Love nwa tintin

 Her translucent eyes to my ears whisper,

tales of nimble affection
Weaving aesthetic paradise of happiness in my heart
Like the triangular draft of a spider

I see your eyes
The twinkles are brighter than the thin sparkles of the shooting stars
I wonder why my soul never ceased into them to pry

You are one of a kind
in your heart the thread of tenderness I find

With adventure your world I will roam
Till your pulse flip and pause in Rome.

Your kiss I linger for lease,
  A thousand years at least

In your eyes are hidden the constellation of stars
An end to all worrisome and dark emotional scars

My pain you heal
My soul your radiance daily steals.

Be the tender Baobab tree on which I lean
Take me to the ecstatic sphere where passions gleams.

I will love you till the ends of days,
In your embrace, I will have
my coolest stay.

I love you.               @philo baba

Poet tree

poet tree

By Oloyede Michael Taiwo

I sat on the wit of a poet tree

I read lines in pages of poetic letters in threes

On several burning notes

we agree

Poetry like a pear tree

We pick rhymes for free

Our clothed nakedness we lucidly see

The nakedness of nothingness

The nothingness of existence

Our persistence in existence

The essence of existence

The sense in existence.

I chew one tenth of sane tenses that interpret the essence of lean sentences

I bit the fruit on the poet-tree

In chapters and verses

I marked oxymoron on my speech tree

Antithesis I chew for a gift

My pulse less understood by morons

The voice of sarcasm became clarion

The axe of pain is oxy

The hook of forgiveness is moron

I sat on the trunk of pun

It lulls my bumbum with fun

I swung next to paradox

Like a good father does

Bestowing kindness that opens doors

On the poet-tree;

I and wisdom had tea

Knowledge obliged me

Understanding took me to fish

I designed this three on peachtree

I met this three

On a fair tree

On a poet’s tree

My life from the regrets of yesterday became free

On the poet-tree

Swirls the personification of poetry

@PHILO BABA

December

Trimester  of a forlorn maid,

Unkempt symphony of a tattered Nirvana maid,

Love within the lattice of your tiny lips  got 

lovingly made,

December,

Beneath the slothful watch of your wet ship, sharply caressing tender turbulence,

and assuaging mushy whispers of the solemn sea,

I got intensely laid.

@Philo Baba

WAITED IN VAIN

You came in an angelic frame,                                                                             

Set this soul aflame,

Your lipstick echoed my name,

Set me on cause like a game,

love you made girdle my aim,
and my antelope of philandering I maimed
,
In my portrait of love you stood carved with the strings of my sinews and veins,
Keeping the memory of you in me as its only celebrity of fame

I willed your personality as the emblazoned character on the epitaph visible on my grave.

This heart meandering your ludus of flesh and fantasies grew and trained. 

Even in winters, 
The memories of your touch like an ivorian leaf never withers,

Now I stink like a prisoner in jail, 

The agony of the never flowing water in pail,

Separated from the romance of the seas and oceans in Niger
And their tumultuous sound during foreplay in wales.

This nimble heart pumps sick and frail
For this news of your broad laps aired by Jane;

Your amorous engagements freighted in human planes. 

The ashes of your love shall be buried in caves of restless pains 
Instituted in spain

In the mirage of love so pure and sane

I waited all in vain.



@PHILO BABA.

I MET NIGHTFALL

     I 

met nightfall,

in a huge, conflagration dusty hall .

she got eyes as owls and grins of moonlight;

She whispered darkness, crawled on limp limbs marked with scaly webs.

She smell of sour oil and recurrent mares,

She breathes brim-stones and fire, pestered on  by fiery locusts of hades,

she leaned on broken tripods of bad luck for blind  strangers,

she cocoons in fear and brokenness

She is the despicable taskmaster at the valley of the shadows of death,

She faintly fizzles like an expired syrup at the lingering of the high spirited sparks of the redemptive dawn,

I met nightfall,

I bent her crusty wings and my eyelids rose tall,

I play golf listening to sonorous pitches of ancient birds,roaring lions and cackling ducks at the valley of the shadows of death.

Isle of lying mirrors

Our names beg for ancestral validation

we seek accreditation from blonde tongues,

We prance in foreign shoes to navigate our native paths.

In the isle of lying mirrors,

we intermeddle with assorted wisdom to live in snow,

and spite the cracked whistling wind that hoists the flag of Harmattan.

In the isle of lying mirrors

We frolick the mirror to reflect a white face on a dark neck.

We relish the luxury of slavery in lost lands of fantasies to the warmth of history,

Our misery is posterity left bemused in the game of nomenclature etymology.

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Just click the like button with numbers. If your phone says error , just click continue.Kindly log in your fb acct before voting. Thanks

I don't know my name.

