Long Elegy Poems
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Call it a requiem, dirge or elegy,
Lament, funeral song of eulogy,
On failing, dying light and last hurrah,
Maybe the last polite vah vah!
Once, a focal point of a family,
A device that brought it close together,
That not ere long a radio used to be,
Family fulcrum, pivot or tether!
Ere, youngsters were hooked to open-air games,
Later on replaced by digital ones
That made the able-bodied walking lames,
Each hooked on to a personal brand of funs.
Time was when the centre of gravity
Was food and frolics on a dining table,
That the Idiot Box had usurped; pity
That meal was munched with the fair served on cable!
One would recall, when ads for condoms came,
When sanitary naps ads became bold
In front of whole family, shorn of shame,
Children looked down on food plates, feeling cold.
Later on when times changed, unlike the old,
Children would look like: we-know-it-all-cool,
You were the prime piece of estate to hold,
You made, TV, an incredible pull.
The changing times then took a giant’s stride
When entertainment was no more social,
But more and more individual, personal,
You no more were, well, a newly-wed bride.
No doubt you too tried to be somewhat smart,
Yet, failed to compete with PCs and phones
That grew smarter, closer to users’ heart,
What can be done when changing times change tunes?
Today you’re far from your olden glory,
You try your hard to imitate smart phones,
Follow trodden treads, eyes tired and bleary,
O social outcast that house-corners owns!
Just one tap ah varied channels to change,
Enlarge a visual, or volume in mind,
One can command things of a varied range,
Alas, future does not seem to you so kind.
O pale shadow of your olden grandeur,
You no more are than a mere magnifier.
__________________________________________
Requiem |01.11.2021| elegy
Poet’s note: It may still be rather too early, but good old Idiot Box is on the way out. Here’s a requiem, maybe writ rather too early.
like a mysterious fly
in my soup
a bad feeling
I can't coop
stumbling upon my hope
casting the dark clouds
upon my head
took away my daily bread
and inflicting me pain
on my bed
a bad omen
from a cursed bird
an evil tidings to change
my great mood
for a violent victory
will do me no good
and a bad soil
can't grow me a flower
neither can the bad weather
a meal of poverty
certainly taste bitter
antagonizing my destiny
for I am a captive
yearning to be free
what the oppressor
don't want to see
the abomination of a just course
is a sacrifice for the gods
a victim to the system
an unwanted rhythm
a hunted soul
for the beast
and a prey for its feast
he had demons of despair inside of his head
he was living an existence that was not spirit-led
many saw his depression and his violent sorrow
but none could possible perceive the plans he had for tomorrow
he purchased some guns and then returned to that school
he killed 31 people and his anger was the fuel
why? why? why did he do this senseless act?
what? what? what in character did he lack?
31 innocent people were unaware of the coming danger
destined to die by the actions of a familiar stranger
they reported he left a suicide note
but does anyone care what he had wrote?
now 32 families will stand at a grave site's cross
trying to make some sense out of this terrible loss
32 families today destined to cry
and no one really knows the reasons why
Broken love, what a sight to see,
The heartache and pain, so hard to be.
A love that once was so strong and true,
Now lies broken, what can we do?
The tears that fall, the hurt that's deep,
The pain that lingers, that won't let us sleep.
The sadness that takes over our lives,
The broken pieces that won't fit right.
We try to mend it, but it won't heal,
The broken love, that we can't conceal.
We try to talk, but nothing works,
The broken love, that still hurts.
The memories that haunt us still,
The broken love, that won't be fulfilled.
We can't forget, we can't move on,
The broken love, that's all gone.
Her eyes were never dry
Since she was born she would always cry
No matter what kind of lie I would tell
She would see right through me, a smile she didn't sell
I don’t blame her for when her lips fell
She knew the world was aware of our pain
She knew nobody cared about evils reign
She knew nobody cared about every body
that laid lifeless on the streets
She knew…
So I understand
In her precious young heart
Knowledge of the world there was that few men had
Even though she knew it could get her killed she just couldn't stand
When justice wasn't served
When her mothers killers were free
And we get something no human deserves
I ask her please smile
The pain will last just for a little while
(Aborted attempt to mend fences, -
which version overly pedantic for
her minimal leisure/down time as
full time student at University.)
