Long Suspecting Poems
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in the language of personal amplification
you'd think it was all a scam
to make you drop your guard
and play patty cakes with Evil
job 3 was to rearrange your molecules
into an actual you
capable of withstanding
the outcomes you generate
from a lack of detail
where science is not to be found
there is no other description that fits
praise the panoramic vista
just around the corner
it's all about the pivot points
so fat chance
among the exploding galaxies
minus the swashbuckling pistoleros and
armchair Romeos and
prisoners of doom and
fairytale living sacrifices
victory is not always a given
you have known this for years
when the paparazzi scribblers
were the Freedom Brigade
where your body parts
take on a life of their own
and deductions don't necessarily
insure your survival
and the mystery remains
job 4 is to better organize thoughts
the game of influence
is the game of influence of judgment
and in sum job 5 is to look at our expectations
and their reliance upon
the letters of the alphabet
separate inputs perceived as one
is an angel
allow me to present you
with the keys to the code
two eyeball pictures perceived as one
within the freedom to inquire
the fanatics want to stop time
that is all there is to it
in which case
a mild dose of persistence never hurts
vision is numbers is evidence
we suffer the memory of past volitions
many of them not our own
we have been engineered to be throttled
yah I took the long way home
much to the disgust
of every entity in the Universe
the list of culprits is long
you have been reading it
no surprise relief on the horizon
police could show up on my doorstep
at any suspecting instant
but the obvious comes easily to me
when I am uninhabited
that's what you get when
you stop trying to be appetizing
for those who cannot tolerate self mockery
there is a train load of pity
to add to the weight on your arms
when in doubt go for the learning
do for the learning
be for the learning
rampant imagination may be
a low grade ore
but the nuggets will blow your head to atoms
enjoy your nodule of security then
keep in mind it can quickly vaporize
in a new modality of immediacy
a traveling mosaic of instants
the next one looking back on the last
(to be continued)
From "Theater of Utter Charm"
Available on Amazon
My dad died in the mountains when I was six.
First words out of his mouth, a new boy, unknown to me.
How old are you now? Six.
So he just died? Maybe not. He is taking medicine, so he can go to work.
So he lives with you? Yes, when he’s not dead. He has a power arm with stones. The green ones make you go slow.
Green stones?
Yes.
The yellow ones make you jump.
He is jumping to my office door now, to demonstrate.
What do the blue stones do? I ask.
He laughs. They make people into animals.
The teacher has referred this child suspecting depression.
He is smiling widely at me right now, and I barely know him.
Could your dad make me a dog if I wanted to be a dog?
He stares at me. Then he turns and jumps back. No. You could be a monkey though.
What about an eagle? Could I be an eagle? I ask him. Maybe, he says, but you will have to wait until tomorrow.
I had to beat up Elliot’s dad, he told me.
Is this a grown up?
Yes.
And you beat him up?
His voice raises quite a few octaves. I had to, because he MURDERED me and that is NOT nice.
When did he murder you?
Last night, Silly.
It does not take a kindergartener long to get my number.
Who lives at your house? I ask him.
My mom, and my dad, and my baby sister.
Oh, you have a baby!
Yes, and she is seven.
Seven months?
Maybe.
Does she sit up?
No.
Can you carry her around?
No.
Can you hold her?
Sometimes.
He wants a piece of paper so he can draw a picture of Bobby, his best friend.
I get him a piece of paper.
And I need colors, he says.
I ask him which colors, and he wants blue, purple, red, yellow, and green.
I get them to him.
He draws a picture.
This is his arm, he tells me. It is a super hero.
The arm?
He shakes his head yes.
I keep secrets, he says.
What are they?
I am a super hero.
Have you saved people?
He nods.
How many?
Six.
Who are your friends in class?
I do not have any.
No one is your friend?
No.
Would you like one?
Yes, maybe my best friend.
What is your best friend’s name?
Bobby.
I did not know there was a Bobby in your class.
He is in the other class.
Mrs. F’s class?
Yes.
Would you like to have lunch in here with me and Bobby some time?
Yes.
Okay, we can do that.
Bobby is invisible he tells me.
I AM DANCING ALONG THE CORRIDOR OF LOVE.
