I wonder after his black spectacles,
if I could recognize his phantom's scare
by his bandy left foot, something he'd wear:
constrictor turtlenecks, cowboy buckles
his trials decided by flayed knuckles
his tombstone eyes, the depth of night they bear.
I wonder at the factors of his fear
as I adorn him with cherry jewels.
Your bass breathes, haply, the contents of love;
it whispers to me my shadows' secrets,
but dark articles ingesting your name,
face-eating barnacles that smutch our flame.
I'll be glad —a pigeon may be a dove—
to sprinkle Shakespeare over your Poe's grunts.
Life’s meandering journey …
mapped by a fool
Clairvoyant foretelling
the dilettante’s tool
Around every corner
the road twists and bends
A marble or diamond
— but choice to portend
(Dreamsleep: February, 2024)
Is life a fool's errand run with vague, haunting fears
too often it seems so with the passing of years
Every day we go at it, we strive and connive
in the hope of what? ~ just to feel we're alive?
AN ERRAND
I write upon wind to send an errand
to my dearest one whom I had to leave.
Since then, peace left, and darkness swaddled.
My flaming heart being chased by your gracious glance.
Life turned meaningless, as I could not forget.
'Once my amour in glamour flowed in fervent fervor.'
Gentle breeze blowing, me loitering beside river.
May my message through air to propagate.
If miracles to happen, could I rewind my romance?
How could I? Past to cast only memories, not to venture.
Remembering Dear! Once You took me in your arms and cradled.
Now me a loner, walking aimless in stream strand.
In wrath kicking pebbles, stepping on wet sand.
Twilight fading; Wearing dusty mask merging evening
Zephyr pulling emotive urge irresistible.
Reminiscences spreading forgotten fragrance.
Had not accepted you ! This ruthless truth is too hard to accept,
but to prick me life long.
‘I loved you most Dear!’ I could deny never.
THE ERRAND BOY
I'd love to wake up in an early morn
Out just to witness the dew.
Even in the sun,I'll prefer plucking a corn.
Errandery,oh! It drives all joy away.
Even in its minutae ,I'll rather die to face the scorn.
Now that the razzmatazz of nature feels like vindaloo.
Tossed around like a lost nylon,it gives no time to play.
And day to day this will pry.
No time to fish,no time to swim oh! It drives all joy away.
Oh! Mother give me a break.
Errandery has gotten me dry.
Am dripping sick,I lied
When she's out,I sneak out to lake.
Happiness is restored atleast in mild.
Wee Luck McGee, came into the pub
And the Barman started pouring a beer
"No Tanks for me, a martini you see
Is what you'll be serving right here"
Then McGee with one hand, pulled a jar from his coat
Removing the lid with the other
Plucked out the olive, and swilled down the Gin
Then abruptly ordered another
With each martini he knocked back with cheer
An olive was placed in the jar
And when it got filled, He screwed on the lid
Then started to walk from the bar
But the barman called out "What's that about ?"
To McGee with the jar he did cling
"It's me Mrs you know, she told me to go
And get Her a jar of these tings"
She had a wry little smile,
Curling amidst her petite lip,
She looked up to the heavens above,
Closing her eyes, letting a tear drip.
Life isn’t a bed of roses, they said.
Why? She could never understand.
Even as they suffered, even as they bled,
It was n't hard for her to withstand.
Men were animals, she was told,
Lurking to pounce at the slightest chance,
Yet she was happy, yet she was bold,
Refusing to wake up from her trance.
She loved everyone truly like her own,
She spread happiness to everyone around,
Did she deserve her life to be blown?
Did she deserve to be pinned to the ground?
Is trusting too bad a thing?
Has conscience lost its true meaning?
Is the world too bad a place?
Is this life too hard to face?
She yelled out loud, in fury and fear,
As they silenced her with a thundering blow,
In her teary eyes, she watched it clear,
The sight of humanity stooping so low.
Bad things happen to the best of people, they said.
Why? She could never understand.
And as she suffered, as she bled,
It was indeed hard to withstand.
Words on lines
poetic errand boy
tied to pen
(c) Adeleke Adeite.
An Haiku without
traditional syllable count.
It describe how words are
employed by poets to work
on lines through the 'pen' :)
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