Preemptive twist

Preemptive twist.

She broke into the studio. He had his ear - piece fastened to his ears. His hands akimbo, the middle finger tucking at a light foam that partitioned his wall from the doorjamb. His shrill voice tore the air with disgust. The ridges on his face was an attestation to the emptiness he felt when she dragged him off her bed across the small lit passage , stuffed with his nylon bags and dirty clothes. She opened the torn net and threw him and his loads on the road. He fell like a useless carton and laid flat, with his head splashed over a shit locked garden of weeds. She chorused abusive words at him. She raised her fingers in bitterness. She ranted like a child whose bike has been colonized by a not beloved cousin. Her pain rose as visible veins on her forehead. There was a raucous surge of anger and tears in her face. The waters tore through her eyelids like the pop of champagne. She shivered as she reluctantly shut the door against his sorry body,  dejectedly  sprawled on the floor .
She felt like a garbage. She sank her index finger into her crimp hair and wailed with intermittent cackles. She loved him. She really, really loved him. She sold her father's only land to buy him studio slots. She had nurtured him as her own since she took him off the street after his parents threw him out for his destructive addictions - His abuse of marijuana, cocaine and cough syrups.
Her parents were late, and she had all the rights to the only bungalow and a piece of land left to her - as inheritance.
She had stumbled on him while he was seated  on a fence close to her house. His nose and ears in flames like he was part of the Sango( god of fire and thunder) dynasty. Even 'Thor' would have run a jingle for safety measures on his behalf. He smoked recklessly. They got talking and she couldn't remember how they became five and six.
On the third day, he caught her half way through the air and belched ecstasy into her juice oven. His sweat poured  unreserved on her bare breast. She gasped for breathe and puffed laughter into his mouth and chins. His eyes were squinted as he bellowed answers to her endless  questions.
'Do you love me, are we gonna get married, when will you stop smoking, did your dad really ask you not to come home ever...?'
He took her legs up and hump her torso. She walked into his erected mass of pleasure rendering flesh and ground him till her voice was soft and stuffed with ecstasy.
'Be soft on the next verse', the producer said.
Linda, a sweet guitar playing girl, came up to his nostrils and tried hard to kiss him. He took her hands off his waist and winked at her.
' Ada will be mad at you', he whispered helplessly.

'Komolafe, I love you; we can just be friends with benefits', Linda tenderly proposed.

Komolafe took off his ear - piece , shook hands with  the producer and  shut the slouchy door of the stuffy studio against himself. He walked into the cascading grace of the golden Sun.

'Am home !' He whispered into the ears of Ada who was fast  asleep. She raised her neat eyelids, kissed him and pointed at the black flask on the mason wooden  table; describing its content with her low voice.
Komolafe sat on the chair at the mid point of the room and gulped it with dire impatience.

She raised her legs , sprang up on her feet and sat on his feet. She smelt the Cologne and detected the lip stick stains on the collar of his turquoise shirt. Her eyebrows were scattered and her face grew long. Komolafe was still busy spooning his food when she took it off him and bathed him with it. He dripped of rice, beans and salad. He  stood dumfounded and  quickly went into the shower to wash himself and  ran through the tiny passage to the other room; sat on the bed and searched for eye ointment  to quell  his peppery eyes in amusement.
She followed him and beat him with everything her hands could find. He was still startled. He bashed his head against the wall and tore her own blouse. She pounced on him, zipped down his trouser , and tucked his into hers. She danced with tears on him. And when he came...,  she dragged him off her bed and  flung him to the vast street alongside his belongings.
He laid confused. Lost.

He packed himself up and went straight to the studio after all attempts to console her and address the issue was abortive.