As I write to you, family and friends have started suspecting perhaps I'm suffering from 'lovecamia' that is, the problem of not being loved as coined by me in my dictionary of love, first edition. The sudden and strange attitude of mine vindicates people's thought about me. Of course, if I were to be one of them I would also think towards the same direction. Conversely, it is only those who are emotionally and spiritually gifted like myself would understand the fact that, when a tailed third is dancing in the middle of the road the drummer is always at the corner. Hnnm! Òreke, who will I tell that, you're the secret drummer at the corner beating loudly the 'akuba' of love for me to dancing publicly like a sales girl in an MTN promo show? I'm dancing along the corridor of love!
Òreke, as a matter of sincerity, the perceptual profile of people has totally altered about me. people are thinking that I have gone beseck each time I stupidly laugh when us I ought not to. Now their songs have changed! They're now thinking maybe I'm under the influence of charm or I'm under spell whenever I exhibit that grotesque deed. Well, it isn't their fault. With enthusiasm I still carry the blame of love on my head like a basket of apple. I repeat, I'm dancing along the corridor of love!
Òreke, the love I have for you keeps spreading like corona virus in the sinful country. Òreke, in the organogram of my heart is your love seated at the topmost like the managing director of first bank PLC. I value the dimple on your cheek that shows when you laugh the way Airtel values customers. The narrow path between your two incisors can be liken to Cape town express way in South Africa. Look! As 'sango' values 'bata' drum, so also I value the diction of your sonorous words each time you open your mouth approximately to verbalize your nomenclature (emi òrekelewa!) In fact, I'm still dancing along the corridor of love!
Ultimately, òreke could you please give me a gap-toothed smile? And also tell me 'Yes I Do' now! Otherwise I will continue dancing along the corridor of love. I solemnly vow.
©Abdulfatai Ayodeji
#the living poet.
I want to tell you the story of my life . . .
I am a Shape Shifter and a Traveller, a girl of a different species,
In a moment, I can become anything I think of, and go anywhere;
My true physical appearance is a beautiful woman with long raven hair,
For a long time my gift was hidden from me, then one day I found out the truth.
My parents came from another universe, thousands of years ago,
And lived among mortals, no one ever suspecting their true nature;
Sadly even Shape Shifters cannot live forever and their time here ended,
Before their last gasp, they told me the truth and how to shift and go to places.
Of course, Shape Shifters are not new to this world but to travel is,
I am the only one left on the Earth, the only one left with this ability;
In a second, I am the majestic lion, or a green slithering snake hissing,
Perhaps a bird of prey, or a delicate butterfly drifting, a fish swimming gracefully.
In a thought I can be in deepest darkest Africa, then in Canada,
I can be a princess in Indian, or a little girl playing with her many dolls;
Even at times, I have become a rose for a day, or a tangled tree creaking,
I feel all the emotions of these shapes and all the heartbreak and all the sorrow.
Some may say, oh what an incredible gift to be able to be anything,
Even a star in the sky, twinkling, and no one suspects this of me at all;
I have no evil intention, although I could be evil, my species gentle in nature,
It is a lonely life, as I will live for a thousand years more, still I do love the beauty.
I could have any lover I desire and do, it is only for a short time,
The kisses and embraces and words whispered have to last me forever;
I have no future, just this endless shifting and travelling to beautiful places,
But it is not enough, I wish to find my own universe, and join my own species.
____________________________
March 21, 2016
Poetry/Narrative/A Beautiful Shape Shifter and Traveler
Copyright Protected, ID 16-770-583-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, A New Species,
sponsor, Anthony Slausen
Eighth Place
I’m sorry I never fit inside the rooms you gave me.
The walls bent inward,
doors swelled shut,
and I mistook silence for safety.
I’m sorry —
I’m sorry for every quiet collapse you never saw,
for the teeth I swallowed instead of words,
for becoming a stranger in the house you built.
I’m sorry —
I’m sorry for leaving them in the dark,
for the sharp edges I handed them as toys,
for not learning softness soon enough.
I’m sorry —
I’m sorry for being her doubted light,
for suspecting every kindness, as undeserved as may be,
for ever thinking her hands could be knives
when they only ever stitched me back together.
At least you have the leather cut by my own unsteady hands,
and the thread pulled through skin and paper.
Every seam knows my fingerprints,
every sheet carries the tremor of being chosen.
Your words fall into them
like rain into cupped palms —
I hold them,
ink-wet and breathing,
long after you’ve left the room.
I’m sorry for the mirrors I broke on purpose,
so I wouldn’t have to see the face
I already hated.
I’m sorry for the jars I hid underground —
breaths I never let go of,
fragments of days I left unlived,
songs I hummed only to the dark.
