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Best Poems Written by Joseph Ikhenoba

Below are the all-time best Joseph Ikhenoba poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Joseph Ikhenoba Poem

Cladestine

THE CHIMNEY
The once fine air, refreshens with dust
Between the village horizon and crest
Since the sailing of a death chemical chimney.

Young green plants seedlings growing on slope
Are left to sip these  carcinogenic dusts, sapling
And entwined between vague horror.

A river source, from Stone Age
Which flows across diverse tributaries
Serving the peasants on their farmland is poisoned.

Four volumes of epithet, like Magna Carta
Have they dispatched across the ocean
To the Emperor, who drinks refined water.

On deaf ears fell those laments
Empty promises stacked upon ridges
Brazened with irksome polices.

There lies a mother and her apple
Confined to a red, long stretcher
Spitting out venomous blood, gushing.

The bourgeoisie of this death chimney
Had threatened to lay low
The figurine of an opposition.

What colour of sky remains left?
For the helpless peasants on their land
When their green plants have all wiltered.

THE EMISSIONS
They have sailed to their rivers mouth
To collect the last drop of moving waters.

With their jar tugged upon their heads
Supported by strong, thick wraps.

Drop after drop, one after the other
Their jars are filled to brim, unfettered.

Those once clear waters are heaped 
With Marie Curie debris of emissions.

The smell of it chokes between nostrils
Sinews and veins.

But Curie linings are white
A discovery  to save mankind.

Their only hope, Lazarus last crumbs
Or they dehydrate in scorching sun.

With seedlings on their tired backs
They climbed mountain tops, heaving.

Hoping someday, the sun will shine
Shine upon their red pale faces.

BREXITISM
The common faith of man is hanging 
On tilted ropes.

Tickling by the dunces of hour
Mingling among ashes, sour. 

These hopeless ropes are robed
With helpless, seamless rods.

Encasted by some supercilious heavy weights
Who felt Europe is sucking their heights.

That blonde ruffle neck optimist
Waggling his neck like a bell fry

Consider less the thoughts of many Lazaruses
Taxed by heavy fines.

With allies, close fiendish weeds
Growing defiantly among the scripts.

The grappling end of their tail
Will be met with rebuked tale Brexitism.

CONSTITUTION
Where are the grey hound hair
That scribbled the commandments of men.

Whose noses bridge across four forlorn
Constituting nuisance.

They scribbled them in their inner rooms
To benefit their heinous acts.
 
SUICIDE
I've seen him breezed, head buried
Among foggy peats.
With faint smiles captured by heat.

Sauntering round the garden, trembling
As if lost in dark shades, grumbling
For a miracle or two upon, stumbling.

An old folk in his prime reminiscing
How the bitter spill of life
Has forsaken the last hunch of strive.

Gave him an olive, though without a penny
For same fate abound with us
The little drops of worsened misery.

The head has ignored the feet
Wandering in this lines of heat
Striated with stripes and beat.

That same morning, chirps of birds
Heard the sad news on tabloids
The wanderer  is tilted to fan blades; suicide.

Tear drops, drop tears filled my sockets
Like pool of river washing the shore
What a life, a mysterious end.

TWISTED
Twisted fate fade my faceless face
With feign, faded, fameless flakes
Fecunded by second thoughts
Of shapeless happenstance, rots. 
To mark the memory of thick bark lace.

The elergies between the gongs and flutes
Resonates across the sole tide water pace
Riveting through streamlined edges
Bordering macadam of streams
Across the shoulders of whims.

Death, the patches of fallen decayed leaves
Injected with toxic venoms flux of auxins
Sombre my mind with undaunted memories
Of calumnies, whims and caprices
Which our hands refute to breach.

Saw cold ices of blood between their eyes
In a moonlight stance
Dredged at sight, middle of rivalry
Feeding on bread crumbs, gun shots
Hoping to sail home unbridled.

Details | Joseph Ikhenoba Poem

In Memoriam of Whitney Adeniran

I only have a photograph left.
A preserved moment in time
To serve as a reminder of how things were 
When you and I were present.

