Painting on the easel,
The things we do apparently aren’t right.
The taste of bitter sweetness and the smell of diesel,
They say my last name sounds mediaeval,
Well,
Alright.
I see the world through the goggles of a pessimist,
We might be feeble.
The winds whirled and caught my kite,
Release my grip and forgo retrieval.
What’s mine isn’t mine by right,
It’s just how we see it through,
I’m talking about life.
About my life,
The pain we’re free to view as truly painful.
Poetry and that feeling to write,
Writing truly shouldn’t feel this shameful.
A dutiful soldier who finds poetry too graceful,
A stoic paladin whose words ride alongside my brother,
The Sky.
An angelic family tie.
My brothers laugh travels on by,
A Paladin’s poetry needn’t make you cry.
Categories:
mediaeval, absence, anxiety, confusion, internet,
Form: Free verse
The selfsame page echoes wordlessly like barren lord
To write in characters of light, Oh! bucket headed bard
Understand, art-like slumber must set-the soul free
Beyond time's fabric walls, in boundless circles waterski
Across the black besmeared realms of dreary night
Where passion cleaves darkness with fanged light.
Tread forth into the beauteous lustre of things
And hark, how sweet the drunken nightingale sings
Cheering languid Cynthia and the slow bursting bud
Oh! come empty bosomed lad
Let the primeval tongue of deft nature teach
You how to fold forms into voluptuous speech.
The sun through verdure fields has unrolled
His sweet placid beam of burning gold
And how gaily whispers the roaming scented wind
Blowing voluptuous strains pleasant than sevenfold lutes combined
Revealing to the dancing emerald leaves galore
Divine secrets hoarded in mediaeval days devoid of law.
When the throbbing heart of nature tunes the soul
Grand refined wisdom is your to attain
Which nor cognitive lore nor pedantic clouds of scroll
Can ever shower upon the mortal train.
Categories:
mediaeval, art, integrity,
Form: Free verse
Wishing
Steeled against the bitter winter chill,
I sit and wish, and in my wishing see
That fate, if only fate could feel, might still
Reverse the course of paths that shouldn’t be.
Icy fingers grasp at every thread
Of my existence, halting life’s cruel pace
Which time and I both share. And so we dread
The spring, who’s coming might reveal the face
Of destiny that somehow passed us by.
And so, as in some mediaeval rhyme,
Beneath a sparkling forest brook you lie;
Eyes open, staring, unaware that time
Can change the feelings you will always miss,
Since death withheld it’s long and lingering kiss.
Categories:
mediaeval, lost love,
Form: Sonnet
The Bedouins, refugees from other times
The places were they live are still the same
But other people founded States and took
The deserts where they roamed ,ancestral nooks.
Ther little tents of black on the hillsides
Have not changed from Mediaeval times
But now they are like flies, unwanted guests
Who will know the tremor in their breasts?
Cruel is the heart of humankind,
The Commandments spat on daily by men blind.
The Bedouins of our spirit need to be
Allowed their space, allowed their deserts free
Nomads of the desert,Jesus Christ,
Nomad of the darkness in our minds
Categories:
mediaeval, allegory, perspective, political, race,
Form: Free verse
Colourful fanciful with myriads of mirage
Hidden in public glare
The more you look the less you see
Opened in hidden trenches
The more you dig the less you uncover
Clothed more in shades of grey
Preying on the public treasury
Fleecing the unassuming with
Alacrity akin to mediaeval thieves
Leaving the leaching wound
Letting the trickles cascade down
You masquerade it in soothing words
That is suit to the garbage trash
Giving rhetorics instead of economics
That will deliver from this doldrum
Time is of the essence for action
Every ticking tock of the time
Count and should be made to count
As these masquerading marauders
Needed a dose of reality
Isaacola AA
@newnaija
Categories:
mediaeval, allusion, analogy,
Form: Dramatic Monologue