I’m sorry I never knew how to hold quiet without smothering it.
I’m sorry I never knew how to hold noise without flinching.
I’m sorry for every time I confused love with survival.
For staying in wreckage,
because leaving felt worse than burning.
I’m sorry I called myself stupid before anyone else could.
I’m sorry I rehearsed unworthiness so often
it became a prayer.
I’m sorry for falling in love with character,
for clutching uniqueness like a life raft,
for mistaking rescue for belonging.
I’m sorry for the softness that terrifies me —
for flinching at gentle hands,
because storms were the only language I learned.
I’m sorry for being unreasonable,
for knowing it,
and still not knowing how to stop.
I’m sorry for every apology
that feels like an exit.
I’m sorry for how often
I’ve written my own ending in my head.
I’m sorry this sounds like goodbye.
(Onam is Kerala’s state festival based on the belief of the annual visit of Mahabali, the legendary king of the land, now an occupant of the netherworld.)
I am Mahabali, the king who ruled the land of Kerala.
Now a Time Traveler from the netherworld.
I loved my land and my people as best as I could
With unstinted commitment and devotion,
I served my people and strived for their welfare.
They loved me in turn, never a protest was raised.
The state was in its glorious phase with peace and prosperity
Abounding all across the far reaches of my kingdom.
Every village and town, each nook and corner,
Rang with hearty cheers and songs of mirth.
Freedom and welfare were the hallmark of my reign.
With my fame escalating day by day, even gods grew jealous.
Never suspecting any fraudulence and not knowing,
It was Lord Vishnu who came to me as a Brahmin avatar,
And when asked for some land to do worship,
That could be measured in just three steps,
I granted the boy’s wish, being compassionate.
Soon he grew into mammoth proportions,
Covered the entire universe with his two steps!
I realized that the boy was Lord Vishnu in disguise.
Seeing that there was no more land left,
I bowed before the boy offering my head for the next step.
He pushed me to the netherworld, but with a boon,
To visit my land and my people every year.
I have been visiting my people all these years
But with each visit I have seen only decadence
My land, once the abode of peace and prosperity
Has now become one of disunity, corruption, war and violence
Sadly, I have resolved not to visit my land anymore.
This is my final visit with a warning to all my people;
“Learn from the past, and the endless tortures suffered
That instead of division, oppression and disharmony
You should find common ground to stand and thrive,
For in unity lies humanity’s joy and progress.
Leave behind greed and the mad lust for power.
Alter your course and heal the wounds of the earth.
Let love and peace guide you now and unto eternity.”
Because of you, I learned to love
Because of you, I learned to trust
It was you who showed me how to feel
Took my dreams, made them real
You showed me what it means
To act without any fear
And seize the moment, trust your heart
To live in love and act the part
I trusted you, I loved you
And believed that you loved me
And that was real, all I could hold
That was the only truth I could see
And then one day, my world fell
Came crashing down around me
A late night call, a lie was told
And I lost all trust I’d come to know
Then the anger, and the pain
The arguments ensued
I knew inside you were hiding
But still, I believed in you
I tried to hold you, was pushed away
Both in your heart and with hands
You wouldn’t let me love you
And I just didn’t understand
Still I tried, until you screamed
And said such ugly things
That I withdrew my heart from you
Because I couldn’t stand the pain
Then one day, without a word
I watched you drive away
I waited for you to return
But you left my life that day
I remember the fear I held for you
Not knowing where you were
Never once suspecting
You had run away to her
My heart shattered, my dreams all gone
Left me wondering what I’d done wrong
I took the blame, believed your lies
And a part of me inside had died
Truth be known, the love remains
Some things inside will never change
I still want to believe your lies
Yet too often you see me cry
Because of you, my heart is torn
Because of you, I live with doubt
Afraid to step too far alone
Still waiting for the truth unknown
Not trusting anyone or anything
From the loss of faith, remembering
All the promises made and vows unspoken
A heart destroyed, but a love unbroken
I don’t know anymore who I am
And I surely don’t know who you are
You’re not the man I once loved so much
All that remains of him is my broken heart
And it’s all because of you…
The sound of the word
Frightens me
The thought of it
Drains me
A thief of space
It visits you
When you least expect
It entertains itself
It severs the love
That binds people
un-suspecting-ly
Why not warn
Of your unwarranted arrival
It strikes fear into the mind
Eating deep
Into the core
Of ones system
Oh I wait for that day
When your demise
Will be heralded
Awaiting for your doom
Oh I wait
For the day the messiah
Will appear in the sky
Like a thief in the night
And put an end to you
What a glorious day
It will be
Your burial
Graced by the universe
To rejoice over you
The faceless assassin
Oh the kings arrival
Is what gives us respite
Cause he will wipe
Every sorrow away
No more pain,crying,sorrow
Your end will be announced.
