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Best Poems Written by Ibim Briggs

Below are the all-time best Ibim Briggs poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Ibim Briggs Poem

Loveless

?Let nothing besiege your lame love
Nothing of that sort that's perennial and abiding
That is sure and true and sweet
Like the passion of our archetype martyrs of love

Let nothing serve you as an anchor for your putrid ambience
Obsequieses and ballads and dirges sung by the devil's choir
Are your portion of a serenade of chivalry
Love the one without love and die so

So come from the ascendance of the glorious cosmos
And rub thy foulness with the greed of lucifer
For it is befitting for your souls to love the way love is bought
Not the way love is worth

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Mad

??The voices in the woods are trinkling into the crevices of My heel
I hear them talking in the force of my steps
They whisper my feet to scathe the faddens of death's conquest
Wherever my sole treads 

I walk and walk and walk

And I tripped your innocence 
And I danced naked round it for the voices were mad at my feet
They giggled as i pulled towards your mess my love
guffawing like ecstatic hyenas until your spirits were emptied in a pool of bright scarlet

But I walked 
and walked 
and walked 
And walked
And walked 
and walked
And walked
And they whispered until death left a Fadden of its conquest of me

Details | Ibim Briggs Poem

Anonymous

??Today I roamed your district
I saw nothing of you in the taverns, valleys, and fight yards
Where has your loose soul drawn you
That looseness that so cuts absolutes

You were my closeness, my attache
I loved you like that
Beyond the the steeps that were your happiness
For I loved you beyond yourself

You were my drowning melody
That sweet thing that kills
I go down loving you
And I stay up loving the feeling of your bittersweetness

That's all I have to say
Dunno where you are, dead or in Jupiter
But if death's taken you
I'll love that death just to go to you.

Details | Ibim Briggs Poem

Irin Ajo: Journey

Bàbá,
what eyes do you have of a big bigger sort,
which portaled my entryway into the blindnesses of our Ilé,
wherefrom I made to look to see with your primordial eyes?

Bàbá,
why is your soul watery,
salty like the tears of baba nlá bàbá àgbà’s father:
he took his death by the hand,
and didn't let it die cheap!

Bàbá,
stream of my consciousness,
transfused like forced labour into the nerves of my armory,
ready with iron fire and thunder, ready with my fight for their fight, fist for fist.

My irin ajo is now steeped with the signposts of the visions I saw in your eyes.

Give me the feet of water when my irin ajo is on water;
give me the wings of af?´f?´ when my irin ajo is beyond this il?;
give me the stride of love when my irin ajo crosses the paths of good men;
my children are at hand;
they come like freedom, up my soul and down my eyes:
omijé, running from the stories of the barreled gun,
from the mirrors that cursed our reflection with greed...

my children are coming,
free, and towards freedom.

Details | Ibim Briggs Poem

They Said

They said I was lost;
they needed to take me to therapy to find me sitting in a rocking chair hating the beauteous stretch of miles of God's cotton fields white waiting for me to break my back.

They said I was too quiet,
that even when the peoples were dying of thirst and ran to the gate to cry for freedom,
I stood where my roots were strewn to the earth and dug deep,
down down deep until I reached the face of their fear staring straight at me.

They called it saboteur, that my eyes were too deep, that what interested me to look beyond what the herd could see?

They said I was not loyal.

I have been at your feet since before the coming of the pale devils who gave you salt to garnish your brothers’ death.
I have held the glory of your name in my index finger, when I squeezed the trigger that fired blood towards our continuity.

I killed and died for you, thou fool.
I died like the hopelessness of an impotent man.

They said I was a good man when I died.
They finally spoke a truth. But I am not satisfied.
I want justice for my brothers who might die like I did.

Details | Ibim Briggs Poem

Park Bench

Open sky,
sitting on a park bench with one arm curved behind a person;
teething smiles shyly undressing my emotional puristic like Adam re-unclothing in
Eden.

Whatsoever is losed of my ascetic,
may it free our eyes to tresspass into our hearts and breakthrough the binders.

Open sky,
like a shaded orange thingy,
serendipity might bring your meaning by a large dream of two days' worth of sleep
after I crept into your eyes and lost something I can't really tell of;

I think it was unshelved, a piece of my bestselling self; consequence: lost.
Obsequies: died for love, the form of death that kills the greed of my homesickness;
consequence: no return.

Open sky,
clear,
yet the sun will soon say goodbye.
Like good friends we watch his actual goodbying but not without the christening of
our love pudding:
sweet child in arm, the sweetest charm we ever cast...

Yours for all time,
burnt the bridge behind and it's a good thing I can't swim,
good thing, but if I could,
I'd swim in your own pull.