#eliotyork
THE GREAT COUNTRY
Adebayo Samuel Ogunleye~ The GreatQuill🖋️
Silent I wished to remain,
But alas, my speakfire cried aloud:
“I shall speak and speak—
Speak of that great country,
That great country,
With oceans of wisdom,
Yet wandering the streets of futility.
Speak of that great country,
That great country
Flowing with honey;
Yet honey for only a few palates,
While bitterness lingers
Upon the lips of many.
Speak of that great country,
That great country
That gives so generously,
Yet lacks in abundance
The very things it gives away.
I sought to calm my speakfire,
But alas, it cried again,
Yearning to weep even more.
‘Speak on, speak on,’ I replied.
Speak of that great country,
That great country
That suffered under its conquerors,
And after their departure,
Became captive to self-conquerors.
Speak of that great country,
That great country,
Bearing “Giant” as its title,
Yet, unfortunately fortunate,
A title that scarcely fits
Its present condition.
Speak of that great country,
That great country
That gives you oromodiye,
Yet in return
Takes away odidi omo.
Speak of that great country,
That great country,
Which outwardly appears
Goodly bad,
And inwardly seems
Best at being worse.
Speak of that great country,
That great country,
Rich in countless treasures,
Yet wallowing in penury.
And so my speakfire speaks
Of that great country—
My great country.
*Oromodiye -- A chick
*Odidi omo -- (A child) Human.
E-mail= [email protected].
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
You don’t write the poems....
but you hold the sky they fall into.
While others chase metaphors,
you chase bugs....
silent, stubborn ghosts
hiding between lines of code
no one else reads.
A glitch flickers....
and somewhere a poet thinks
their voice has broken.
You know better.
You stay. You fix.
You apologize
for storms you didn’t summon.
You built a place
where strangers bleed safely,
where words don’t ask permission
before becoming wounds
or wings.
And still....
you answer messages,
patch fractures,
rewrite rules
so kindness has a structure
and silence has a home.
Who thanks the one
who keeps the door open
while everyone else
walks in and out
carrying pieces of themselves?
You are not in the poems....
but you are in every pause between them,
every comment that lands gently,
every voice that stays
because nothing broke
when it mattered.
So here....
a rare thing for a builder:
Not feedback.
Not a bug report.
Just this....
Thank you
for holding a world together
that was never yours alone.
Apr 16
Apr 16, 2026 at 3:09 PM UTC
let me just say something
i really don't care what the website looks like
i might have disliked this at first
but it's stars and sparkles, honestly
how could that be a bad thing
and the people i've met here
i would have never found
anywhere else.
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 10:29 PM UTC
The Hello Poetry Hub
Really does feel like Home
Beyond a Pen and a Friend
Where Eliot York Set In Motion
The Screen Time
For All Of Us
To Read
Conceive
And Dream
Our Poetry Is Alive
As We Give - We Thrive!
Thank You...
DLR & ?
27.11.2025
☼ ♡ ƸӜƷ ❀ ♬
Nov 26, 2025
Nov 26, 2025 at 5:17 PM UTC
i come back here
every day and always
i don't even know why, anymore
everything is black and white and kind
and beautiful and okay
it's become habitual, i suppose
i don't want to imagine the end
the finality
dust settling
i don't want to be here to see it
i would never ask to know
if hp is as important to you
as it is to me
i think we all know, already and definitely
and infinitely.
i think we already know
this
hurrah
is not final
i want to say i'm here to stay
to keep on reading
your glorious words
and thoughts
and everythings
your happiness and heartbreak
i want eliot york
and you and you and everyone
to know
we'll get past this
Nov 10, 2025
Nov 10, 2025 at 11:15 PM UTC
Yo yo
First poem about Eliot York
(I have no idea if this will work)
His poems so fresh make a young thot
Wanna twerk
Ya ya
Keeping it real
Ya'll noe da deal
Up in here we poets be serious
Nuff to ****
But not our leader Eliot
Or else he'd spill
Ink all over our digital pads of paper
WORD TO YOUR MOTHER
Aye Aye
Last verse of the day
I'll push everyone out of my way
Expect Eliot, he's the king of poe-it-tree
An excellent expert
Take it from me
WORD OUT
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
We are the ones who feel
almost everything.
Squeezed like sun-warmed
wine grapes, pressed
like fragrant coffee beans,
distilled like kilos of flowers,
may these memories of our lives
become good poems.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC