New breed Politician
Who would fire
The crops of the field.
Rising sap bruises the spine
The snake of being
Strikes the psyche in poisonous green;
Green is the colour of harvest.
Out of Royalty’s way marxist fool
Bare-breasted belles dangle
To greet great passage
As I siren through
The performing monkeys chatter
My triumphant scream!
Clear riche’s path,
Beware the sinking cities
From Abuja to Lagos
In a shroud of holy dust
Come the members of the order of the river Niger
Time will heal
What human nature has destroyed:
You were the scythe; I was the ploughshare
Together we cultivated heart’s richness;
Words were our crop, our thoughts were manure
Doubts weeded in, raising poisonous sap
Along the growing stems
Until we unhappily plucked out
What we happily planted
Shrivelled to a shock of sour harvest;
We broke seeds
And I run reeling round our rolling fields
A seedling lost in the dust that is man.
Here is nature’s plenty
stark on a bough.
plucked knotty children among green leaves.
I see men, half-men, tall
Above the ruins
Big children, quick to the pick,
And I see the weaned tree in desolation
Proud despair amongst barren tops
Hard green testicles verdigrized on wind
Eunuchs all of us.
Beside the Lagoon
Does the river have tongue
To stick out in rudeness?
White desolate miles
Broken, firing the cold sun
Against the hard morning mist
Enlightening my immense shore
Watery mermaid voices
querying, “Is poverty so rich?”
I run from this rootless faith
And yet I turn,
Holding my wishes by the ears
Dipping my hopes in salty waters
My breath hanging like a question mark
Querying, “Is poverty so rich?”
Sharp sighs murder the air.
Christ! a sad thought
Hangs over my hung head
On the cross
Happy moments sadly dead.
Picture on the Wall
A dead man sits on the wall
Staring at me
His chair of soldierly fame in flames
History’s sad solemn burning sun-dimmed eyes
The time-wrecked sleeves and epaulette
Awkward and rank
across time’s retina
Leaving no lasting impressions;
Fixtures on our walls
In their natural states
Of unnatural paralysis.
Poems (c) Amatoritsero (Godwin) Ede
I think as much as I appreciate your poetic style, it generally holds no immediate appeal to my sense of imagination. This may be because when I read your poetry, it came to me as poems…just poems…noemotions.And I feel that it is in beautifully-splashed emotions that poetry finds its voice.
I was sitting by this poet/writer about 21 years ago or more when he wrote this poem at Unilag Guest House in Lagos overlooking the Lagoon. We have been out of touch for all these years. I had the privelege being the first person he read the poem aloud to. My impression then was that it was a powerful peice of Art. I would like to be connected to this runaway poet. Link me with him please. Omorebokhae Onomoase Email : email@example.com