Best Accommodated Poems
For this desire
to someday be accommodated,
we shall sit in front of the fire,
lodge chairs at angles akin to talking low,
honey cognac thick,
whispers even thicker,
and you will tell me life.
From the moment your memory begins
you will unravel the senses in dark licorice words
by crackling light.
We will throw lithium on the fire
and watch the shadows turn red
in our laughter
...just children, really, despite our age...
The night will wane as good nights always do,
and we'll sleep on and off in the chairs,
in the midst of the other's story.
It won't matter, as it all becomes a dream anyway
and we'll never tend the fire till it gives up it's coal.
At 5 am our voices will be hoarse
and our legs will be angry at us for pretzeling them,
so we will rise to make strong coffee.
You, grinding powder brown beans,
and me finding two perfect cups for hand holding,
brushing past you electric in the process.
After the brew, after our lives have been told,
at the precise red photograph of sunrise,
we will sleep.
My head will fall sullen on your shoulder,
angry at my inability to control my eyes to stay with you a moment more,
and this new world, which has spun at twice it's
normal speed since meeting you,
will suddenly,
finally,
be still.
Dear uncle, what can I say at the twilight of my life
about the things you did to me
About a time of my youth when I could barely talk,
let alone write poetry
We were family so I was told
as they gave away my bedroom
and accommodated you and your entire family
Backbone and boundaries words yet to be tasted
on a little girls silent muted lips...
I slept on a broken cot in the living room
with my cousin Nina
while you got to sleep in my soft bed.
I was the offspring of your wife's brother,
did that not mean anything to you ?
You pressed your old lips on hers
told her she tasted good
you made her weep
and cry, run away
and hide
Silent secrets festered
between you and I
You, an immigrant pedophile
who knew not the meaning of family
nor decency ...
Dear uncle,
You pressed my young lips with your salty ones
taking my innocence while mom lay on a hospital bed
miles away from home.
My other body guard, father and hero
was busy in the cellar,
funneling sweet wine to serve your bitter belly.
I tried to tell mom ages later beneath outstretched stars
but she said God spared her the knowledge
for she couldn't have handled the knowing, back then
as if it was all about her and not me.
Too bad God didn't spare that little girl uncle,
was she not worth it ? heh
At twelve years of age I picked up a pen
and I wrote about what I couldn't speak of
yes, I became a poet thanks to you !
I turned to verse like a hungry beast
with her tongue cut out.
As you lie in your grave,
do you remember the child in me?
do you recall the warm baths
you were denied access to ?
Thank God mom came home
and you and your entire family moved out
Do you remember that stone face girl with
the sepulcher mouth that said
that spoke with her eyes only, " keep out "
Do you remember me, Uncle G ?
Hallelujah, born again
chapels scheming, mankind reeling
in holy water's baptism of wizardly elixir
postulating an all consuming reverence,
rejuvenated myths of deiform fears
as reinvented nature flows in
lickety split's Latin discombobulation
Aggrandizement randomly written
in santuary's intensly scripted blather
increasing histrionics' translations,
'pon bled origins' of original sin
Amen's passed the poison apple mid shrines'
overflowing baskets of coined redemption
Tilt, you go to that fantasy in the sky
Hallelujah, born again
wherefrom archangels' herald lightworks,
otherwise Beelzebub will gladly impose
his heated grasp in welcoming you warmly
to a dark side of the fried fray,
difference in ashes' revival supposedly
are prayer & the almighty dollar,
naught to do with compassion & good will towards men,
ailing old frail women nor starving children,
falling prey to greener hard currency's salivating salvation
priestly entitled behaviors' disconcertingly repugnance,
who knew...gospel's chapter & functional verse
could be so dastardly rendered in man's
higher power of accommodated perversions
Of all the flamin’ rotten luck I said alighting from me van;
kicked the wheel holding the flat to upset our touring plan.
We’re miles away from anywhere as I rummage through our gear,
for underneath our chock full load the spare is hidden here.
Then horror of all horrors, I cursed and swore then spat,
I’d forgot to check the spare and that too is flamin’ flat,
So we’ve ‘gotta’ wait for someone (which isn't often on this road).
Two hours we boiled in the sun before its back to travelling mode.
Another problem surfaced then for as the sun did set;
having no idea where we were and not accommodated yet.
In our headlights there's a change of luck - ‘B & B’s’ a welcome sight.
Me and the missus drove in hoping there’s room here tonight.
The old farmer with his torchlight walked us down the back.
With the beam he pointed toward a dirty run down shack.
The doorway’s full of cobwebs; windows were broken too.
