| THE POET’S PEN
By Niyi Juliad
its restless ball-point
deftly roves as it rolls
itchy at the joint,
like a cheetah it prowls
the ravenous predator
hunts for hidden pictures –
victims of a tireless creator
goaded by the poet’s gestures
re-charged from the inkwell
it paints the mystery’s face
with a touch of spell
along its creative space
come, let’s unveil the secret
invented by the poet’s pen
the mind needs be discreet
unlocking the cryptic gen
* *
* * *
BUT
I, EVEN I . . .
By Niyi Juliad
The strappy sandal
Breeds burning blisters
The gold ring
Gives gnawing twist
The glossy bracelet
Forces wriggly retreat
The nice necklet
Mocks the hangman’s noose
The dainty anklet
Bites like a manacle
The glittery girdle
Causes gripping gripe
And the colourful cap
Clamps with a bruising clasp
But I, even I,
Choose none of these
And I save my peace.
* * *
* *
EYES UPON THE ROAD
By Niyi Juliad
Having lain down this long
on the creaky couch
of defeated dreams
promise of slow-paced goodwill
keeps the soul alive
for endless uneasy moments
then eyes are laid
on the pathway of promise –
the same ever-coming promise
the heart set upon the road
and eager senses await every piece
of the crawling whole
fancy firmament filled with
fantasies
of its graceful gait
and sweet soothing scent
warm breeze of wild figment
wraps its arms on the frozen
spirit
melting the ice of reality
room-corner images projected
through the earth-inclined head
fill up a mighty lake
a bowl of scanty contents
is the weightless pride
of even the housetop view
many figures forever held
in lingering expectation
set the eyes, yes, upon the road.
* *
* * *
AILING
MAMMOTH
By Niyi Juliad
Cyclopean and comfortably cradled
he inhabits the trigger-point
of the black African space
He is a dying god
of ill-used fortunes
that brew self-induced sad pass
Self-appointed Big Brother
lives up to the true name
in actions daring and words
grandiose
His swarms of swarthy scions
like sand of the sea
defy definite determination
The generous princely prince
of the black clan
sees not own foe in the self
Itchy hands oft-repeatedly dipped
into the cesspools of earth's
secretion
depleted for love of loveless
strangers
Foreign depositories heighten in
time
serviced from un-returnable
returns
from the earth’s crude favour
Fires of civil acrimony doused
in neighbours’ far-away lands,
while
home-grown gall festers like
septicaemia
The foxy men-in-cracy
conspire in cunning collusion, and
shoot the Behemoth in the foot
From the drugged slugs he bleeds
and trudges in tottering gait
totally depleted, totally ailing
Unwilling clinicians lack willing
tools
clinically unclean, un-sterilized
for the styptic performance
Foreign loaners feast on dripping
blood
“squeeze the fool more,” they
urge
stranglehold heavy like cumber
The going songs are tear-jerkers
and the skies gather darkening
clouds
who will stop
the lachrymal heavens?
Except the One above the clouds
* * * * * |
