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Best Poems Written by Patrick Utitufon

Below are the all-time best Patrick Utitufon poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Patrick Utitufon Poem

Sundown

After the rain, 
the Sun will rise again
we have been in darkness since they arrived
in their caravan of dreams with empty promises of change, 
and constructive untruths, with which they tricked us to abandon our familiar ways
to walk their paths of retrogressive progression; 
for which we accepted their baseless theories:
hook, line and sinker-
unquarantined! 

We were competiting perfectly well
before they came in multitude of allied forces
preaching the message of political salvation, 
and of unity in diversity,
soliciting our mandate to cleanse the land of its filth:
to lay solid foundation for our children and our children's children; 
to revive us from the comatose of corruption hampering our collective goals; 
to expunge segregation and gender discrimination from the polity; 
to create equal opportunities for the youth and women alike; 
to harness our untapped earthy endowments for our communal advancement; 
to cultivate vibrant seeds of peaceful coexistence, to erase poverty from the land...

Unbeknownst, like chameleons, they had come hiding their true colours behind highly sugared manifesto
and with enticing propaganda, 
they planted seeds of discord amongst us
to frustrate the Second Coming of the Messiah and his message of transformation and sustainability.  

Today, the yields of the seeds they sowed speak volume
for we have become aliens in our own lands, 
slaughtered like rams, gradually losing our freedoms for fear of the whip of their change agents, lurking for favourable loopholes to maim their compatriots...

Before our eyes, they dismantled our umbrella of unity and handed us brooms to sweep off the fragments into moulds of segregation and favouritism...

We are the architects of our own discomfiture, for we stood by the river and let lather slip into our eyes; now, we are drown by their incessant upsurge of blame and revenge, and no more do we hear echoes of our greatness, Giant of Africa! 

Truly, they have cleansed our land as they promised when they first came to us
as we feel the grip of their iron fists: milking our cows dry, sweeping clean the harvests stored up from many seasons of perseverance and diligence
(and many have lost confidence reposed in us)
for with their lips, they have condemned us to the world. 

Cornered to this island of solitude, we have lost our bearing and our sense of belonging and the centre can no longer hold...
Who will be our Moses to liberate us from this repulsive stagnation and lead us to the Promised Land? 

We have been neglected on this voyage, 
on this journey of collective aggrandizement, 
but after the rumblings of the rain on this phase, 
the Sun will rise again...
If we are willing to change the tide, and raise the sails; 
after this torrential reign of terror raining down on us, 
the Sun will surely rise again.

Details | Patrick Utitufon Poem

Sea Song

Little by little
like a canoe in the deep,
Life sails on gently...

Though it may change course,
or wreck while sea-bound offshore;
often the truth saves!

Details | Patrick Utitufon Poem

Lost

I
At the marketplace
by sunrise
when the serenity of the dawn is ravished by unknown
voices…

When the Sun passes through the merry-go-round
beyond the horizon
when the turbulent wind is silenced,
and the voice of the cicadas
is no longer heard…

From a distance,
you would see them roaming in tattered old rags,
half-naked!
Sun-baked, and ruddy of countenance
wandering in twos and threes
countless!

You imagine what these are
when you see them
from afar
you think they are mad
you think they are vagabonds
you think these might be the lost sheep of the flock...

But as they come closer, and you see them begging...feeding on leftovers: you realise they are not...

These are innocent victims of an untold venture,
indicted on weightless balances,
stigmatized and left to wander the streets by those they should embrace comfort for PAGAN WITCHERY—a course they know not...

These are little children, innocent like all children
but who bear the cross of a crime they do not
commit…

At sunset,
when the sellers disperse
as the shadow of Night approaches,
the lives of these children become miserable
and aimless like sheep without a shepherd.

Survival in jail is more certain
than the dreams of these children
as mere thought of no hope of greener pastures
disheartens more than stony sleep in shrouded
sheds
and awakening to an existence
of lost identity…

Who will lift this curse?
Are they responsible for their plight?
Where will they go from here?

II
When Christopher's mother eloped with her lover,  
his father, Peter, married a new wife named Martha
who thought of no one but herself
as she could not put to birth...
One day, Christopher got a high-grade fever, and
was in very bad shape as all herbs had failed
and no one thought to call a physician. 
Blinded by grief and unforgiveness, his father remained wordless, 
so Martha took the Poor Boy to her prophet
who declared Christopher a wizard:
"A child of sin who holds the key to Martha's womb."
Peter disowned his son at his wife's behest
and unfeeling chased him away  from the house
without pity, without mercy
as the Poor Boy could not debunk their unfounded verdict...

Christopher then found a friend in Micah-a little hawker from the neighbourhood
whose abusive father battered his wife, and cared not for his children, for with another woman he had an affair. 

No sooner, the two friends found other lads with kindred fate living underneath the bridge at the outskirts of town (for these mysteries happen everywhere), 
and in twos and threes, they began to roam the streets,
unkempt and dessicated, fending for themselves
like cattle without a herdsman...

When I first saw these children at the marketplace:
peddling, begging and scavenging for daily bread, I could not help but wonder who is responsible for this calamity...
And for many days, though I had long gone, still, this memory rekindles in my heart.

And so, I set my hands to cast these lines that men might see the world in a grain of sand...

