Tis time for Christmas,
aches and all.
We have a stake
in a babe’s nativity -
swaddled all
in God’s creativity.
Star-wonder.
Moonlight.
Crestfallen snow white.
Buried beneath happiness
are many who have fallen asleep.
We must keep up
traditions of light,
merry and bright.
Our teeth must glisten,
and our tongues must tell tales,
for a new generation to listen.
We who’ve lived many Christmases
must hang our tears in stockings,
decorate our trees with memories.
Each generation thinks their gifted
something new. The old is regifted.
Our eyes sparkle, ever brighter,
like Benjamin Button
when he’s born old
and dies in infanthood.
Both sides of a copper penny shine,
then the luster subsides,
but the soul resides
in a Christmas-y place
with pearls and lace,
streets of pure gold,
where nothing gets old.
Tis time for Christmas…
Hope and all…
Categories:
infanthood, christmas, hope,
Form: Free verse
Memories are like visitors coming to pay us an august visit
Sitting on my veranda I reminisce about my childhood
I feel reawakened by the sweet sounds of okpotumtum
I am refreshed by the serene breeze from the sweet natural bounty of mother earth
I feel reawakened by the by the echoes of my infanthood
Tyres and wheels drawing tribal marks as little innocent bodies sweat under the scorching sun
The child of the raffia tree wither away to build a stomach infrastructure
They filled our pockets with the hope of quenching hunger
Standing in the rain, my ears are flooded with the sweet chants of rain go away come again another day
They feel the desire to play again as the gathering clouds disappear into the rising sun
The bullying heads creating an expression of gbongotio as I walk through the purple check republic
Ginik ob an expression of my intellectual innocence
Categories:
infanthood, appreciation, art, beauty, bullying,
Form: Free verse
Soft Rain
I like rain, not hard, angry rain with an attitude
who, was neglected by the mother cloud, and
angrily show its hate towards those who had
nothing to do with its misbegotten infanthood.
No I´m thinking of soft rain that is like a caress,
a kiss of eternities promises.
And nature is still, this is a moment of rapture
a longing for so long denied blissfully fulfilled.
The dampness of my skullcap and my alpaca
jacket is so soft that it almost feels like oil, but
I know I´m just a spectator under an umbrella
who ought to go home and lit the fire.
Categories:
infanthood, inspirational, nature, rain, longing,
Form: Blank verse