Ada stared at the Newscaster absent mindedly.
Komolafe had made a shipwreck of her life, she thought to herself. Something beeped  close to her, in between the sofa. It was Komolafe's handset. He forgot it.
Ada had sent him a long text of how she made all attempts for him to love her and how he had made her feel cheap, small and less attractive. She wished him well and prayed she was in the shoe of his girlfriend and how she hoped his girlfriend would treat him as well as she would have. She ended the text with a farewell and love emoji.
Linda checked the time the text came in and noticed it was 15minutes before Komolafe stepped into the house - 5:15pm.
She wiped her tears and loathed herself for her idiotic act. She dressed herself up and ran to the studio.

She came into the studio, trembling as she heard his pain strewn voice. She hugged him from behind and they both wept. He still loves her and it was same on her part.

™Fireflies&Bumblebees
©TomShe broke into the studio. He had his ear - piece fastened to his ears. His hands akimbo, the middle finger tucking at a light foam that partitioned his wall from the doorjamb. His shrill voice tore the air with disgust. The ridges on his face was an attestation to the emptiness he felt when she dragged him off her bed across the small lit passage , stuffed with his nylon bags and dirty clothes. She opened the torn net and threw him and his loads on the road. He fell like a useless carton and laid flat, with his head splashed over a shit locked garden of weeds. She chorused abusive words at him. She raised her fingers in bitterness. She ranted like a child whose bike has been colonized by a not beloved cousin. Her pain rose as visible veins on her forehead. There was a raucous surge of anger and tears in her face. The waters tore through her eyelids like the pop of champagne. She shivered as she reluctantly shut the door against his sorry body,  dejectedly  sprawled on the floor .
She felt like a garbage. She sank her index finger into her crimp hair and wailed with intermittent cackles. She loved him. She really, really loved him. She sold her father's only land to buy him studio slots. She had nurtured him as her own since she took him off the street after his parents threw him out for his destructive addictions - His abuse of marijuana, cocaine and cough syrups.
Her parents were late, and she had all the rights to the only bungalow and a piece of land left to her - as inheritance.
She had stumbled on him while he was seated  on a fence close to her house. His nose and ears in flames like he was part of the Sango( god of fire and thunder) dynasty. Even 'Thor' would have run a jingle for safety measures on his behalf. He smoked recklessly. They got talking and she couldn't remember how they became five and six.
On the third day, he caught her half way through the air and belched ecstasy into her juice oven. His sweat poured  unreserved on her bare breast. She gasped for breathe and puffed laughter into his mouth and chins. His eyes were squinted as he bellowed answers to her endless  questions.
'Do you love me, are we gonna get married, when will you stop smoking, did your dad really ask you not to come home ever...?'
He took her legs up and hump her torso. She walked into his erected mass of pleasure rendering flesh and ground him till her voice was soft and stuffed with ecstasy.
'Be soft on the next verse', the producer said.
Linda, a sweet guitar playing girl, came up to his nostrils and tried hard to kiss him. He took her hands off his waist and winked at her.
' Ada will be mad at you', he whispered helplessly.

'Komolafe, I love you; we can just be friends with benefits', Linda tenderly proposed.

Komolafe took off his ear - piece , shook hands with  the producer and  shut the slouchy door of the stuffy studio against himself. He walked into the cascading grace of the golden Sun.

'Am home !' He whispered into the ears of Ada who was fast  asleep. She raised her neat eyelids, kissed him and pointed at the black flask on the mason wooden  table; describing its content with her low voice.
Komolafe sat on the chair at the mid point of the room and gulped it with dire impatience.

She raised her legs , sprang up on her feet and sat on his feet. She smelt the Cologne and detected the lip stick stains on the collar of his turquoise shirt. Her eyebrows were scattered and her face grew long. Komolafe was still busy spooning his food when she took it off him and bathed him with it. He dripped of rice, beans and salad. He  stood dumfounded and  quickly went into the shower to wash himself and  ran through the tiny passage to the other room; sat on the bed and searched for eye ointment  to quell  his peppery eyes in amusement.
She followed him and beat him with everything her hands could find. He was still startled. He bashed his head against the wall and tore her own blouse. She pounced on him, zipped down his trouser , and tucked his into hers. She danced with tears on him. And when he came...,  she dragged him off her bed and  flung him to the vast street alongside his belongings.
He laid confused. Lost.