I came through the dusty, wind suppressed desert; far away.

I got my footprints burnt on the hot particles of earth-grains,

I seek this boisterous  but lonely city with no name.

Each pilgrim  met, was startled at my stutter- less description of such an ostentatious city; spellbound and earnestly awaits  its name,so  with kindness, point the way.

'The city has no name' ,from my lips escaped.

Disappointed, they swallow some sun flies,shook their head care freely, and walked away.

The constellation of stars danced in my eyes  when a pilgrim attempted to tell the name:  If they could  tell the name of this city with no name.

Everybody asked me to ask somebody.

Somebody knew someone from such a realm called nobody.

I sprawl like a traditional adire mat on which a maiden kneels betrothed to uncertainty as she exits the peninsula of tolerated childhood fairy tales:

Tales of  a happy  sojourn into that love clustered euphoria of fulfillment,

into the vacuum of personal space and spacelessness.

Somebody said the  city lies somewhere, hidden  everywhere.

Nobody said somewhere is nowhere.

Could  nowhere  be somewhere?

I met the last of an unknown gloss bearded kind with arms akimbo. 

He knew this pristine, flamboyant  city without a name,

He, engrossed in my story, ecstatically asked for my name.

As I was about to enthusiastically spit out a form of constructed alphabets,

My memory fell apart,

I don't know my name.

He ate dusts in milliseconds, sniffed my floating brain , screamed in disgust and flew away.

I still don't know my name.

She has a next

Love skipped this memory like a forgotten league

Lust waylay
me with its short course armory of lubidiny

I hit my white injection needle on six times three ladies

All came out for a play without shame of unaffectionate randy revelry

Love now parades my soul with drums of impending tragedy.

Tragedy of the heart lamenting without tears.

This soul is afraid of getting a fraction for its whole

A fraction of beans for a whole bean sack.

I gave my best for the least of her affection

I was crucified on her tree of inordinate selection

She asked for gold

Told her my dreams will yield treasures fearsomely bold

My hays she scorned

Asked if I could hawk corn

Tore my heart from the backside meat of its affectionate hollows; snapping the veins and arteries and gave it to lust to swallow.

My heart in bitter grief had its nest.

The pain of knowing she has a next.

My worries unearthed from the deepest layers of thick assumed rejection

 I withdrew the memories of fun in my head she drew

I lowered all graffitis of her lips ; hips , beads and fun skits.

In the template of my heart I printed her beauty as ashes

Blew wild and tormented kiss to her being.

I shiver as I kissed a score of bottles to her memory in demise.

Her frame yet has its verdant lashes on my brain.

I wheeled her memory far into endless distance with a disgust branded barrow.

Mnemonics of love in my heart for tales I keep.

In this being love skipped its heart for a sabbatical leave.

Never to return until the master wills.

SHARK TALE

The volume swallows my throw
as the crowd overwhelms a miniature

Several rotten heads
And faded bones parade their death munched face
For a wanderer’s pictures

Hello, inspector shark
You rule this coast
Ate men into ghost
Their blood you sprinkle as toast

Several ships you tumbled
And the carcass you towed

Have got a coin
Hook to my loins
This ocean I seek to purloin

The coin my mascot
To excavate treasures of worth

The ocean winks with a sinister
Bids me to come thither

I preSs on its bidding
Forewarned by
Tales of stranded sailors
Fancifully Un-attired tailors
Drowned palms forged of golden
Couture

Yet, the resources in this coast I want to capture

Life a deep ocean
Sharks as circumstances of dissuading culture

I will plunge into this ocean
Leap without looking

Bid me not to look before I leap
When I look; my strength skips

But I will watch
So as the sharks’ jaws to clutch
Blood may sprinkle from my vein so much

Peace is worth a fight as such

These treasures of light and sweet smiles
I will fight to have them fall in lines.

Hope last dies
Though toss tough like contoured dice

Hope grants life twice;
In the nexus of broken spirit
Hope loud cries

SWEET MOTHER

Like a lump in her womb

Was my seed in her tube

Washing her skin into mottled pigment of St.louis cube



Invoking amidst her being a strange feud

As the odd presence of a teetotaller in a pub







Her feet clogged with the weight of beach sands

Swinging her waist in unfair balance



Her mouth wane

Like murky streams in holes

cut-out in cones

Insipid like the savour of metal bones





Her words in slurry mime

Sticky as reptilian slime



My birth an awaited grace

Shutting her face

In the theatre of bizarre fate



Clock ticks slowly

Moments drag excessively

The pangs of death shrill loudly



Darkness crest her shoulders

Weakness she shuddered

Her eyes flapping like papery shutters



A form within troubles for the world to see



In a minute the ethereal world she sojourned

The energy of bliss in tears to summon



In her head were sparks of devastating lightning

Submerging her world in ferocious imageries



As I tore through her tissues

Into the  hands in queue



Yet her silver – cord

Launched forth my umbilical cord

Like the letting of rope to a kite to soar

Her life against death’s stake

To hold my fragile frame



All just stood in awry gaze

As in the world I took my place



Of her pains to have me stay

she never complained



But



A smile and kiss

For all the agony in wait.

