Consider my grave your resting place too,
An empathetic soul who rests here.
Worry not poet, it haunts no more,
Covered with maggots, I've rotted here for a while.
These sockets are now emptied, I see nothing to judge.
With my brains swallowed,
I am no critique.
Only bones adorning dirt and bugs.
Justitia, you can call me.
Lend me your ears and I'll spit the truth.
They cherished me when lived,
Now left in a churchyard to rot and suffocate.
Did I not serve them well?
Recall the fights I fought, for our pride poet.
Yet, lie here, with mates, died in my lap.
Never craved for this grave,
But a life, unafraid.
Early, wasn't it?
My beard never turned grey, in fact.
Celebrate my story, in a poem in your next birth.
Categories:
justitia, betrayal, corruption, extended metaphor,
Form: Elegy
Amber scales hanging side by side
like the fierce wheels of destiny
that tame the ego and the pride.
For contempt is a mutiny
that to hell, it gives one a ride.
The veiled eyes of the potent blow
tell all that no one is immune.
For if one hits the rule below
for sure he’ll sing a lonely tune,
for in tough cage he will not glow.
The gavel of equality
is hitting hard to tame the beast,
so the heart of humanity
can gather peacefully and feast,
for its sword tames one’s vanity.
October 13, 2022
THREE STANZA POEM IN QUINTAIN (SICILIAN) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
Categories:
justitia, judgement,
Form: Quintain (Sicilian)
Switch inline in the wake of light,
The Illumination engulving our ray,
Bringing rain of no self ignite,
The perpetual light we all do pray.
Oh! Pa Emmanuel Abiodun is gone.
One whose heart is so tender as sheep
Loving all with no self known
In glory he's self made cheap.
Who could have known the day
For us to've wore Elijah's garment to switch the time
Not minding the cost of what to pay
This wouldn't have been, haven't ceased the time.
Alas! Let not our brains switch bellow the feet
For manufacturer knows the expiration of his product yet he lies
The D-day is a mystery in our heart
Adiye irana kinse ohun ajegbe not to make ties.
See oh see them roll up in the sky
In purity they sing praise of the great maker
Fully robed in white not the priests of Justitia
Bowing to our king and maker.
Lori-iro our affection is shown
Not that our widow's mite was glorified
Be it, the heritage of them in six feet wouldn't be down
None to be blamed as it's a normal trend.
Come on dear beloved ones
To hear what the preacher is set to say
Rend your heart not as clothes to repentance
For all you do, you pay.
Oh! this world is not our home
Adieu!
Categories:
justitia, death, destiny, good night,
Form: Elegy