In Paradise, I can see your bright eyes.
Every day when I awaken.
I converse and embrace your photographs.

I'm not sure how much. 
I mourn you being here.
My spirit is always heavy, never stops.

I frequently hear people say. 
That time will make the pain go away, 
But if I'm being completely honest, I pray it won't.

Those past hurts.
To have witnessed your theft
Due to the carelessness of Chrisland School.

However, the light is obscured.
Under a cloud of night
Without a single speck of a blue sky

I remembered you coming to my room.
Rubbing my mascara on your beautiful face
And wearing my shoes facing the mirror.

I remembered how you make us proud.
Bloosoming the first flower
Of my youthful age.

You will never get to wear those beautiful dresses.
You will never get to dine with us again.
You will never get to achieve those dreams.

 I need to feel you constantly,
To get me through the day.
I loved you so very much.
Before i go astray.

The angels came and took you,
That really wasn't fair.
They took my one and only first fruit,
My future life, my fountain of youth.

If only they had asked me
If I would take your place.
I would have done so willingly,
Leaving you in this world to grace.

You should have had so many years.
While I watch your life unfold,
And in the midst of this,
To put you through!

I hope you're watching from above,
To avenge your death
And let there be no doubt at all,
I really do love you.

Details | Joseph Ikhenoba Poem

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!

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In Memoriam of a Broken Family

Remembered the 1940s, the season of the holocaust.
Six million irons, disjointed from their ores
Were forged in bottomless pits of anvils.
The swarming bees in a ceremonious buzzing
Were uncoupled from their hives through Reichsbahn.
However, a tensed, stale wind of discord swivel
On the creeks of Dachau, Auschwitz, Treblinka
And other shores of darkness.
Never shall the bloody sky efface again
The innocent faces of seedlings in chains
Suddenly transformed into smoke under a silent sky.
For not four thousand micrographic scrolls
Of antique Pharaoh, hieroglyphics could symbolize
The petrifying carrions glutted by black vultures.
Two rivers parted by mountainous fiend
In no time of twilight 
Laid eyes into the seas.
Two branches glued to tree trunks
Would in a bit of an eyelid
See those white balloons.
The mockingbird is set among the pigeons
And doors of golden rainbows
Crept in the fog.
Everywhere, the white dove’s skull
Is at the bottom of the picture
While the frogs and wasps play their lyres.
But, the wild hyacinths grew among Linden
The lion; among hummingbirds
With every twist, Lynx's eyes.

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The Blackbird of Iran

The blackbird wants to sing a song.
What song?
A song of freedom
But its fragile beak is tied.

The blackbird lives on the Island. 
Where the Aubrey's tongue 
Is tonged with coal.
And black veil worn upon her head.

When she chirps, it's unheard.
When she spittle, it's waveless.
She's chained to the bottomless pit.
With flashes of lashes on her feet.

She sounds the horn to be free.
From the yolk of her black veil.
The lyre to be who and what she's
And not what the sky paints her hues.

The blackbirds ask.
Is the black veil not worse?
To barrage of bullets
Or hail and brimstone.

Is it not a totem of submission?
Under the guise of religion
Stamp of chauvinism and bigotry.
Or forged as a tool for Eros?

Iran, the blackbird's drum is gyring.
But the eagle's ear is deaf.
The mountain smoke is searing.
But the hyena cannot perceive.

Details | Joseph Ikhenoba Poem

Happiness Like Water

It's morning on the seaway.
Snows had gathered in drops and hops.
Prepared to dance to mellifluous flute.
But the sky is dark.

Everywhere, the tone is clear.
Human faces are strewn with fear.
And the rivers are muddled with tears.
And no happiness here.

However, we owe ourselves golden coins.
Of love, forgiveness, and trust
We owe the white sky a white dove.
Of which there's no dialogue.

Blood Brothers, without our happiness like a river
Or our feathers like the beaver
We will sail deep into the abyss.
Abyss of no return.