I'm falling into a sensual place,
with the most alluring look on my face.
What tender, powerful feelings enthrall,
while immersed in passion I have it all.
Dark mirrors of the soul whisper soft things.
Warm fantasies fly as hearts dance and sing.
Fingertips contour ev'ry wanton zone,
placing two lovers atop passion’s throne.
Their bodies’ mesh, like oiled serpents entwine;
melting into this universe sublime.
Bodies gesture wild, voices moan and sigh;
raptures erupt as intense pleasures cry.
Lover's minds languish on Paradise gained;
blissful impressions are all that remain.
Filled with the power of love’s magic touch;
lost in emotions that are craved so much.
Embracing sweet memories gently made,
that dance in two souls and never shall fade.
There’s no better place for my heart to fly,
than to her caress that sends me so high.
A glimpse at romance I’m given today;
what my eyes behold takes my breath away.
If I had my own well-oiled yellow submarine
I would keep it virginal, completely pristine
Every year I would give it a fresh coat of paint
Touching it up each time it looked a teensy bit faint
I would sing Beatle’s songs and travel around
Saving shipwrecked people in the water who almost drowned
I would learn to play a banjo and a piano too
Traveling from Alaska to Timbuktu
Her red painted nails
ripped into more than just a toned oiled back
it also ripped into a soul
slicing through the future's eye
sand slowly slipping
through the hour glass of time
her hand slipping in mine
it matters, when searching
for the wonders and the riches
we find
sapphire dreams pinned upon the wall
mouths melting into the scene
we don't need to scream
when it's time,
we'll open up the cage
then the prettiest bird flies free
I dive headfirst into Masonite’s wood fibers
compressed baked & primed
blending boundaries of life,
lightning and death’s
cycle of pain in paint
as a path to tranquility treading
through inner turmoil of vibrancy
A hummingbird in her shell breaks away
the triaged torment
for a moment, quietus cabaret on
cacti untamed canvas
conveys an observer in one’s
own collard greens
Tehuana traditional gown
from the Isthmus of Tehuantepec
ripe reds & burnt orange
Oiled in, the gods Xolotl,
guard dog portrayed
Aztec god & fertility goddess
Motherly milky way
flanking figures,
a fiery orb of the sun
& the cool, silvery moon
dualities of balance
Fresco muralist Diego Rivera
cuddled infantile by Kahlo,
adorns a frontal lobe’s
opened third eye
& wears Buddha’s mouth
apprises of oriental wisdom
both his & hers
naïve folk art
enveloped in a cosmic
love embrace of the universe
Late night revellers passing by
Enthralled as they look to the sky
The stars are twinkling, the moon aglow
And nightingales sing in sweet tempo.
Arm in arm lovers swoon to their tune
Hearts entwined in a boom-giddy-boom
Songsters join in happy rejoicing
No doubt they have well oiled voicing.
Some girls rushing homeward in haste
Knowing they’d be getting home far too late
Parents anxiously walking the floor
Waiting for daughters to knock the door.
Slowly pavements become barren, bare
Nothing stirs, bar from the cool night air
All is peaceful as the revellers retreat
And only the wild life pace the streets.
They changed their flags before sunrise,
and called it weather.
By noon the microphones were blooming
like plastic flowers in dust.
Reporters asked straight questions;
answers arrived sideways,
oiled and smiling,
wrapped in patriotic ribbon.
A man declared himself the nation,
the worker, the owner,
the speech, the applause,
the hand that signs its own praise.
He wore green glasses in famine
and praised the harvest.
He wore dark glasses in fire
and admired the shade.
Truth stood outside barefoot,
waiting to be invited in.
No one heard her knock
above the cutlery of ambition.
Wherever the platter was fullest,
there rolled the faithful.
Principles were folded neatly
and kept for ceremonial days.
Someone asked why the hen
still sat upon the egg.
The minister promised progress,
a cushioned chair by evening.
We laughed, because laughter
is cheaper than revolt.
We laughed, because the room
was wired to record our silence.
And still, every season,
the chair arrives before justice.
Witnesses abound, like hidden treasures under
The earth —and like common vices upon the
Face of the earth, contorted with the hammer-stare
Of frozen shafts of light descending fast on a
Warmless street.
