Best Falconer Poems
Inspire me....
Even as I attempt this
Iambic nonsense
How can silence,
Emanate from chaos:
It's direct opposite?
A pure contradiction of concept...
Crashing, cascading.......
In a metaphoric ambiance of emotions,
Anger infused like an avalanche of retribution...
Unstable, fluctuating and unpredictable
Just like when the Centre cannot hold
Shhhhhhhhhh.........
There is a silent voice saying
Be still............
Chaotic, disorganised, shambolic and in a condition of total disarray.
Mesmerised, enthralled, spellbound or hypnotised.....
Kush-in, drunk-in, high on some pills of ecstasy, while you chill in cloud nine or
In a state of total mental confusion,
Like when the Falcon cannot hear the Falconer
Shhhhhhhhhhhh...
Listen,
To that silent voice saying
Be still......
When things fall apart
Hold the centre.....
Don't allow an avalanche free flow
Basalt, untamed and waxed......
Be inspired inspite of contradictions
Think before you act,
Ruminate before you speak
Chaos, chaos is the dance hall,
But the DJ maintains the tempo of the songs
Chaotic is the market place
Yet the trader never miss her balance
Chaotic the Arena might be
The gladiator is ever focused
Miss the general's call on the chaotic battlefield and you are gone.
Tis Iambic contradiction of sophistry,
An attempt to awaken the tiny voice of reason
That always question our silence while we are to speak
And
Our speech while we should listen.
©Chigbo S. Peter {April 2017}
There was a aseason
When love was love
the educated are uneducated
hunger was hung in daylight
when sins were seen in scenes
There was a season
when poverty was prohibited
obscenity totally abhored
the gods are justice par
excellence
when people peopled with
purpose abound
There was a season
when earth has no earthlings
Rivers Niger and Benue were
at peace
Augusts were filled with
august events
WaZoBia means come
when there was a country
We are in a season
when the winter wins
people sums in summer
harmattan harms the poor
when things are no longer at
ease
We are in a season
when vultures are in
parliaments
religious overseers become
coffers seers
bards are turned to harbingers
when the falcon no longer
hears the falconer
We are in a season
When iniquity is ubiquiteous
democracy raped in public
gaze
tyrannism is re- christened
and democratized
when the center can no longer
hold
We are in a season
when the blind are experts in
colour prediction
the lame are announced
winners in relays
the deaf hears the sound of
gun- shots
the dumb lead in religious
hymns
when one is man of the
people in disguise
We are in a season
when the things above are
above us
the things beyond are beyond
us
senses no longer makes sense
modernity embraces
immorality
when heaven and earth lack
rapport
We are in a season
when kings are pimps
queens becoming madams
the good lack goodness
the bad bar the bards
the ugly remain ungodly
when things have fallen apart
I see a season
when angels will live in Los
Angeles
food will become free in Free
Town
people will go to overseas through Amansea
people will differenciate a
truth from a fact
when policies will not be
politicized
I see a season
when battles will be battled
death will become dead
immortality will be mortalized
when time will be made
timeless
I see a season
when penury will perish
praises sung in paradise
sickness will become sick
holidays will be made
holy days
we'll have a common
idiosyncrasy
when the arrow of
God is awaited
There was a season
We are in a season
I see a season
Weighing heavy on my mind
like the hefty schoolyard bully
perched on the chest of his captured prey
cruelly taunting
My soul, which wanted to take off and soar,
remained shrouded for a time like a hooded falcon
kept by the falconer and so
with eager anticipation: I waited
And I wondered if such things as
pain and pleasure
were meant to be connected somehow
like fraternal twins who complement each other
Life’s lessons came hard earned for me like
the bidder seeking rarities at an auction and so
I learned that merits earned by determination and sweat:
are all the sweeter and much more valuable
Mistakes have taken a toll on my life and I feel like
a lighthouse that has withstood the battering
of many violent storms and yet
I remain resolute, but a little worse for wear.