He chased out a big goanna saying "Now it should be fit for you".
"Where's the toilet?” Asked the missus - “I usually visit through the night."
"I never thought of that” he said. “I'll make sure that you’re right".
He came back with a bucket, and said, "If you want privacy,
you will have to take the bucket behind the pepper tree".
Next morning just on sunrise the farmer knocks and says
"Hope I didn't wake you up - would you like bacon and eggs?”
"Yes please" we said together. “Can we have some coffee too?”
"Do you both take milk?" The farmer asked. We both replied "Thank-you".
As we packed up across he came to pick up our dirty plates.
I told him that his breakfast was one that highly rates.
"Your coffee's great" the missus said "You and your wife should take a bow".
"Why thanks” the farmer said. “Now where’s the bucket - I've ‘gotta’ milk the
cow".
News of our examination results cheered us
Long wait we accommodated
Anticipation tinged with fuss
As anxiety our minds intimidated
Speculated
Doubting the truth
Anxiety accumulated
Sometimes sliding us South
Beside a destination to dreamland
Expecting the best
Assuming a TCZ brand
For a while could rest
Till to our disbelief
News filtered catching us unawares
Scratching on our heads the consternation kerchief
Whose fares, flares and glares
Became insignificant because with joy our hearts leapt
As reality pricked the doubt
That crept and swept
Bulk of the clout
Hitherto intact
Briefly shaken
To impact
Brethren without a reason crestfallen
Until facts filtered and altered
Scenarios where doubt dwelt
When facts our self esteem flattered
As collection of result transcript became reality well spelt.
Your failure, thought by your ear
Words of another, your dread spread
My shoulder, never not yours
Reconciliation; your voice heard.
A misery, my own doing
My recoil, accepting the proximity
Sorrow, the feeling behind my joy
The pain untold, but written in silence.
As your tears I feared; your side I embraced
A seat you offered, an honor remembered
Conversation alive again, its fragility accommodated
Your speech to me, always a pleasure.
My smile true; my heart whole
Another day for some; a renewed dawn for me.
The power of its empire’s influence once shook history from its feet
the number one world olive oil producer;
the home to the world’s largest tomato fight
and sits at the top in organ donation.
A country with a wordless national hymn
housing a cloud-kissing building with no automated climber;
a top seed in the accumulation of city bars
and in the preservation of an ancient language.
Neutrality-its stand point during the global wars
and the first importer of useful vegetables to the continent.
The seat being the only manifestation of its automobile hands
and a member of the global leaders in the production of saffrons.
Shakes hands with France through the pyrenes
diffusing a myth it first accommodated the modern man.
Concerned on the call girls to make them
share uniform-identity with highway workers
and globally popularized by conflicts of two great cities,
both in sports and in everyday life.
Much interest showers the sunflower seeds.
A bar kept clean speaks against itself.
Above all, its dynamic might lies majorly on its
competitive tourism and wide spread language.
A god given gift is my one and only mother,
courteous and conveying more than any other.
When the era was shaded, you accommodated the light,
when my perception was not luminous, you bestowed my sight.
Powering the fluorescent light when the allotment was dim,
O mother, I can truly opine what a divine blessing its bin.
Each moment I spend with you is an equivalent to a hidden treasure,
each memory I share with you has eternally been a pleasure.
You are the ultimate significance to me alive,
without your presence life is not worth the survive.
Cherishing and nurturing with your tongue,
O mother how your words are so sweetly sung.
I apprize and adulate the arena you glide upon,
your beauty is comparison to one that of a swan.
So delicately poised, a mother's place,
the one no alternate human-being can ever replace.
For your children and husband you slave away,
O mother how can I ever repay.
I'm compiling my poetry work into a book, and looking to partner with a publisher. If anyone
is interested please email me on [email protected]
Pressing my peripatetic poetic spirit
I roamed the abode of technology
Where I spilled my poetic condolences, with company of tears,
To my friends in Japan
Whose brothers are forcefully accommodated,
In the large bellies of callous Tsunami and dreaded earthquakes.
How many oceans of sorry shall consume
The traumatic castle of agony erected in their souls?
Hugging my peripatetic poetic spirit,
I roamed the dried sands of Libya,
Where men are roasted by rage of military missiles
For demanding the dethrone of a pitiless demi-god
How many more heads shall be sacrificed for the crown of justice?
Handshaking my peripatetic poetic thoughts
I roamed through the petroleum abode of Middle East
I found Iraq ravaging by ecclesiastic of death
Where men are proud to die for a cause yet unknown
Poised by teaching of abstract fable theories,
They volunteer to be burnt with innocent multitude.