no...no...no...this tree
mend dose electronic
endeavor of mine, ya see
NOT predicated on
violating sworn
confidentiality, which re:
maned wolf heartedly intact NEVER
your privacy broached
only with therapist (every Monday
at 2:00 p.m. I see, who pre
sides in Collegeville), nee
NOR didst "mother" Abby
give spoiler alert, an agree
meant made, but
this feeble ambition,
sans non rhyme
mark hubble epistle
awoke within me
to risk, (perhaps
getting rebuffed, viz from me
to thine eldest daughter thee),
Versailles till young lady, asper
your lifelong lee
gee in of ill feelings toward dis
dada festering, figuring, key
ping raw emotions
within our respective
most sacred soulful place, this
my atypical modus operandi
i.e. theatrical poetical,
and metaphorical jee
git sue sparring
move minus referee
encapsulating dudgeon -
unintentionally
inflicting gushing, streaming
widening gulf,
and/or long fostering,
when these 21st
century days witness
littoral breach comb
ming dramatic hee
ving (akin to hurry
cane Florence's
club footing glee
fully bearing, dub
bling, and fuming “she”
bore down with
full might) free
lee wreaking havoc as if
both of us viewing
the other as an
unknown fierce arc enemy
thus, uncontrollable non
Joe king) paternal
feeling constricted wherein wry
ting on the figurative brick
wall (near the "FAKE"
Firth of Forth),
in good times found why...,
The tirade of the tyrant
Has subdued the trident
Gloating over the viceroy
It's the blood and sweat of
victory.
The subdued voice of defeat
Veiled in unapologetic defiance
Shedding secret tears of what could
have been?
What would have been in the hood
It's the defeat drenched in blood and
sweat.
The table is set for dinner,
Choice meats, mutton, chicken beef....
This is a parade of victory for the price
Of blood and sweat of the masses.
The meat is gorging on, the flesh is stuck between the teeth
A pain in the mouth, transversing the whole
polity
The bodies of the dead nationals crushed
A vivid reminder of the price of victory
Of shed blood and sweat.
(Written on the 15th April 2015, after the 2015 Nigerian Presidential elections)
Quiet man of few words
Dreamer and free spirit
Curious and passionate
Tinkering and inventive
Creative and hardworking
Nothing came easy
Worked for everything he ever got
Lived life wholeheartedly
And mostly on his own terms
Dedicated father
Devoted husband
A full life but hardly long enough
To enjoy some last easy years
He loved to say
He were leading the good life
He earned everything he got
He planned a peaceful life
At one with the outdoors
Working the land
Reaping the fruits of labor
Aching muscles and content heart
Well earned smile
As each sun set
At the end of it all
Finally rewarded with
The peace he always wanted
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~A SIMPLE MAN~ 2020
AP: 3rd place 2020
My chest holds echoes none can hear,
A hush of thoughts that won’t appear.
What once was warm now drifts like mist,
A weight unseen, too dense to lift.
Each fracture blooms a quieter scar,
Where bitter seeds still grow afar.
No shore, no flame, no sense of tide—
Just vacant halls I roam inside.
By day I wear a borrowed face,
By night I vanish into space.
Thorns have grown where roses laid,
And joy, like wind, has slipped away.
I feel the pull to slip below,
To whisper what I’ll never show.
My voice is dust; it meets no ear—
A silent scream no one can hear.
You shimmer still within my dusk,
A faded gleam in memory’s husk.
I dream we speak as once we did—
Before the cold began to bid.
No bitterness could take your place;
You linger deep, a shadow’s grace.
But where you stood, now hollow lies—
A soul grown thin beneath the skies.
One truth remains, untouched by time:
A trace of you, forever mine.
A tether neither blade nor night
Could sever from this ghostly light.
Am I undone, or just concealed?
A mask of calm, a truth unsealed.
Not hate, nor wrath, I seek to wield—
Just peace in ground that’s never healed.
The tales of joy and sorrow, pain and grace,
Are etched within the lines upon the face.
The laughter lingering in a quiet space,
The love that time can never displace.
Now rest descends like stars in velvet skies,
A peaceful calm that soothes the weary mind.
The soul prepares to lift and softly rise,
Leaving the weight of years behind.
A long life’s journey finds its final spark—
The whispered echo, soft in the dark.
I can’t let them
Become foggy
Looking at them through glasses
That are smoggy
Talking of them with thoughts
That are groggy
Hiding in sentiment
Senseless and soggy
What name can I give
The silence now they are gone
The radio with nothing on?
What name can I give
The realization of the stage
Where I have reached middle age?
What name can I give
The wish to meet them again
Somewhere, somehow, somewhen.....?
But Please God I’ll have
A long life
With my wonderful wife
Just as they had
With each other
My father and my mother
A pity it was
That the two of them
Never saw
The two of us
Married
But at least the two of them
Saw the two of us
Together
Imagine all four on Howth heather
Under clouds of silver lining
All our wedding rings shining
All amazed by the warm weather
We talk until twilight
Then we take the picnic basket
To the 31 bus
And return to the house
But it never will be
Mum, Daddy, my wife and me
But I won’t be greedy
When I think of the needy
I am perfectly content
With my wife alone
Though the others are gone
What name can I give
This poem written without shame
To which I slowly came?
Satisfaction was my aim
From it I got that same
God gave me a tongue of flame
Feelings at last expressed
At least I did my best
This poem at last became
But still I can’t give it a name