Young mother, did you know?
Flowers will wither in concrete and cold.
Don't fool yourself.
Did you ever see a petal bloom in a bottle or syringe?
From outside the embrace of the son.
Or the glade of free will?
Has anything ever flowered from a crack house latrine?
From the mouth of puking guns or fatherless streams.
Young mother, don't twist the sky
your garden is in flames.
Don't let them pearl your mind.
Gather up your yearlings before they catch fire.
Nothing will grow in concrete and cold.
Young mother, did you know?
When it’s unexpected? I’ll burn alive.
My insides will become hundreds of stars.
Little bright lights pressing me to survive,
every scar fills up glass lampyrid jars.
Rings of glowing halos freckle lush skin,
spirals of smoke leave puff lines on exhale.
This montage fusing two horns and a grin
blend together for the perfect cocktail.
A scream will linger more than a whisper,
perhaps I’ll simply try this new tactic.
Ashes contort and diction’s now crisper,
making my phrase a bit more sarcastic.
Maybe I’ll catch fire in my darkest hour,
the pinnacle of sweet turning to sour.
She's a ruffling tulip in stormy winds
Thunder builds up from within
She carries Kharkiv's weight on her wings
Time after time, her nation never wins
Scarlet skirt spreading against her legs
The village man sighs, about to trek
Horses rip through lands of silence
Barefoot, leaves crumble with eminence
Even the animals bark as they tremble
The markets catch fire; they become embers
She cries tears for each fallen man
Her flower crown falls to her hands
Ribbons fight the weather's wrath
For even her clothing wants to fight back
Windmills crack; their companion isn't there
Stolen by a filthy prince who heirs
Heart cooler than Siberia's forests
No regard for her, the poorest
Mountains kiss the horizon goodnight
For the battles drain them of light
Branches snap beneath her feet
Of the poor young woman, down by the Black Sea
wild thrill of the chase
as surroundings catch fire
turns nation to waste
munition's flash we admire
situation growing dire
no promises made
more important things to do
the rules must be obeyed
propaganda skews the view
of who has done what to who
flames leaping higher
unseen future shall survive
in the muck and mire
best apologists will thrive
history gets out alive
courage tempers soul
heroes come and heroes go
some left less than whole
mayhem many know
the cost of fighting the foe
beyond the conflict
smooth narrator turning pages
wounds the news inflict
all wisdom of the sages
unread as battle rages
breeding arrogance
power supporting power
without variance
greed guilds the shining tower
dregs of truth, bitter and sour
so easy to start
war almost free to enter
then comes the hard part
invasion setting tenor
pulling out, the tormentor
on and on it goes
quick beginning with no end
branded by war's throes
bloody quagmire we descend
not just gods which we offend
Let me tell you a story not a fairytale
Runookoro the heart bit of rivers and stars
home of men with balls and steels,
rugged entities, Serena tested, men mount.
abobi and man In green in tete-a-tete,
tete-a-tete became volcano explosion
matters turn soar, street casted ,abobi fell like tree.
Abobi live like eagle flying without wings
on that day, the heart bleed,the sky turn dark, the earth flood blood like rivers
voices echoes like ocean 'dem don kill abobi '
the tales hurt the heart,onlookers asked in silence 'na who kill abobi?
men mount in pressure,tears in the sun that never dried,Runookoro bleed in fire.
civic riot, Nepal unrest learn in silence
officials in siren ,homes on fire, street floored with graves
men run like Squirrels to no directions
the memories of the guns still leaves
Runookoro don catch fire, na who kill abobi ?
ANIEMEKA NATHANIEL
THE GREAT POET
They call her green
Her eyes are mean
She’s blowing steam
She comes on scene
This type of weakness
Is of some uniqueness
Devoid of any sweetness
Absent of any neatness
Inadequate tendencies
Personal discrepancies
She can lack maturity
It’s a seething insecurity
The Envious desire
Can quickly catch fire
The drama’s quite dressy
It can make life quite messy
When desire’s the goal
You’ll fall in this hole
And it will take its toll
As It feeds on your soul
Heal and transform my life
Let our love catch fire~
Since it knows no ends,
Holds no place for dispute~
Just a bright, sparkling start.
