Gideon Idudje | + Follow Poet |
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I Am Poetry

 I am poetry  a nightingale stringing blues 
               Of medieval lyrics---swords sliding bows.
                            lyrics whose broken tones, 
can't be rewritten, of blood feud
                               my smiles shines thru the brightness of 
the sun, the sudden rain beating old California to dance
     an architect of my words
                    I cut, I saw , I bridge, I gap I measure
To befit, it feet on it golden lines
           You call rhymes, verse, metre and rhythms

I am  Poetry, a cook of delicacy, with my words
            As ingredients, source, vegetables, aroma
Seasoning, pastries, salt, to savour you sweet.
              Imaginary mental sensational picturesque

I am  Poetry, a tailor with a running machine
                Weaving threads, jumping needles, cutting
' n' sawing, knitting baby's cap as a song of 
                  Lullabies, measuring tapes, running stitches
Slashing scissors, buckling pins as words

I am  Poetry, a teacher of rhymes ' n' blues
                   with white running on black walls chopped
 a Mahogany tree for a  plywood 
                     With red and blue inks exchanging greeting

I am  Poetry fitting my words, big or small
                            vocabulary, smoothening the journey
 of you Memories, from far, through tunnels I pace through
                      from wide, Some narrow, some shallow
Some painful, some intriguing, some coarse
                           Some vanishing, some skywalk, some catwalk
Some musings, velvety, opaque, transient, extinction

                             I    a   m     p   o    e    t    r   y 
 wind, that touch the palms of leaves, to sooth their skins
                              breathing a heavy sigh of relief
I am the tender breeze that scent memories
                             And smell of ages


I am poetry, my tongue flows streams Of tasteful
                                rhymes, the rhythm in your jazz, pop and Calypso

I am poetry a mic with a toasted wire
                               Connecting it source from the everlasting
Flow of waves, that waterfalls rocks and 
                           Pebbles, hitting against the tides of times and seasons

Am in your neural cubicle
                         In tuning your brain to string rare melodies
Caress your spine, beautifying your innate poetic mind
                         I  am   P  o  e  t ry       

https://youtu.be/dPjM_pnYnuY. (link 2 video)

Copyright © Gideon Idudje | Year Posted 2021

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