He packed himself up and went straight to the studio after all attempts to console her and address the issue was abortive.

Ada stared at the Newscaster absent mindedly.
Komolafe had made a shipwreck of her life, she thought to herself. Something beeped  close to her, in between the sofa. It was Komolafe's handset. He forgot it.
Ada had sent him a long text of how she made all attempts for him to love her and how he had made her feel cheap, small and less attractive. She wished him well and prayed she was in the shoe of his girlfriend and how she hoped his girlfriend would treat him as well as she would have. She ended the text with a farewell and love emoji.
Linda checked the time the text came in and noticed it was 15minutes before Komolafe stepped into the house - 5:15pm.
She wiped her tears and loathed herself for her idiotic act. She dressed herself up and ran to the studio.

She came into the studio, trembling as she heard his pain strewn voice. She hugged him from behind and they both wept. He still loves her and it was same on her part.

™Fireflies&Bumblebees
©Tom

Old good friends are gold

Sade sat lonely on the red sofa outside their verandah; she drew a long hiss and released it in a dragging staccato. She rose and sat down again, fuming. She wiped her face and sniffed like a child, who just lost her beautiful doll.

She and her best friend, Sadetu, just had a terrible brawl over her heartthrob, Segun. Many feared the brawl had surely brought an end to their unbreakable friendship.

Sade and Sadetu had been best of friends since Sunday school days. Sade had missed several lessons and had been threatened by her father, Elder Abe, not to fail the exam.  Elder Abe was a man after God’s own heart, an engineer of good repute and also a disciplinarian. Sade had arrived early enough for the exams and inadvertently sat behind Sadetu.

Sade whispered at Sadetu.

Sadetu allowed her peep the answers. They both did well in the exam. Sadetu came first while Sade came second. Elder Abe spoke well of her performance and encouraged their friendship.

Sade bumped into a lanky fellow, Segun, on her way to the children’s department to pick her nephew. Segun’s teeth shone like stars and his eyes were glossy. She was struck by the depth of his voice. His baritone voice, strum certain chords on the strings of her heart. She quickened her steps out of his sight and bumped into a naughty deaconess. The deaconess chided her careless walk and waved her out of her way.

Sade sniffed at her rude submission and stomped to the church parking lot to report the nosy deaconess to her father. Elder Abe gave her a cursory look and waved her into the car. She looked up at the old church clock and snorted.

Sade thought about Segun all day long. His well carved beards and tensile eye-lashes; pressed her soul with sinister admiration.

She spoke well of Segun to Sadetu.

 Sadetu was flummoxed and advised her to be discreet.

She went to meet Segun at a popular bar behind a Catholic seminary. He already gulped 3 bottles of “33” Export Lager beer. Segun was smitten with her intelligence and decorum. He was kept at sea at her deft use of words. He invited her to his house.

Sade flung her legs out of the creaking bed and quickly dressed herself up. She was shy and scrambled for the tissue paper on the left side of the compartment.

 Segun grabbed his glass of “33” Export Lager beer and gulped it till the glass was empty.

She came into the room and stared at him with mild trepidation and uncertainty. She felt awkward about her untamed hormones. She laid her hands on the bottle of “33” Export Lager beer and rubbed her palms around it. She examined the fizzling content, ran her index finger across the prints on the bottle and heaved. She poured herself some beer and then sipped with due diligence.

‘O, you drink beer?’ Segun asked, startled.

‘I only sip smooth, finely brewed beer’, she giggled.

‘Have some more’, he insisted.

She laughed, nozzled up his jaw and gave him a departing soft kiss and whispered something indiscreet into his ears.

Sade caught the door knob and immersed herself in the drizzling rays of the golden Sunlight.