Your love dispels all strife,
So your love I admire.
On it, my soul depends;
In hearts it takes root,
Its goodness sets it apart.
Time to profit is rife,
Your love and care inspire~
All known bounds they transcend,
And all weathers they suit—
No longer can they depart.
Let’s make up some new words,
they will woo a sharp tongue;
Timbre tends to enthrall
and leave it all behind;
Hooked on that swag and drawl;
Let’s make up some new words
that will catch fire and spread;
Smoke is everywhere fast
becoming a movement;
Straight fresh is built to last;
Let’s make up some new words
to embellish language;
Culture builds confluence
when we hear each other;
There’s no juice in silence;
Let’s make up some new words,
see what’s best together;
Just go crazy or splice,
uncover the right scratch;
The secret’s in the spice.
Between the reaching shades of tall trees
copper-leafed hillocks’ catch fire,
ghost flames
burnish the slow stealth of evening.
A translucent straw-light
seen only through the thumb hole
of a painter’s pallet,
or in that late sunlit wash, that blooms
so openly that eyes miss it.
Redolent are the long shadows
dipped as they are in rich earthy scents.
The flaxen hay is layered between
timbered silhouettes,
where gossamer ribbons of vapor
hazes-over honeyed acers.
Softly a lambent buoyancy of evening
blends amber and russet wisps
with hues of sorrel and orange.
A mellowing sky drapes over the fields
a chiffon fan of muted rays.
The tawny straws turn slowly,
all unclear to daylight eyes,
but by this eventide
we will view this ebbing day
through a golden glass.
An Image attaches itself
to something you once touched or smelled
sending waves echoing inward.
You forgot about it
yet now it twists itself around a memory
one you had never thought to name.
Behind your eyes your mind is an apparition.
This thing you see
is perceived through fathoms of awakening flesh,
it returns now to catch fire from fire.
You search an emerging appearance
that has yet to paint its face;
watch it surface
going blind to the world
None can hide your flair;
The gunpowder must catch fire
And make you shine through.
They are testing the sirens
the ones that warn of tornados and such.
No sirens wailed
when the industrial unit blew up
in a ball of fire. Too sudden,
you can here that wind-train coming
but a loose spark in a petroleum tank
should convince us
that we rarely hear death
until the bodies catch fire.
I's going to be a fresh sunny day
but later
strong winds from the north
might take some breaths away
and never return them.
Suddenly out of a clear sky
we hear the screech of ghost trains.
the local theme park has had
an accidental mishap,
some kids are heroically saved
some go missing
carried away by a north wind
that has yet to arrive.
However, there are impediments
This scavenging for deeds of strength
hung shrubs
These appear to be bone fragments
poised to catch fire at any time
I'm having difficulty explaining why I'm realigning. utterances directed at ourselves.
alters one's worldview.
Written: Mars 1st, 2022
Hi we wear
and cage
if we feel like peppered
if we ever awe by
worrying
if we ever contact
a cultivated mistress of excuses
and hardlucks
acids and gas are explosions
hey we may catch fire
if we will be remaining dim due to
a fatal fluke of one
we don't envy
because it kills or cracks love
who know may be
killing it at all
we don't despair
because it desicates and wilts
leaves and leaves them dry
nor live to suspect or mock
nor live to doubt or disgrace
nor envy the clouds
whose smile by virtue
is joy
we don't enjoin chagrin
because it doesn't reward minds
instead damn them
nor live by pretence
here and there
to mar and wear
oh! teachers fears
and poets and poets
for us is adjunct
to be saved from
becoming a new harbour of human immune deficiency virus.
Ignition
An abandoned ember will cease to glow.
Its amber rays will fade to gray, while its
Warmth is stolen by the passage of time.
I was an ember extinguished, reduced
To ash which had forgotten the light,
Unconscious to the world which had birthed me.
You were born from an everlasting flame,
Your soul kept alight by the Vestal maids.
The threat of darkness was your urban myth.
What is burned once cannot catch fire again.
I had been reduced to my final form,
Fated to forever forget myself.
Your touch was dawn breaking infinite night.
Your gasoline love saturated my soul,
Filling me to the brim with flammable
Affection, so that I, too, could burn eternal.
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