Good and bad are linked with the chain-graft
Of our wobbling times —a stinking, old robe
Turned inside-out.
The smell of stale beer creases the raised brows.
Witnesses grieve ceaselessly.
And from their hidden abodes —
Mere rubbles among fallen clumps of oiled hair —
And with eyes glazed and searching,
They see noses run alongside weeping eyes.
Yam that got a permanent prick
Yam in contention with its harvest
Got it fat; removed with a flick
But diet is the concern of an agriculturalist
Consumer sees beyond
While naming its price
Got to examining its structure and bond
Which communicates enough raunchy
Yam that got a Chelsea buttock
Yam of false human attribute
A large buttock a stomach so paunchy
Rejected by no means a devise
Woman sees nothing
While peeling
Just to hurry
Not to make dinner goes well with sorry
Those yams grow in a fertile soil
With no or little toil
Such are in no time boiled
Better serve oiled
The pace setter
The home of agriculture
If i would ever be a bettor
Ibadan stands out in horticulture
Propaganda well well oiled
Slander all of us embroiled
Like a ripe vipers nest coiled
Dander and our blood boiled
For whatever whatsoever we've toiled
Whenever forever wherever spoiled
Don't pander the snipers must be foiled
Or our society like Rwanda will be soiled
The lure of lucrative jobs
In foreign lands
Excites desperate souls
As they see a better future
Than in their homeland
Recruitment agencies
Operate from shady joints
Promising dream jobs
With perquisites to match
For these gullible customers
Human traffickers
Pose as messiahs
Enticing innocent candidates
From rural areas
With tempting proposals
Once on board,
They exploit the poor souls
By confiscating
Their travel documents
And short-selling their skills
They are not petty criminals
It is a well-oiled machinery
That perpetrates
And perpetuates
Such atrocities on migrant labour
Many agencies chip in
To run this recruitment mafia,
Negligent government agencies
And casual outlook of courts
Add to their woes
The hapless victims
Pay a heavy price
And get sucked into the vortex
Of a vicious circle
They did not bargain for
oiled walnut desk
ornate fancy vintage
gift from a great aunt
a hundred years old
too small to be utilized
homes gorgeous landmark
The man in the elevator was a plump rounded one,
The buttons of his suit almost coming undone.
He chortled with his might when I walked in,
His askewed moustache fluttering like a bee.
Whipping out a comb he brushed his hair barely made,
His oiled strands of four plastering on his head.
Next came the perfume which he sprayed with gusto,
While I sneezed and choked right in tow.
Pulling the belt barely up his tummy,
He cleared his throat quite like a dummy.
Off I ran into the closing doors with a slam,
Before his paunch held them back - followed by an "At your service ma'am!".
Perfection sharpens thy tongue ere thy teeth,
closed door finds a thief’s presence,
oiled talents wear a lifetime,
advocate guilt giving way to the lure,
review robs the core
I am that I am
a thief, soulless, yet art I occupied.
Tiptoe the finest, fine twine, needle-eyed thread
and a glitzy sequined clasp, tiny
tweezer-tie it finger-tip fast with a nuanced knot -
my, my, the pedantic perfection of the master jeweller.
I have the servile subtlety of thick thumbs,
all clumbsy carpals, my fudging finesse
better suited to a beanie'd stevedore, loud lugging
heavy-haired harbour rope to ship-secure
a brutish lump in the line.
Tongue tied up, spun on my own silver yarn
like a crystal jeweller, giddy with champagne giggles,
dizzy on a spinning chandelier high strung from the pressed ceiling.
Oh non, pas moi! Mine is more an oiled elegance,
heavy handed, ham-fisted like a scabby wharf rat,
chased and unchaste.
Dextrous in the strangest ways -
gutsy and glamourous,
ours is a nuanced life of grunting grime
with the briefest flashes of bedazzled dance.
Borrowed the neighbors chainsaw
Oiled it, sharpened the blades
Never used one before
Except that time I tried to fillet a fish
Had to trim my tree
Each branch trespassed next door
Already ate their criticisms for lunch
Dang! How do you start this thing?
Better read the instructions again
Life erupts from inanimate arbor barber
Usually, this job would be a breeze
Except, I sliced through the limb and...
Severed my left shinbone
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