Details | Patrick Utitufon Poem

Suburbs

When I hear the voices of little children
early at dusk just before twilight comes
with their faces cloaked by
the shawl of innocence
waving goodbye to the setting sun,
my heart leaps for joy;
as I watch agape as they jump, chatter
and clatter with such intense vigour
on the open green fields beyond the moors
outside the curtilage of their homes
in the serene suburbs of the countryside
for a trifling thing
as waving goodbye to the setting sun.
From afar, it’s startling from my view
how they form a ring of troth
joining hands together
and roundabout in clockwise shift,
sing merry songs while the setting sun seems
to wave back at them with a smile…
Perhaps, it appears as it seems a common ritual
in the suburbs of the countryside
as often as I journey back there, I find
little children welcoming the full moon,
waving goodbye to the setting sun.
And in their ecstatic pulsations, I feel reborn
from my mother’s milky womb, submersed
in innocence—enchanted—nescient of
my whereabouts that keeps me
wondering what excites them so.
Then, as I look beyond the horizon,
I remember I was once as they are—
innocent and oblivious—without shame
and scars of sorrow; for I too,
with friends and peers welcomed the moon
and waved goodbye to the setting sun.

Details | Patrick Utitufon Poem

Lucy

When we first met at the beach
where we exchanged pleasantries, and
engaged in a long conversation
where you told me you baffled
at the ebbs and flows of the tide
yet scuttled at the soaring altitude
of encroaching waves
that outstretch and blend in like the dimples on your cheeks…
where you told me you wished you were free like birds
of the air,
you would venture out across the deep to far
unfamiliar lands
free from fetters of familial ties…

You did not fall for me,
nor did I for you…

That our paths crossed, that we met at the beach,
were predestined inclinations of our stars,
devoid of mortal deliberations;
though we felt we could give ourselves a chance
 
You did not fall for me,
nor did I for you

But,
we fell for that rare bond of our sudden connection
strengthened by
the obvious likeness of our mental aesthetics
we fell for the rejuvenating rays of the setting sun,
for the flight of falcons across the clear clouds,
for the swishing sands of the sea, and
the towering waves wavering before our eyes…
we fell for our aligning dreams
that conjoined like Siamese twins in our minds’ eyes
conceived in the depths of our hearts

You did not fall for me,
nor did I for you

It was the dilemma of our fate.

Details | Patrick Utitufon Poem

Insect

While the world quiet lies
silenced
by the realm
of Night.

When asleep
lie
the remains of day,
amidst
dark encirclement of shadow
in merriment 
you sport yourself
wavering where you please
like bats
flying here and there
you rule a world not your own.

When the sun 
is blotted out
darkness
engulfs the day
the old ships sail home
the palpable sorrow
of the fisherman is recompensed…

While, at my window,
I commune with my Muse
light my heart
light my way
fly in my eyes 
fly in the eyes of my Child
and let my little one merrily sleep.

Details | Patrick Utitufon Poem

Teardrop

Is every teardrop
not a raging waterfall
down the ocean's bay?

Without second thoughts
you drifted away from me
when the waves arose

I have wept and wept
till I've cried you a river:
Why not sail back home?

Like a flickering torch,
you were never meant to stay
I too will move on.

Details | Patrick Utitufon Poem

Unsung Hero

Here he lies lifeless
He whose hands had many healed
though unsung by some

Now, we cheer him home
Down his homestead, we set him
Our selfless hero!

Pain is the pleasure 
of earthly patriotism...
Fame is for a time

Though the rose blossoms
on fields where good does not stay, 
it withers at dusk

Kindness lives briefer
Twilight comes after sunset
All is vanity!

Details | Patrick Utitufon Poem

Jesus Christ

Of the first man’s disobedience, mankind fell
Through one man’s valour, mankind infallibly rise
From perpetual annihilation through Gates of Hell
Into the eternal ecstasy of the Promised Paradise
Long ago, the Serpent his senile stratagem had begun
To deprive Adam of the satiable Garden of Eden
Out to terrace the Earth, to thresh beneath the Sun
Lest, Man attains the supreme height of Heaven
But the Sovereign Father who knows far omniscient
Had foreseen this doom ere its appointed season
Prompted by His humane heart came Christ omnipotent
To redeem Man of Lucifer’s high treason
     Nothing worldly did Him befall
     It is this unbroken faith that save us all.

Details | Patrick Utitufon Poem

After the Meeting

After the meeting
She no longer returns my calls
She rather hangs up her telephone anytime I call
save a few mistaken times that fell on deaf ears
causing an irreconcilable hindrance
to the constant flow of our conversation

After the meeting
She no longer writes to me
nor grant further audience to my letters
for which her hypothetical evaluations indicate:
were either lost in transit or consumed
by the Great Depression
and never delivered to her doorsteps…

After the meeting
the climate of her countenance darken
over the spheres of my lonely little world:
her soft cooing voice once curious
of the viridity of my seasons now echoes
like the indifferent shrill of the old screech owl
I hear on those dry nights from my window

After the meeting
She no longer longs for my animal presence
as do her friends who call me demeaning names
because I bargained for a fewer bottles of beer at the bar
than their merits expected of a real man,
the virility of my manhood is in dispute…
Since I decline to swim with them 
in their pool of pretence
unlike my fellow Proci* vying for the territory of her unyielding heart
for this I have been adjudged unworthy of possession
and she-my sole witness of fidelity-for whose luxury 
I strive in austerity stood wordless at my defence

Just after the meeting…