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George Adenuga Ayanjompe Poem
Some might say speech is silver, but silence golden
But my tongue as a poet is resigned to speech,
Speech which bears not triviality of common silence
No, it bears not the triviality of the banter of the common man
My pen bleeds speech which awakens tyrants imbued with cold hearts of stone
To the consciousness of the humanity they abhor, for we are born equal
My pen bleeds stanzas which lend themselves as supporting pillars
To the weary cause of the common man,
Urging them not to despair but to fight on, for fortune favours only the brave
My pen bleeds the emotions which lie inert in the depths of my heart,
Emotions borne out of my will for a better tomorrow
My speech is the blazing sword which pillages the fortifications of social stratification
I do not mean to blow our trumpets
But as poets our worths exceed silver and gold,
It is boundless.
Copyright © George Adenuga Ayanjompe | Year Posted 2015
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George Adenuga Ayanjompe Poem
O'er the dying night hangs a ghostly silence
Punctuat'd by the nocturnal chirping of the crickets
And the ghostly melody of the wind
Moving thro' the trees
From slumber's comfort
Has Aurora been awoken to a morn of mournful weeping
Tearfully she opens the gates of the heavens
To let the steeds of Apollo's fiery chariot
Begin their diurnal westward journey
As the pall of night begins to lift off
The grotesque yet graceful silhouettes
Of the trees of the rain-forests of the South
Begin to emerge against the black-blue dawn sky
As they are bestow'd upon
With an early bath by Aurora's tears
To the Occident Cynthia's orb flees
For it dares not confront Apollo's chariot,
Gracefully Apollo begins his journey from the Orient,
Gradually he rises from beneath
The waters of the Niger,
Illuminating the Niger,
Making it look as if it were liquid gold
Gradually, Apollo's chariot ascends
Into the multitude of the clouds
Transforming them into an awe-inspiring blend
Of deep orange and azure
And later into a vast scenery
Of orange clouds against a bright blue sky
The old farm cock, its diurnal message
Crows aloud to those still asleep
"RISE UP O YE SLUGGARDS
FOR THE DAY HAS BEGUN !"
Copyright © George Adenuga Ayanjompe | Year Posted 2015
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George Adenuga Ayanjompe Poem
Finally its October
The harmattan is coming
I can perceive it
Now the African autumn has arrived
The harvest is drawn nigh
The next morn
You see the trees adorned
With blending hues of orange and brown,
A carpet of brown leaves you see
Lying on the dry, sunbaked earth
Ready to render their orchestral piece
As you tread on them
And dance for joy to the rhythmical crackle
Of nature's music
The African autumn has arrived
On the 31st
October will stealthily leave us,
But presents he will leave us
Not under the old Christmas tree
But on the trees
Presents of differing sizes, tastes and colours
October has left us
If only we are clever
To seek the best of these present
This is an African autumn.
5-01-2014.
Copyright © George Adenuga Ayanjompe | Year Posted 2015
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George Adenuga Ayanjompe Poem
Man's heart, a dark abyss,
Its depth polluted by that innate darkness
Which was always there for that sole purpose,
Looking back into the mirror of childhood,
A smile across my face creeps,
How zany it is
That this dark mind
Could be so translucent, gullible and terribly fragile
Unimaginable 'twould seem for it to come to this state
The mind of man is dynamic
Though its idiosyncrasies may be static
It slowly crumbles like poorly reinforced pillars,
Under the pressure of the currents of dark, dynamic torrents,
Thereby letting the dreaded darkness seep in
Straight paths turn crooked,
Translucency is a thing of the past
E'en the blinding rays of honesty
This dark fortress can't breach
The word "straight" no longer bears no coherent meaning,
For crookedness is a concept,
Created to make the crooked paths
Of darkness straight
Dreaded, e'en by dark beings this darkness is,
Perhaps such fear is hypocritical,
Employed only to mask crooked trails,
For many I know are filled with this darkness
Except for a naive few
Which into the the darkness haven't matured
Hope is not lost
Hopefully, the illumination of honesty
Will emerge from the midst of darkness
Before the very darkness we fear permeates us all.
Copyright © George Adenuga Ayanjompe | Year Posted 2015
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George Adenuga Ayanjompe Poem
(For Oyintarere, a dear friend, R.I.P.)
