads crawling
The skies filled with pregnant cisterns

The sharp morning is a furnace of fire
Hooted in the seas, hailed in the skies
And the herds of castles grazing grace
For sparkling beauties and splendours

Wild and ferocious in the man’s heart
Silently, deceptively in death’s gowns
With the embers of the greed for gold
Men are razed down in their numbers



From the rain’s facial telecommunication
A queenly rainbow’s seven ribbons seven
From the rays’ whitening wigs and gowns
Migrant birds wing grace the lonely shore

They lure the world into the far resources
In the beaded brand of the beak perjuries
Away from the injuries from the high seas
Mending the air offerings for key eulogies

The air bewilders old clouds in the rivalries
The cannonball weeps bitterly on the fords
The moon peeling the high seed for supper
And the stars staking the moon for dreams



Held behind
By the dark bands,
The moon seeks to land
Upon the starry newsstands!

Born to drown
In the dewy down,
The moon covets crown
Like the golden ancient town!

Ruled to reign
Like the latter rains,
The moon floats his reins
On his exploratory bridal train!

With her flaming smiles
Tracking the stark miles,
The stoke-up moonlight
Mourns the grave night!

A day departs in phases,
Like ray from light faces;
As the night comes over,
Bleak lords breach cover.


ALL Poems (c) Adeola Ikuomola

IMAGE: Pixabay


Please leave a comment...