For a journey from low to low over high
a river only needs renewable energy:
sun and gravity as the skater
on a perpetual ramp. Only death
stops the circular talk into the hole
in the black wall where I saw the misses
at the wishing well and their kissable
soft arms. So young in my mind
it makes the years in the past short
remedies to wait for the long next.
These sheets cleaner than mine
make me long for another word
unhampered by machine defection,
the same as yesterday, but as good as
a hawk on the gauntlet of a man;
a timeless promise before the altar
Here I was when you were born
With tears in her heart, she bore you.
And now you became the black sheep,
The rotten egg hard to crack.
You made pains in her heart
Accusation fingers dare point on her face
Blotch in her heart becomes visible in the dark night.
And her smile became disgusting
When it rains she found it hard to hide.
I was here when you smuggled into the house
Smelt the footsteps and the dark night howled
Next was crying of innocent blood
Sprawling on the bare floor, in the room beneath
And the money gone, gone with the wind.
I was here when the executors came
I saw when you smuggled out.
Their bright snow light couldn’t fetch you
Up you run, faster than the cheetah.
But you forgot that unknown eyes were on you.
Men trembled in fears at the sight of you.
Lord of the night, heartless, you are.
Rendering most people fatherless at the breath of anger
A lot you pushed into poverty smiling
Reaping where you didn’t sow
Remember the falconer cometh soon
And the universe has it judgment
Power lies not in the bullet jammed in the barrel of the gun you hold.
I remembered her advice to you
She warned you against crime
But the ears was too hard to heard
Because it taste to be perished.
Your maker seek your soul
But it was too far to heed
I, your creator cry loud sorrowfully
How be it that the falcon disobey the falconer.
Now is the time
The deed is done
You were caught by the law
And all the quarters you tormented by a sign of relief
Soon you would be among the weepers
Down there in the pit of hell, .
(JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT)
My Maltese falcon and falconer
Of words, soaring above the net of love
I use to walk from tree to tree
To hear on earth the strangest thing
The falcon that flies and sing
And every house and every yard
In world that was all soup
Cherished you, so beloved your thoughts
So beloved you
I heard a feather fell and became a spring
Came to drink of it
And find you not again
Singing from limb nor rill like before
Did ever a heart tell so sweetly?
Did ever a falcon hunt so obscurely
In the forest of the passion bright?
What pining and what longing we did feel
Fishes pierce by beak and reel,
O sweet love, O verse beyond compare
How shall I let you fade into dust
And all the shadow of my jasmine bringer disappear?
How shall I forget friendship and trust
When we built the old camaraderie here?
But these virtual walls hold me now to despair
What if my friends need me
What if time has shaken their human crust
Against the global village now I rage
That bid us fly in a bigger cage
I cannot hunt this imagination alone
I need the falcon to guard my throne.
She may walk among
untrodden ways.
But beware,
your trips and slips,
face first slides into reality
Not always your own doing
Is ever present
Always lurking.
Tight rope walking over well
worn paths.
Danger lurks in the familiar.
He who made the lamb made
thee.
The falcon trusts the falconer
And so returns with retracted
claws.
Like we must return the
innocence
We stole from whom
but could not use.
Some do it with a lethal sword
The familiar prefer a kiss
All to exact a balance of power
Be careful for what you wish.
The nervous man
Slight awkward stance
Waiting for a train
Talking to the rain
Is he mad?
Is he sad?
A broken heart?
How many times has his life been torn apart?
He doesn’t fit in
Fashion and style were never his thing
His glasses, dark brimmed sixties style
A cardigan under the coat
His fathers before his no doubt!
The nervous man
Avoiding eye contact with his fellow man
Looking at the floor
Concrete’s concrete for ever more!
A kestrel for some reason lands
Walks up to the nervous man
He doesn’t know what to do
Does the raptor just wants some food?
It stands in front of him
Starts pecking at his ankle and shin?