In the dark, icy quarters
Of earth’s depths he resides
Jealously guarding his barn of harvest’d souls
He is Death, the eternal terminator of lives
LIVES!
Lives so radiant! Pregnant with dreams!
DREAMS!
Dreams which ne’er on paper express’d
Dreams which to any living being were ne’er spoken
Cruel fate!
Yet we watch helplessly
As he plucks the brightest of lives
In a senseless orgy of senseless rampage
Oh! My pity is abundantly shared amongst those poor souls
The eternal separator he is
The merciful dispenser of euthanasia he is
No time he wastes he in heartlessly putting suffering souls
Out of their painful misery
Endowed with an outstretched skeletal arm
Armed with a cold, rusty bladed sickle
He is the Grim Reaper
The eternal ferryman of souls
Ferrying merrily poor souls
Across the cold boundary of existence and death,
But I bear no morbid wish to be reaped or ferried
E’EN WHEN MY GRAY HAIRS ARE RIPE AND READY TO FALL!
For I shall stubbornly cling unto continued existence
E’en till the moment the doomsday trump shall sound.
Copyright © George Adenuga Ayanjompe | Year Posted 2014
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George Adenuga Ayanjompe Poem
Loneliness...
Such a mild word to quantify what my mind feels,
Such an insipid word which provides no effect
In the narration my tale of loneliness,
Words cannot quantify what courses through my veins
Rather let it be left crude and unrefined
For in the crudeness of what I feel
Lies the essence of what I feel:
Loneliness in its true form.
I longed for the warmth of the hug of a companion,
But I received only the cold breeze of winter on my chest,
A constant reminder that I am all alone.
Resoundingly hollow my innards feel,
A constant reminder that I am all alone,
I longed for friends,
But all I got was a pack of backstabbers,
Who stabbed me in the back and abandoned me,
With a touch of professionalism,
'Twas no shoddy job for I still bear the marks of rejection and betrayal,
A constant reminder that I am all alone
Holed up I am in a corner,
Held by the shackles of loneliness,
I have become a stagnant river
Which shall not move e'en though the tide doth ebb me
For loneliness has sapped what little energy I have left,
Dear friend, as you read of my plight, I prithee
Spare me no pity or beg of me to mingle with the pack once more
For I shall not be dragged out of my hole to be stabbed once more,
So I prithee, dear friend, leave me in the solace of loneliness,
For I find more solace in her company
Than I shall ever find in a world of traitors.
I am all alone.
Copyright © George Adenuga Ayanjompe | Year Posted 2015
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George Adenuga Ayanjompe Poem
Into the depths of depression I sank,
To the dark bottom of that bottomless pit,
In which problems abound and worries are heightened
Funny enough, this pit though not physical
Tells on my physical
'Tseems the force of gravity is increased upon me
My gait is slow
An my countenance an encyclopaedia of melancholy
Lost in my thoughts
And rolled deep in them
Suddenly an interrupting chirp assails my ears
Up I gaze into the skies
And then I beheld the solution to my problem -
Freedom like that of a bird
Out of that fateful encounter
Was born my desire
To untether myself from earth
And truly roam free,
Out of that fateful encounter
Was born my desire
To enter that void
In which my thoughts shall be annihilated
And the slate of mind shall be wiped clean
And made lighter than a feather,
And then shall I truly be free,
Free from earth and all its attendant worries
Even though wings I do not possess,
Wings I shall fashion for myself
Wings not as fallible like those of Icarus
I'd fashion myself more resilient wings
With which I shall liberate myself from earth
Then shall I soar free as I can ever be
03/12/2014
Copyright © George Adenuga Ayanjompe | Year Posted 2014
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George Adenuga Ayanjompe Poem
Beyond the façade
Beyond the untermable countenances
Deep into that realm
Where emotions abound
And vary in variety:
Pensive, happy, sad, joyful,sober,
An eternity of moods,
All masked by that deceitful mask
That is the face
A fake smile to a foe,
A frown to one for whom your heart truly longs,
To mask your desire,
An sigh of apathy in the face of that which you truly yearn for,
Beyond the "perfect" smokescreen
If only we could peer deep down
Into the abyss of the mind
And behold the storm of tumultuous emotions
Which rage beneath such a beautiful countenance
We'll see that its all
Just a façade.
Copyright © George Adenuga Ayanjompe | Year Posted 2017
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