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Dowell Oba Poem
Thick white clouds
Retracing posture
Atop the layers of earth;
Foggy shrouds of white
Overclouded landscape
Clogging the sunlight
In blurry unclearness.
In brown faded bushes
Lies inhalations of dryness,
Catchy like the gasoline
In simple lit strikes
On matchboxes;
Spreading fierce fires
To four cornered angles
On grassy fields.
From silty bits of soil
Hovers clouds of dust,
Distributed casually
By several printed steps
Of slippers and rotating air.
The echoes of the wind
Screams with concurrent whirl,
Stirring up particles
In fiery harsh voices.
Innermost in the terrain
Glares cracking every way,
As the dryness sucks away
Final surviving drops of moist,
From pores of skin surfaces
And wooden doors.
Thence, in customary shrinking
Of shriveling leaves and bushes
Prowls the reptiles, fleeing away
In untiring searches
For cooler comforting abodes,
Resting forevermore
To the swift slashing cutlass
Of the cautious hunter.
Copyright © Dowell Oba | Year Posted 2011
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Dowell Oba Poem
I was born in a time
When the thrills of a thriller
Did move the bricks
Of the thickest of walls.
I grew in an era
When the dynasty of an empire
Did expand to farthest of lands.
I adapted to a phenomenon
When the existence of a legend
Did drown the fame of mortals.
A fame in immortality
Bearing the impenetrability
Of Achilles himself,
Destined to march
Through the walls of Troy.
I twisted to the strings
Of a guitar, twanging
Spontaneously in my head,
In moves of invisibility.
I was opportune to appear
In a time, when the conquest
Of one king, did crest
Long lasting tattoos
In the hearts of many.
I was fascinated in a time
When the life within a man
Did blossom young,
As he lived unaffected
By the fading of time.
I lingered in an era
When the voice of one man
Could unify the sections
In a complex world.
I flowed in his guidance,
Dined in his glory
As though I existed
In his peak of enthronement,
His conferment of Grammies.
Bedazzled by his flexibility,
I was blessed by his power
To rein in anointed glory,
Unending immortality.
I was born in an empire
Governed by a king;
The king of pop,
A king in the world,
Father of offspring
As multiple as stars.
Electrified by a star,
There shall never be another;
Another motion slider,
Another shining star.
And though he passes on,
I shall live to declare
That I was born in a time
Ruled by a legend,
Guided by an immortal,
A world of Michael Jackson.
Copyright © Dowell Oba | Year Posted 2009
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Dowell Oba Poem
Blaring grinding blares thy engine
In mending together humanity’s ails,
Flickering light shines thy mender
In shining some light in humanity’s ails.
Sacrificial lamb in mending thy breaks
In little a price for sweats consumed,
Hearing impairment, a risk to come
In shining some light to humanity’s ails.
Shielding thy eye from blind man's woe
Lest an error to move with sticks,
Shielding thy hands from animal’s woe
In shining some light to humanity’s ails.
On, thy aches from blaring machine
In fixing thy job to earn thy pay,
Mending thy rod, the welder’s task
In shining some light in humanity’s ails.
Copyright © Dowell Oba | Year Posted 2010
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Dowell Oba Poem
In my way comes a fuss
A thundering of marches,
In my world yearns a departure
A flee from it all.
With a strength of fulfilment
Comes a job for my headset,
Soft in motion a tune
For my beautiful lily world.
A genre of instrumentality
Softly played with an ease,
A match of Saul's fulfilment
In David's soothing lyre.
Now a feeling of conquest
As I safely conquer the world,
My path a field fertile
As with life comes delight.
Is it something about its guitar
Or the way it feels in my head?
Is it thy passionate undertone
As though a bombshell, drops?
For with me comes no competition
For I'm stirred by a Trojan horse,
My mind's profound of peace
In my explicit genre of rock.
Copyright © Dowell Oba | Year Posted 2009
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Dowell Oba Poem
What the poet knows,
I'll tell you what:
He moulds the clay of wisdom,
Fine-tunes the disruption of misconceptions.
He listens to breaking sorrows
And leans a helping arm on society.
He is the eye of the ancestors
An encyclopaedia of generations passed.
He reflects the ills of humanity
Gigantic bulldozer, bulldozing through.
He devices a language of illumination
Shining to all who understands his dialect.
He touches starvation with a helping hand,
Fighting malice with the pen as his sword.
He knows when to strike
And where to aim,
Poised for greatness
A marching warrior.
He defeats with ease
And cures with his words,
Piercing his way
Through the hearts of darkness.
A voice of change
And a voice of the earth,
Created specifically to nurture the earth.
He is born to sing and born to shout
Amidst much silence from a quiet lot.
He deciphers solution for multitudes at ease
From his warehouse of wisdom, oh man of letters.
He was created to heal
And born to lead
His devoted urchins
That roams the earth.
He bears immortality
With the tip of his fingers,
Granting at will to preserve his cause.
He speaks the bitter truth
And embraces nature
Cos within it lies
The sincerity of creation.
So skilled in his art
His fine craftsmanship,
Posing not just a poet
But an artist as well.
So much to learn
And much to envisage
From an aged treasure house
Of what the poet knows.
Copyright © Dowell Oba | Year Posted 2010
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Dowell Oba Poem
My day's curtain closes at another's yolk
On a cricket's humming in jumps of 'hoppers,
A whistling salute as froggy vibes croak,
Quenching my sun in silent night whispers.
My soul takes flight, embracing the stars
Where dreams are made and wishes linger,
Drifting like meteors in welcoming hours,
Another's soul begins a pace in slumber.
My day's curtain opens though faraway drift
Whence my sunlight assumes full moon,
In sprouts of dawn and darkness bereft,
Sipping my strength from another's spoon.
My day takes life in the tick of noon
Where brief slanting shadows brace my clime,
Foreseeing fresh dawn from a weather's tune,
In our world's diversity and distinct time.
Copyright © Dowell Oba | Year Posted 2010
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Dowell Oba Poem
A searching mind searching still
In conflict with an antagonizing will
On a quest in possession of that
Sought seriously on a long lonely path.
Of an endless journey of adventure
Struggling on with the forces of nature
With daydreams storming on wearied mind
Giving false hopes of acquiring false find.
Summoning the glorious heavens above
Laying curses on prince of burning stove
Casting all hindrance and wands of evil
For holy guidance and damnation of evil
Rendered on fulfilment of awaited want
With much sacrifice portrayed on risky stunt
For mere proof of true honest dedication
Of a passionate heart deserving compassion.
In recognition of a long romantic yearning
Of a heroic quest of love, worth learning
For unimaginable is an awaited craving such
Moving such unimaginable heights of rush
In avoidance of delay in losing my desire
Of maintaining a beautiful angel, worth aspire.
Copyright © Dowell Oba | Year Posted 2009
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Dowell Oba Poem
When at sunset
I see the sun rays
Descending on a shining mass,
I reflect upon a shadow
Of a movement slow
Though in motion,
Footsteps steady
Though approaching;
Yea I recollect the winds
Floating mildly
Through strands of hair,
And a smile shone
Upon my face,
As I clasp your waiting hands
With a blush on your face,
In a slow discovery through past,
A gradual recovery through time
And a sudden arrival
To the present,
Through deep recollections
Of our last depart.
Copyright © Dowell Oba | Year Posted 2009
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