When will scions vampires taste the last drop of blood in Iraq?
Only the ONE behind the cloud knows!
For the contest:I roam
Sweet is thy love because thy love is true and divine
Sweet is thy lips because thy lips are sweeter than many
fine wine, and i enjoy drinking from your flowing fountain
of love.
Sweet and enticing are your fleshy assets living within
your bosom nest and to enjoy your nipples i can never
resist making desirable request.
You open your doors and invited me in and with expressed
passion you displayed your hungry desires and with electrifying
ecstasy i set your entire body on pleasurable fire.
Oh sumptuous woman allow me to travel slowly all over your
skin so smooth and richly mellowed to taste of satisfactory and
glamorous story.
There are no hollow vacant spots, because from your flowing
fountain comes sumptuous substance and how much i like that.
Oh sumptuous woman with unabated passion, this is where i
wish to be; inside your well kept place of glory.
You welcomed me and with enticing hospitality you accommodated
me while i travel between your walls and enjoyed the warm reception
of your prize property.
Help me loving you while you loving me, oh yes with sweet love and
affection; this is an open and honest declaration of hungry desires
needing fulfillment.
Pleading for more because within you beautiful and sumptuous woman
is love galore and i have for you much more in store.
What's the fault of the children
Born from the undocumented parents
They have rights to be registered
Where they were born and live
The rights are not limited
Not even those who are documented
They are the citizens of the world
Why can't they be accommodated
Even simply for a birth certificate
What is important they become "legal"
Although there are no "illegal migrants"
What happen to the system
Let's "get everyone in the picture".
Because everyone is part of a whole!
The Palace Hotel, Kota Kinabalu
241115. 9:52AM
Woken to the diluted aroma of abinci
Closer to food like hair to head
Closer to the ever-long water queue
Always ahead of the food queue
A place with no King
The Kitchen Republic.
Corpers obey the reality call
Get accommodated somehow . . . somewhere
Fate took us to the Republic called Kitchen
All seems well with the Kitcheners
We were the envy of many Corpers.
Alayande Stephen T.
August 3rd, 2008
10.38pm
At the Kitchen Republic,
NYSC Camp, Yikpata, Kwara State.
I sat down and asked
my self this
question
this question that
really got my
attention
This question that
made me wonder my
purpose
I'm I getting myself
into a fuss
For days and months
pass
now I am 20 years
I'm yet to confirm
my fears
for in the next 5 or
ten years
I will be a parent
and a father
My children will
need a true mother
I'm I setting the
right environment
a free environment
that will never
torment
a free environment
where my children
will call home
a free environment
with a woman my
children will call
mum
I'm I setting that
right environment?
Many mistakes I have
done in the past
still there is time
to shake off this
dust
All is not lost
for now I have
gathered wisdom
along
and as I write this
song
I seek forgiveness
from all I did wrong
for I have to set
that environment
a peaceful
environment that
will never torment
an environment where
my children will
call home.
I have met different
people
some being GIGO
(gabbage in gabbage
out)
some with the wisdom
to run a kingdom
I did my analysis
then did some
synthesis
I took the best
I accommodated the
worst
for I had to know
good and bad
I need to set that
environment
that right
environment that
will never torment
that right
environment my
children will call
home.
my continuity
is my dignity
seeing my own blood
grow
see their life flow
see them mature
like a rose flower
see them marry and
give birth
see them live a life
of great worth
so I have to set
that environmet
that will never
torment
an environment they
will call home.
What's the fault of the children
Born from the undocumented parents
They have rights to be registered
Where they were born and live.
The rights are not limited
Not even those who are documented
They are the citizens of the world
Why can't they be accommodated
Even simply for a birth certificate.
What is important they become "legal"
Although there are no "illegal migrants"
What happen to the system
Let's "get everyone in the picture"
Because everyone is part of a whole!
I love you peace. Let's sail together. Layag Sug!
?#?get_everyone_in_the_picture?
The Palace. 24.11.15.9:52AM
Love has perfectly filled the vacancy placed in a lonely heart
wonderfully blessing with merchandise of sensuality and eros;
emotional experience characterized by new constant fresh air
and wholly accommodated by rare affection
even while stuffed in the vacuum of adulthood.
Fooled by ones hallucinating welcome
drugged by that addictive confidence
and mind-washed by such distinctive virtues;
these feelings constantly burn every evening.
When asleep, inhale goes in with such memories
the beloved presence then becomes magical and real
greasing the gears of every heartbeat
and loosening the stitches of the day’s burdens
to satisfy the active mind and resting body all through the night
as they stretch the bands of the cheek after the morning’s yawn.