Nights
On a cold, dark, dearth autumn night,
While I wrestle, nestle faithfully near my window pane
Over a long memory of callous and precarious heart break from a callus pain
While I stayed, stared at the glow worm's luminescence on a fig, at curved ends of their tails
Nearly torpid, turbid, toxic. Momentarily heard a herd of thud on my third roof
Conjure the golden, gladden owl, often of night companion, on trodden, burdened rave.
Proclaim, grinned, grunted in ominous more
Reciting my name Admore.
Dearie! My crematorium cranium insignificantly recast last day of February
And each last subsidiary day cast its memory on my burglary
Reminiscing that cluttered, clumsy stairs of irony
That gyred and gyred across the grievous sky
Across the pour, on pore of my poor friend Paul
Who had sojourn to hunt, haunt a lousy ant
Hope he returns soon before his son, Sean sees the sun.
Hope this or alack!
Or never more.
Then, I cast my torch, my stars train of fire, on the rusty roof.
To see this dreadful creature hoofing on my dusty hoof
Be it the golden owl. Oh, I spare not!
With chalice mixed with nectar and gall.
Or be it the blind black Bertsimas bat?
Heavens knows won’t await the orange cypress to flower.
As the trodden, torchy light glimmered on this dreary creature.
That had been deafening and dabbling the drowsy night.
Admore! Admore! Wake up! Wake Up! Mother taps
Holy Heavens! All a dream, all a dream. Nothing more!
Copyright ©
Joseph Ikhenoba
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