Poetry

The Turn of the Seasons: Poems by Adegboyega Abiola

THE TURN OF THE SEASONS

‘Tis the prayer on lips young and old
That the doe and the dam, the hen
And the heifer, be the first fruits at
The New Year’s birthing dawn

For it is the sky-tide distilled from heaven’s bosom
That ripens the bitter-kola on the bough,
‘Tis the vernal dew on harmattan’s filigree,
That rouses the hibernating awusa tree

Now the ivory skein spread across the face
Of the dying year, trembles the flame wings
Of a farewell dirge, borne on the last breath
Of the north wind, blowing across mute beaks

But the cusp of the seasons tarries not
On the last mournful note of departing wings,
For lo! The brow of the heavens creases
Silver shrouds, growling over the windswept hills

A hush on the dry cracked lips of the earth
A rasp of gnarled boles, raised to skies
Pregnant with the rumor of crystal tears,
The air trembles beneath roiling clouds, waiting

The ancient ivory shard rends the heavens
Sango’s flame-whip unlatches the floodgates in the sky
Heaven’s love song of silken notes composed
Clothes the tender hearts playing in the parched
fields

===============

HUNTER

Melting in the shadowed woods as midnight’s hour
tolls,
The darkness worn, a seeker’s cloak beneath the silent
boles.
Shrill nightjar cries and cricket calls ascend the
shaded aisle,
When ghosts abroad by moonlight walk and shadows stir
and rise.

The scent is hot the trail unwinds the gathering gloom
deepens.
By goblin’s dance in deep alcoves, away! The chase
quickens!
With lightning’s blaze the arrow parts the breathless
forest air,
The blur of steel beneath roan hide the thudding heart
to shear.

Bright banshees smile by forest path their golden
gourds proffer.
Beware! The lore of old has warned, their shining
magic brew,
Of men en-spelled and then their wills to forest maid
be bound,
The glen and wooded eaves to dwell till mortal years
are done.

The night is spent and morning stokes her blushing
orient flame.
And homeward bound with fair game truss’d round weary
shoulders flung,
To repast make and necklace strung of sparkling white
deer teeth,
Till night is come and thence to rise the woods once
more depart!

===============

(c) Adegboyega Abiola

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2 Comments

  • The poems carry fiery metaphors skilfully crafted through parabolical injections, they are masterpieces of a seasoned wordsmith!

  • simply too imagistic and cryptic for poetry diletantates. personally i find it worthy as a poem of a dying earth. the dislodge from our ancients to the deluge caused by our misceginate