Tag Archive | Poems

Solitude

pix_solitude

Quietness of mind.

Cocooned, surreal state.

Fertile arena for ideas to float.

Doors shut against every rabble,

all noise-some pests.

Wondrous state to ponder anew,

plethora of potential possibilities.

Noiseless lonesomeness soothes

and nourishes my cranium occupant.

Medulla oblongata thanks you!

Reason refreshed on solitude’s

altar; matched only by silence itself.

Otiose state, abandoned in seclusion.

What heaven!!!

 

 

Yes, I love my own company.

This sequestration of my mind,

in my space, at my pretty pace,

for my peace. Soothing is the

privacy this isolation brings.

No, you are not welcome

to my state of incognito.

Better to remain faceless

in facing my issues; confronting

them fiends of progress, retooling

my smarts, recharging my batteries.

Oh, how I long to be festooned,

moored on these shores,

permanently!!!

© 20th January 2017. Adewale Adeniji

Broken Petals

broken-petals
 
 
Blooming, glowing signposts of beauty, now
sterile, dull epitaphs of spent elegance.
Yes, once admired, yet now scorned.
 
Soft, undulating folds of jowls, now
sunken, boney cheekbones;
lost to the mutability of life.
 
Ebullient rippling muscled masses, now
alas, plain proof of powerlessness!
No, not as before mate, not as …
 
Chutzpa for life; how fickle thou art.
We thought ourselves kings, lords, and all.
But end up mere broken petals, all flesh!
 
Anyone heading towards Sunset Boulevard*?
Sing along, “swing low, sweet chariot…”*
Enjoy the trip while life resets for another generation.
 
Mentions:
*Author acknowledges Copyright in Sunset Boulevard. *”Swing low, sweet chariot” is an American negro spiritual written prior to 1862.
Both used in this Derivative Work under Fair Use License.
© 13th February 2017. Adewale Adeniji
 
 

Fearful Slumber.

Sleep, quintessential need of all.

Craved, yet distrusted by (wo)men.

Sleep, like his senior brother, death;

make the strong vulnerable, the weak

more hapless. But sleep must, must we not?

To rejuvenate that which a man makes.

 

 

Cold sweat of dreams puncture the bliss

of sleep; and the body craves the preference

of night owls for chatter which tatters the flesh.

Tattles, gossips, calls are welcomed; so long

as the head does not nod to the drumbeats

of sleep. Fatigue be damned. No sleep tonight!

 

 

Who/what will intercede between sleep

and this mortal fear of slumbering to death?

What guarantees do we have that slumber

will remain so, and not a procession to a crypt?

Any panacea for the dumbing angst?

What elixir for this morbid fear of sepulchers?

 

 

There is but one tonic, freely given to all.

It requires trust so base, that others will

troll at those who freely have it in Him; in

whose hands the twists, turns, tides of mortals

lay. He commands sleep, death bows to Him.

Sleep well when you have Him for a pillow.

 

 

© 30th December 2016. Adewale Adeniji.

Segilola’s Tale

 

 

Saucy as a shrew, naughty like that.

From catacombs to every crevice,

wares well sold. Segilola beautiful damsel.

Igba nla dogi, iyalaya any bagger*

I will walk my talk, my talk is my work.

 

 

Something supple, rolling like that.

A matching army, of it own accord

Controlled by no sergeant major; and

like a piped piper, puppets are drawn,

to nectar so sweet, yet so sour.

 

 

Segilola, scourge of many frowning wives

Envied object of many a putative damsel.

Loathe or love her, your senses ruled.

Pine or lust for her, your senses dulled.

What to do with this Segilola?

 

 

Segilolas aplenty at every ojude-Oba*

surplus at those privileged polo games.

Massed at the Argungu fishing fiesta*

Well dotted at each Ofala celebration*

Every where you turn, there’s a Segilola.

 

 

Glossary.

 

*Igba nla dogi, iyalaya any bagger – Expletive indicate of ‘who cares’

*ojude-Oba – age grade festival in Ijebu land.

