From me the wildest faculty,
Now quite normal,soon satanic
That should leave me the casualty
Of some End-Of-Time Titanic...
Not With Men on really Good Terms,
Indeed,partnering with his germs,
Satan strides in and its lent ears
For his pleading eyes: "Have no fears"
"Satan knows man makes a mistake
And has him tied to a big stake.
Note,for sure the difficulty
Of words finding in Britannic
To capture the Gross Novelty
Of what had become organic
Like in-the-rectum pricking worms
And scrotal-sac-domiciled sperms
I plan to self split into two,
Satan Lion share plus my right shoe:
Glad release of A Champion's three...
Man:One! Let him not hang on tree.
Igbo Sex Words I have observed
Are High-Low Tone steady bearers:
To ‘High-Low’ markedly reserved,
Save in ears of tone-deaf hearers…
All her words for Male Genital
Picked by ears not from hospital
And Females’ one’s ears digital;
To Proof subject in Capital
As though her sex words tactical
Even word for Scrotal Hernia
When pronounced and one’s ears are near:
The word in question her ‘ibi,’
In tone a rhyme with farm’s ‘Ubi’;
Also, her word for ‘The Hip,’
When it drops from one’s testing lip;
The word for “Buttock’ included,
Just her word for ‘Breast’ excluded...
I dare say “Wonderful language,
Since her Sex Words The Sex Act stage,
Before Sex human strength quite high
Like their First Syllables are high
And Ali Baba killed goes low
Just as their Seconds are all low.
blind
folded
told to try
realize the unseen
with
a pene
stick i whack
at a scrotal piñata
from
which
forth drips
fluid candy
It comes roaring busting like thunder, warning every spectator
Carrying the smiles carrying the laughter, parameter of hope
People gather to sing and swing, a spring of continuity and good
All the stinking scrotal carriers, emptied by mere castrations
Many thinK to eat and dance, two think to contact and merry
Every morning will be
glad for its noon
Not a drying debris of a
forgotten lagoon
Where fishes fret,
streamline too soon
To swim deeper like us
cowering in hustle;
Mosquitoes chance on a
scrotal hair- to shuttle,
To srike is di-
pain.Labourous fund's
fumble
Upon the rind and egg-
shell. And proud yolk
Aloofly dance, wiggling
slippery tail, chalaza folk;
Warm under pointy
squeeze of teat of milk
Puppies thrive. A pouch
opens to hold
Stuffs from a refined
periphery. Was it mold
The thrifty twilit and
stories of old told?
So this pouch remains
warm to our body:
We who its benevolence
steadfastly try, study
While we err and pride
swerve us, gaudy.
-c-Onyebuchi, 2011.
3rd Place in Brian's 'Any
2011 Poem' Contest.
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