Poetry

When the Moon comes over the Mountain: Poems by Adeola Ikuomola

Image – Ken Bosma – Supermoon via Flickr

THE MOON COMES OVER THE MOUNTAIN

When the moon comes over the mountain
Like an eagle dawning over scarce prey
When the moon comes over the mountain
The rocks entreat and the valleys do vanish

When the moon comes over the mountain
Deadly darkness depart with its fatal injury
When the moon comes over the mountain
Songs of praises raise their banner airways

When the moon comes over the mountain
The radical rays crack an egg in a light way
When the moon comes over the mountain
The sun acquires revolutionary ray powers

When the moon comes over the mountain
Readers embrace the glow from pure pen
When the moon comes over the mountain
Poetry casts his lifelines to the sinking seas

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WHERE THE SLEEPING SHEPHERDS LIE

Where the sleeping shepherds lie, blind flocks die
Like chariots of fire swinging low from dark skies
Where the poets die, political wagons wander off
Like chains of wings floating higher in swift flight
Where the orchestra dies, the dancers are buried
Like the highly contagious laughter of the sunrays
Interred beneath dark layers of mourning marbles

Where the blind flocks die, sleeping shepherds lie
Like the silent phones held firmly to the deaf ears
Quarantining the sorrowfulness of the failed dews
Like the wailing songbooks of the mourning nights
Flaring like the famished embers on peaceful pyre
For darkness behind the ray walls of the mornings
Sitting, sighing and bleeding under the war clouds

Your heart is a page in the ruinous thunder clouds
Your actions are hooves of horrible horses on clay
Your embrace is a terrible thief in the deadly night
And your eyelashes rage like yawning earthquakes
To frogmarch the floors in the floods for crocodiles
To widen the sour scopes of foreign fortune-telling
Camped in the mysterious pocket of the night tout

With tears in your garment to wear your weak soul
Upon your shoulder blade is the abandoned ragtag
But far beyond the darkest cloud is the white Lamb
To cleanse your foul soul His precious blood spilled
And to host your perfection His innocence unveiled
His earnest beats on the cross of Calvary your grace
When the big bells toll to herald the endless curfew

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NATURAL FURY

We opened the centre page
To track the documentary age
Penned on the whitewashed stage
And we innocently activated his outrage
To recycle his bottled geometrical merriment

And the thick surfeiting clouds
Like the murderous seas’ crowds
Activated shrift anger in his arrows
To lace the world upon solid sorrows
In the banquet hall of his mercuric marrows

The storm whistled all the way
Her debt in liquid cash meant to pay
Into the account alien to the soft sun ray
Our fate on his wild ways tenderly to relay
Like the late comers resting in perfect peace

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POWER BROKERAGES

Light unveiled my lashes to see
The mysterious wonders at sea
Upon the dark maritime horses
Under the influence of alcohol
The waves criticised the clouds
Hanging controversial curtains
Roaring through the blowholes
And reviled the merchant ships

They dug out the roaring ridges
Transporting simmering trucks
They hydro hammered the deep
And punctuated the smooth sail
They came with mortals, pestles
And pounded the rock monsters
Sailors sailed in tears and wears
Evidenced on power brokerages

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THE MINISTRY OF WORLD AFFAIRS

The sky is like the textile industry
Where weathers weave wobbling wigs
For cross planting upon the temples of men
To lace their skull pads with excruciating migraines

The sea is like the furniture factory
Where woodpeckers pick up their living
Picking the pieces from the tongues of women
To furnish their weaker vessels with turbulent tirades

The land is the recreational centre
Where confounded children congregate
Under the conflicting commandant generals
To take the sorrowful steps from turbulent parades

And here is like the confused cemetery
Where wearied widows and widowers weep
To deliberate upon the fading infants’ innocence
Under the rumbles of the crashing coats of fire arms

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MUSHROOMS

My mush responded to the rooming soils
And spread their green garments abroad
Tiger lily delighted in my evergreen field
With soft bees and butterflies competing

Today is born for murmuring minorities
Where we spring summary with autumn
There is a wintry summer in mushrooms
As both pride and bride groom in a train

Mushrooms are like maternal umbrellas
Spread on the aching temples of siblings
Born under the kites of the morning sun
And nursed under the star guided moon

New mushrooms smell of multiplication
Mocking the stark mushrooms for bombs
Born to raze down the matrimonial reins
Under the darkest shadows of mourning

Today is born with accelerated allergies
Under the white skinned skies’ break off
The mushrooms secure future birthright
From long legends in the widest wagons