Na condition make crayfish bend

No condition is permanent. I repeat am again.....................  no condition is permanent. 

 This life no be pot of beans , sometimes, na mound of Pando yam . Na so I see one boy dey cry say no fish for him rice, another boy wey never chop since yesterday say make him bring the food.........the cry cry foolish boy no gree just use leg kick the hungry boy belle. Na him be say, person wey dey cry dey see road oooo.  At least I no owe my landlord,  you owe your landlord?  My neighbor don turn storyteller on top rent matter - na so he be tell landlord how Okada break him yeye cousin leg, so him don spend all the money for ilaje people place to arrange him leg wey the bone almost pafuka.

My brother,  I tire for this kind palava. Me sef no want pay landlord my last kobo wey I for use chop, but e be like say the man get juju - I no get time for long story with that him oversabi lawyer. I want even borrow that lawyer wig go another lawyer pikin wedding - The man too stingy,carry boys with eba muscle block road for wedding make person no come chop belle food. And i don help the craze lawyer before ooo, i help am finish seven bottles of Orijinal...........people dey always forget their friend in need.

See,  this crazy driver nearly hit me.  I no fit run for am,  blood of Jesus cover me.
'Oga police ,  abeg cover that your mouth wey u dey use sneeze useless sneeze.'  Na me talk am. I no dey owe anybody and I no commit forgery or thief thief crimes. I no dey owe billions of naira like some people wey  get common sense, but no fit sabi  pay money wey dem borrow with esusu.
I don tire, make I find otapiapia kill all those winch wey turn mosquito for my compound wey dey plan to come disturb God pikin sleep. I even see Iya kudirat face swell for morning after I slap that cockroach with my slippers.  Ehn ehn,  I no even see the second leg of that slippers again.  I for just kill the cockroach.

One day,

I go just see money inside Ghana must go. I go pray before I go carry am.  I go share give everybody. I no fit tell uche.  Uche buy television no call me to come watch, no wahala! - I go just buy plenty drink, only me go enjoy.

Mary go come beg me to touch am again.  I go do shakara.
I go pay that newspaper man wey dey always shout say make I comot for him paper stand because I dey win am for argument  - The mumu say na Brazil host Olympics games, I no gree because na Rio me know say host am,  him come dey vex  .Abeg,  make him free me.

Mama Nkechi go soon close, make I run arrange wetin belle go wack,so eyes go clear well well. I go like buy water oooo. This world don tire person, i go like enter canoe go obodo oyinbo. i get small money wey i save.......................but if the money no reach nkor, i hear say canoe cost to go there.No wahala, i go say make them carry me reach where the money reach, i go swim the rest. But, mammywater go dey that water and shark , and , and some titus fish, yeparipa, na wa oooo. I for like chop titus fish oooo. Abeg , make i dey here enjoy this condense wey no gree block.

COLD SUN

'Help me buy sugar for Aboki hand', Nasiru belched into my faded ears.

' I no well', I retorted in  a shy defiance. 

His eyes over ran the complexities of my feminine aesthetics with  salacious interest.

 'Abeg , help me buy am ', he said . I took some drips for my stubborn malaria and only came out to use the bathroom as my eyes ache feverishly.

 I limped through our passage with my hands resting against the wall for support .I got the sugar to him .

 ' I want play with you small,' he said. 

He threw my frail soul on the bed , unlocked his erotic wand and roared with a devious smile wrapped in contempt as he poured his semen on my hair.My eyes went ajar . I felt a big pot set on fire in my stomach. I became deaf ,dumb,numb,cold,afraid ,bewildered and blank. I stared at him and the ceiling with hate, agony, pain and rage. I was too weak to scream for help.

 He took some tissues and wiped himself , then threw some wraps at me.

 I wanted to burn his soul to stupor. 

I felt ashamed of myself. I could have fought back. My head was spinning .

 A thousand thoughts criss crossed my mind about suicide and its mode.

 I lay in the pool of blood with a wish. My wish was to see him in his own pool too.

 I hated men. I love women.

 I and Stella became great friends. We do things together since then. Interesting things that Mum would disapprove if she knew. But, I hate men.Nasiru fled. I see his apparitions around the cracked,mud screened  bathroom every sunset .....................after I saw his brain splashed across the gutter some miles away from our home while he was raping the daughter of a vigilante guard in broad day light behind a brown wooden kiosk.