Sadetu quizzed Sade about her movements. She pleaded that Sadetu come see Segun with her.

v   

The cloud was a bit misty but breezy. Sade and Sadetu sat close to each other at the same bar where

 Segun first sat with Sade. He came in with his friends and was awe-struck by the hypnotizing eyes of Sadetu. He was trapped in the moment and forgot to leave her hands until Sade had to slap his hand off Sadetu’s brittle palm. The atmosphere was sunk in awkward silence. Then, Sade tore the silence with her order for chilled bottles of beer.

‘Bar man, 4 bottles of “33” Export lager beer’, she jeered.

 Segun gave them a good treat and Sadetu quizzed Segun about Sade and when he was going to come see her family. Her question was interrupted by the comic banters of the friends of Segun. One of Segun’s hilarious friends, Bode, asked for Sadetu’s Instagram handle. She gave him. Sadetu sipped her glass of beer and nudged Sade that it was time to go. Segun objected but Sadetu pleaded that they had to leave if he wanted their friendship not to be nullified by Elder Abe.

Segun stared at Sadetu with salacious interest.

He later sent her a direct message on Instagram professing his love for her. Sadetu was startled and asked if he wanted to ruin her friendship with Sade. He cajoled her and convinced her that Sade was desperate about him and was crowding him. Segun invited her to a date. Sadetu invited Sade to the same date but asked her to come an hour later without giving her the details.

 Sade’s whatsapp messages to Sadetu were not dropping. She became pensive and ran to the venue sent to her by Sadetu. She recognized the house and  flung the door open and saw Segun, fast asleep and Sadetu wiping her face with a white towel. She yelled and ran away. Sadetu ran after her. Sade told her off and asked her never to come around her again. She threw stones and sands and sticks at Sadetu.

Sadetu sent Sade the screen shots of all the chats she had with Segun.

 Sade was still crying on the sofa when she read all the chats and watched the video of what transpired in the room. Her eyes were swollen with tears. She called Segun, he didn’t pick. Sade ran to Sadetu’s house and thanked her for preserving their friendship. She took her out and treated her to some bottles of ”33” Export Lager beer, and a bowl of fish pepper soup. They recounted all the events and wiped the tears on the cheek of each other.

Written by -  OLOYEDE MICHAEL TAIWO

Instagram @oloyedetom

Texture of grief

The texture of grief.

In her subtle search for sophistication and something more,
 she was bitten by the creepy wasp of the enthralling internet,
Then she knew her soul is being sold to things words can't imagine:
The good and the wild.
She rant on impulse.
Vanity spat  its venom on her skin as goosebumps,
Less likes on her pops make her smiles halt ;
leaving her joy on a sad cause,
Her happiness now hinges on mega bytes;
Your admonition on her post to bury her milkshake encrusted gold in honor, she disdainfully bites,
Your sincere comments on her wayward projectiles leave threats and spiteful remarks on your wall;
She took off her elegant covering and sold her security and value for a piece of shame.
Her soul became a bin of societal litters,
Everyone with a kobo can now lick her,
To hop and hump your bed for the wads make her tinder;
Drowned in brown bottles;
She became the sepulchre of unwanted seeds,
She became the refuse  dump of contraceptives
The  signature of greed,
Her bags are notched with dysentery;
Trotting unregistered colored cars round the megacity to nibble her mega chickens,
All she sought was that life in Utopia,
Just like hazelnut on bloated  cookies ;
 it came crashing and crumbled.
She got the  apparitions of her inglorious grasps for the wind lurk around her thin shoulders and long velvet cladding,
All she wanted was to come online and spice the timelines;
But the skeletons of  her nude and messy drops oftentimes pummels  her slothful pulse.
To have led such a forlorn life of incurable thirst and want, is to have felt the texture of grief
🙅🏻‍♂
©fireflies and bumble bees
™Tom

Phew!

Epitaph

Boom!

Like shackles strewn on a might man for doom

Puff!

Ears drooling of wools and soul in mortality's cuffs


Phew!

Dreams infested with boils as darkness drew

Spits!

This pitch black pit of void and foil refused the sun to have its haven lit.

TOM.