*Argungu fishing fiesta – a fishing gala in Sokoto

*Ofala celebration – rites of renewal for a King in some parts of Eastern Nigeria

 

© 7th November 2016. Adewale Adeniji.

For Fidel – Guerrilla, Comrade, Polemist.

farewell-fidel

Fare thee well, Comrade talker, Fidel.

On Batista’s ashes you ruled and reigned.

Cahoots with Ernesto ‘Che’, you branded

Cuba, for fifty decades, in your image.

So effective were thee, that the Gringo

neighbor to the north, millions spent to

upend la revolution. Yet, your island remain.

Fashioned still in your image, oh yes!

 

 

In Havana, in Miami, residents or exiles

in equal measure mourn thee. Your utopia

much in discuss. Be it in the archipelagos,

Santiago de Cuba, Camaguey, the whole

of the Caribbean lands mourn thee, Fidel.

Be it for good or ill, more than eleven million

lives ye touched. White, Black, Mulatto all

mourn or laugh, each with their memories.

 

 

Born of privilege, married early into one.

People’s lawyer who charged nothing for

services so much craved in a corrupt era.

Yet, forswear thee a guaranteed life of

ease and pleasure; for a guerrillas’ doom.

Your July 26 movement prevailed and rocked

the Americas, inspiring radicalism all over.

To reactionaries and rent seekers’ chagrin all over!

 

 

Alas, like all mortals, your end now dawned.

But fair warning it gave thee for more seasons

than most. Now, The Indisputable Immortal, your life

will examine. Wish a fly I could be on that wall!

But, none though can deny, a garrulous priest

ye remained of communal economics so much so,

your version post dated its Soviet communal

parents! How else should a mortal in deed be judged?

 

 

Father of Fidelito, and nine more; salute for me

comrades fallen, fairly or not. Enjoy your rest,

but alas no cigars for yonder I’m sure; but hey,

you being Fidel, maybe another exception awaits.?

Broke all the rules, you did, with aplomb. Only

mortal leader to defy eleven Gringo presidents.

Survived ye, the Bay of Pigs, even more many

machinations of world’s elites; but this battle, lost ye.

 

 

Journey well in the bowels of the earth.

Where else could it ever be?

Comrade, you fought a troubled fight.

How else could it have been?

Yet, prevailed thou. Despite huge odds.

Fare the well, Fidel. Farewell leader of men.

Victoria Ascerta! Pamberi na chimuranga!!

Sadly, we shall not be seeing again.

 

 

© 26th November 2016. Adewale Adeniji. 😩.

The Donkey And His Chips.

 

That Donkey, what chip on ‘ees shoulders.

Rode only once hither thither by a Master;

as accolades poured forth in droves.

Of a truth our Ass developed such an ego

that has no place to go. Thought ‘eeself

important in life scheme of things, did he.

 

 

 

No one can an easy conversation have

with our celebrated Ass, as he puffs.

Until that fateful day in the village square.

The real owner of the Donkey had his life

shed for man so base. Then our Ass saw

his pride dented indeed. ‘Ess just a ride!

 

 

 

© 11th November 2016. Adewale Adeniji.

Stunned, Comatose …

The morning of the day after.

Aghast are we, worldwide;

he won when none thought it.

On the wings of bigotry,

in the land of immigrants.

So, the wall will go up? Hmm…

Now, new mantra be “Jailers Ahoy”!

 

 

In for an all comer’s remit. Open season

on the weak, meek and malleable.

Bamboozled his way in, has he.

We be dazed, marooned in thought.

No more prospect for the reasonable;

We thought he wrong, we reckon we right.

But many hold him bright, a right newbie.

 

 

Pundits caught out. Thoughts adrift,

brains comatose; senses paralyzed.

Fear trumps hope, and all flounder.

Struck he lodes of angst; branded sweetly.

A pity indeed this Olympus has fallen.

Shame; for a season of anomie dawns.

Their centre no longer can hold!

 

 

© 9th November 2017. Adewale Adeniji