He tries to shoo it away
But this falcon means to stay
It flies around his face
It tries to peck his face
His glasses fall and crack
He tries to run away and crushes them under foot
He bumps into a man and that makes him run closer to the track
He slips and lands on the line
People try but there is no time!
The kestrel watches and leans over to make sure?
It turns and sees me looking at it for sure!
It then flys up to my seat and sits looking hard at me
Then it flies and hovers in front of me
I stand and take a step back to see
Then it frantically pecks hard at the plastic screen
It then flies up and sits on a pole
Dumbfounded I look at the damage done
I see beyond the holes in the plastic cover to what is underneath
A lost notice for a pretty girl
I look closer at the story next to her face
I can’t believe and through the commotion on the platform look up to see the kestrel on its perch
He’s gone and I turn back to see
The young girl missing and I re-read the story in front of me
She was fifteen and had a unique hobby indeed!
For she was a falconer and her Kestrel was called ‘Mercy’
The falcom rises again.
With pointed wings.
For a name unknown,
that deemed an incendiary.
Falconer sits faraway.
Cliché. The offence goes
unnoticed. Your shirt
was bloodied. Your
lips sealed. The barbs
stuck on kisses. Death smiles.
Water overwhelms, you
are drowned in the lake.
Eyes blink. Cannot
heed to light. The skin
burns. You will watch a medusa !
Satish Verma
Holding the ladder
I was hungry
looking at the waiting dawn.
Raw landscape:
narcissism
forages the belly.
Picking up the figs
from passion flowers.
Is that right ?
Can you sow the seeds
on a cloud ?
Unclothed words ?
Stealthily
a guerilla smashes
a summary of centre.
A falconer
releases a prey
to feed an anarchy.
Satish Verma
A Falcon soared skyward
Gracing and inspiring the world.
She dived from the peak
And attacked with her beak.
She poises her wings
And pierces the mind with a wink.
Her eyes are like two jewels in the sky.
No doubt, she is the Queen of the sky.
The tree is her place of rest
Above the stars is set her nest.
Emulate her diligence.
And never play with her intelligence,
If only I could be your falconer,
I would hunt your admirers.
Oh take me! Carry me on your wings
To the sky where Angels sing.
Dedicated to Ojo Ifedayo
If weary my heart should thy secret betray,
Or lay bare to all what within me doth stay—
Till voices from unseen in my song shall rise,
One breath I become thy companion true.
No prey like to thee may the falconer claim,
And if I be lost, none bringeth my name.
Last night no tidings of thee came to me,
Nor word of thy beauty, nor glance fair to see.
A host is enthralled by thy promise of grace,
Like partridges chasing the hawk in the chase.
Each king that hath passed by thy street, full of fire,
Could ne'er lift his head from the snare of thy pride's desire.
O heart, now accept—for there never shall be
A flight from the snare of her dark locks for thee.
---
Explanatory Footnotes:
1. thy / thee / thine - Archaic English forms for "you / your," used for direct address.
2. doth / hath / bringeth / ne’er - Archaic verb forms: "does / has / brings / never." Adds classical, poetic tone.
3. falconer - A hunter with a hawk; metaphorically represents someone attempting to “capture” the beloved.
4. prey like to thee - The object of the falconer’s hunt; the beloved who cannot be seized.
5. companion true - A faithful friend or intimate partner; corresponds to “one who shares heart and soul.”
6. tidings - News or messages, especially from the beloved.
7. enthralled - Completely captivated or enchanted; describes those devoted to the hope of union.
8. Like partridges chasing the hawk - A metaphorical image of pursuing something powerful yet elusive; preserves original Persian imagery.
9. snare of thy pride's desire - Represents the beloved’s pride or haughtiness as an obstacle or trap.
10. dark locks - Refers to the beloved’s hair; “snare” indicates the captivating, entrapping power of beauty.
11. flight - The attempt to escape or flee; metaphorical for the lover’s effort to free themselves from the beloved’s spell.