This mind leaks ...........

Empty hands

' First, I took first '...
Mama held my hands high and swayed my report sheet like a duck gracefully glides on water

I barged into his corner but he was not there...

I stared at his portrait . His fine stub and clean shave spat his several lessons on cleanliness on my slate
My twin  tower of my pride and confidence diametrically  caved

My sophomore years were years alone
I watched men hunched by their kids
I searched right and left in hope of his blazing white collar that echoes his amiable presence.
But  Mama filled both parts.
She joggled her work shifts and the need to care for me.

Sometimes , I look out  and spoke to his absence; create his effigy:
I draw his own very frame , plant him a moustache and redress his stubs.
I wanted him to come and speak those words fathers speak to their sons.
Words that convey maps, the shape of stars and the linings of the galaxies to the ecstasy of a curious boy.

And now I became a man.
Never had the privilege of cuddling him.
Have him pat my back when I excel in my class,
Or have him cheer me up when I fall in the attempt to scale the hurdles of life...

On this very day I wanted to ask him all the questions in my heart;
He already kicked the bucket.
Tom👻

Deep

Deeper,
Sharply curved like brooding palm fronds ;
Her accent brawls high like raucous billows of a raging wind,
Poise so proper
Pain knitted behind the soul of her feet,
Life got her spines propped against the walls of gagged expression.
Her own voice she sniffed  like a dog petrified by its own bark.
She stood on the stage of solitude and rehearsed into the void...
She knelt and wept , bruised herself with  the detritus of the fallen mirror and wailed:
I am woman ; I am not the weakness of manliness.
My face ain't for your fist cuffs  to stab like like the abhorrent flashes of neon lights, nor my belly for your feisty punch,
 but my back ,your fingers to moistly tend,
my spines your arms to lift;
 and my torso your palms should nurse in strides, as a skilled brick man  lays shiny cobble stones .
Tom👻

Sepia

She veered off the rail of elegance like a cookie cartwheeled by sinister flat tubes of wantonness


She went on and on
Until,
Like a pack of virulently shuffled card in the numb numbness of the motherless night,
Her gait crumbled.....

She was the queen of my heart but the King of all my sorrows....

Tom🤕🏄🏽

Festooned

She ran her shrunken fingers across the stains on the apron of her effort ,
Like a child in a rare admiration of  dirt's glamour,
She dipped her crumpled thumb into her sooted tongue and licked the juice of grief ...
She wondered why her frantic efforts at life and enterprise  never earned his emotional comfort nor his conscientious goodwill...
Nothing has changed except hope...
It appears cloudier...
©broken verses
™Tom

COWRIES philo baba

Radiant cowries of the esteemed African pride 
What a wonder at your prudence 
As a virtuous bride 

For centuries, you were a potent economic catalyst 
Measuring the value of exotic wares on behalf of our kind ancestors 

Your skilled painting in crystal milk by nature 
Gives you a cosy look 
A symbol of peace, respect and sincerity, 
Immersed in moderation 

When haggling the cost of wares 
with the invisible hands in splenetic cum jaunty interactions. 
Mindful of the gain of each party in the raucous discourse. 
Distant from greed, extortion or economic vice apparitions. 


Your weighty size 
Emboldens your image and stand 
Amongst numerous currencies of the western world. 
Your  glistening skin and serrated button, 
encrypts the world in speechless glue at your sassy outfit 

Your inbuilt gift of mesmerising versatility in purpose 
Diversity, 
Declares you a wonderful socioeconomic device by nature to several merchants. 

You give lustre to the tunics of hunters 
And 
Exquisite antiquity to the modern day fashion 

Kids are kept at sea at your glance 
Elders pay homage to your ruggedness and durability 

The world salutes your unique frame 
Held in the palms of our agelong descents,yet, you remain the same.

You are indeed an ancient seed of awesome merchandize and ritzy fashion.

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.

Please vote my story Drunken flies http://prize.etisalat.com.ng//flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=1352

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.