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THE PARAMOUNT PICTURES

It is deadly tonight
For no voices are heard
From behind the black curtains
Within the darkest aisles of the sky

It is costly tonight
For full life to be staked
Terrors ride around in chains
Within the bleeding navels of the air

It is sickening tonight
For the full moon is dead
The owls are heard mourning
Reading biographies of the late stars

Horror is born in terror
For thunders and lightning
To turn the glazier tides around
With sharp dirges heard in the breeze

The paramount pictures
Standing in conflicting resolutions
Shattered the blazing rays of the road map
Like the tons of bombs dropped in world wars

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THE ENDLESS CLARION CALL

My eye lashes lament the painful divorces
My spouse detests forced trial separation
The night weeps away at my wakefulness
Like the fatally wounded waves tailing off

Fly low with utmost ease my poetic pairs
On your lyrical and powerfully built rings
In transparent truths tossed turn by turn
And uphold my dream in the buffer zones

Birds of diverse feathers own vast clouds
And the skies spread beneath their chains
Colours lay solid foundations for rainbow
Impacting fame and medals for perfection

The world wanders away in a drifting raft
Naked in spirit, soul and body like the sky
The waves capture my endless clarion call
For the intellectually accessorised peoples

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POETIC PILGRIMAGE

I crouched like a hunger stricken leopard
And struck my spirit with a poetic silence
My lyrical smokes ascended the far peaks
To keep my body warm for weeping days

I crawled in the creams on the dark dawn
And rippled the layer of darkness asunder
My hymnal swords sparkling like raw gold
Kept my rhythm soaring in the bright skies

I groaned like a maid pained by birthright
And restored my soul with a poetic lysine
Neatly safeguarded upon lettering galaxy
My poetic smokes sustain the glowing ray

I soared along the shadowy night airwave
To deliver the night from the silent shade
My warring smokes were airborne eagles
Tearing through thick clouds of ignorance

I perched with tranquility in my heart bag
Like fighter jet back from huge campaigns
My dews watered the fallow hearted men
To bear fruits upon literacy righteousness

On adventures compelled lions I advanced
Conquered the play and subdued the prey
With my pens editing the nobles to a feast
In the bunker beaded with beauty bureaus

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THE HEARTS OF THE SEA

Do not panic like the war-wary waves
The crabs guide their shore balconies
Seeing through the precision shutters
Beneath new high-ranking binoculars

The waves are bound to the binderies
To bookmark the contingency cargoes
The seas with continual interruptions
Classify their motions for continuance

There are beams in the eyes of the sea
Where locomotives are minute specks
The trays survey their measured scars
Within the broken scales from the fins

The poets in us bear sharp expressions
Upon light paths in the heart of the day
To wed the rainbow under the sunrays
Like my candles bleeding on the stands

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THOSE THINGS HAPPENED TO ME

Thank God those things happened to me
Like the sea emptying his solid choruses
Thank God those things happened to me
Like the whirlwind rebranding the dusts

Thank God those things happened to me
Like wild lions crashing down on zebras
Thank God those things happened to me
Like the vultures venturing onto corpses

Thank God those things happened to me
To confirm my place in His infinite grace
Thank God those things happened to me
To unseat unbelief from my throne room

Thank God those things happened to me
To show me the refreshing morning star
Thank God those things happened to me
To dye my garment for pure testimonies

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BLADDERS ON THE LADDERS

From their porous bladders on the ladders
Stultifying huge catalogue of moral medals
In their circles they recycle the foul decays
Laid waste in the waists of moral infirmity

From the waves of the wolfish wavelength
Generated from the sorrowing sanctuaries
In their bandwagons they culture ailments
And page the mouthful mourning morgues

From the cursive curses of the foul courses
Their termites have violated the flowerbed
Upon the pyramidal bedrocks of infanticide
Their dry hearts light the fires for genocide

They close the bright skies of righteousness
And in the dark cast dung upon uprightness
In their waist they hasten the roaring wrath
Fully preserved for all heaven forsaken ones

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WHEN DOCTORS STRIKE

When foreign doctors strike
They open up the fountains
For bloods and tears to flow
Like flood descending peaks

When interior doctors strike
They build up the water dam
For our women and children
To drown in the earth’s tank

When patriotic doctors strike
They build flying orphanages
In wet widows and widowers
For morticians and mourners

When luminary doctors strike
Ill health floats in dark clouds
To close the celestial borders
Abreast the Hippocratic Oath

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All poems (c) Adeola Ikuomola
Image – Ken Bosma – Supermoon

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