What a day it will be
But be watchful
Ready to prevail
Eternally
Cause Death
And the grave
Shall herald a tormentor
For those who miss
The coming of the King
And torment his prisoners
The sight of that frightens
Me
Under a more cruel master
Then all hope will be lost
Cause the king
Would have taken up his own
Forever
The Anti-christ
Under the control
Of the tormentor
Shall rule the world
Without respite
for the "left behinds"
To regain their place
With the king
With their blood
They shall pay
Then they will plead
For the warm hands of death
It won't comply
Until the weary will
Give in
And sell their soul
Till eternity
Where they shall
Suffer eternal damnation
Till eternity
And the master of destruction
Shall reign supreme
Over those who turned away
From the saving grace
Of the Almighty which he gives
Without a fee but whose worth
Is beyond comprehension
And its value eternal
My golden dog,
two days after his death
I can still smell his fur
in my nose,
in my brain.
After frantic efforts,
we shared his last breath.
I watch the life leave
his eye.
His name was Cosmos and
I think there is a switch
on the spirally DNA
that's turned on more
for some than most.
Those that have it must beware
that it can take them
to their deaths.
Those that love them must be aware
that it can take them
to their death.
Cozzie's mother knew,
it is typical of the breed
to have the switch turned on.
She always held back a little perhaps
knowing where her genes
could take her.
I always sensed a certain sadness
as her doofus son bounced around
trying to please her,
please me,
please everyone!
Lick,licks, licks,
a thousand licks,
even for the cats he shared
a household with.
I think that his mother knew
where it would all end,
out on a walking trail
on a beautiful day,
doing what Cozzie love best,
pulling us all down the trail,
determined always to be first,
dutifully stopping at stop signs,
ready to take off
when given the "O.K".
There came a time in every walk,
that I didn't take seriously enough,
when he would say, "enough!",
and lay panting in the weeds,
embarrassed to be seen,
and we would wait,
until he was ready
to resume the lead,
apologetically wagging his tail,
for the momentary delay.
This was a normal day and
I trusted nature to set the boundaries
never suspecting that Cozzie's switch
was turned too high,
pushing him beyond endurance,
just to please.
The day came when his big body
collapsed in the weeds,
and he could not get up,
panting for his life,
and apologized to the end,
for his inability to please.
If only we could hold back those
with the Cozzie switch
and make them understand
that half a big heart
is enough.
STARSHIP SATOR AREPO*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sator Arepo is part of the Sator Square, an ancient Latin palindrome consisting of five words: Sator, Arepo, Tenet, Opera, and Rotas. It has been interpreted in various ways, often associated with magical properties and used as a charm for healing and protection throughout history."(Source: Britannica online)
It was the year two thousand eighty-five
when we boarded Starship Sator Arepo.
Astronauts are we, seeking adventures in the cosmic seas
while looking for rogue planets beyond the Milky Way.
3... 2... 1...Liftoff!
We hurled through space at the cosmic speed limit
traveling light years beyond our galaxy.
On day 35 it happened—a sea of stardust,
then a spark, then nothing but black emptiness.
We drifted aimlessly in the darkness, slowly suspecting
the space we’re traveling in is of a different sort
from what we thought whenever the word “space”
was decked out by our fantasies back on Earth.
For decades we wandered about in the inky crepuscle,
our interstellar distress messages unanswered,
surmising our drift was even deeper than we first believed,
that knowledge is blue naiveté, determined with measured perceptivity.
We now suspect that what we claim is space
and glassy clarity around Arepo’s hull
is not a black hole; it’s spirit, everlasting and impalpable.
We have strayed into spiritual seas.
I look out the cockpit window into the black nothingness.
Suddenly, there is a spark.
Then a sea of stardust.
And the universe begins again.
*Note: I published this poem at Poetry Soup in June 2025 (poetrysoup.com › poem › starship_sator_arepo_1740794STARSHIP SATOR AREPO) later deleting it. This is my original poem.