"lese" poems
Pletu ti věneček v klíně
v horách pod modrou oblohou,
již křižují mraky líně,
a kde lidé na nás nemohou.
Pletu ti věneček na prsou
na mechu v zeleném lese,
prsty mé ženou se za krásou,
co pod víčky plaše se třese.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
I do not like Soyinka!
Except because I love him.
I do not like Soyinka!
That in obvious allure octogenarian man.
With whitish locks.
And this is my jocose to him.
That old jolly-jocund who's in a gay.
I do not wish to be garrulous,
Or loquacious.
So I will say
For I am an enfant terrible.
And I will enfeeble him with my euphoric words.
That elderberry with no egregious egotic lines.
I loathe him, yet loathing him.
Bend to him.
That fair dinkum laureate.
I hope this is not a lese majesty?
For I have penned this accord to his standard.
I do not like Soyinka!
Unless because I love him.
My sworn, utter coruscating model.
Is that I do not like him, I love him.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
I footslog
at loggerheads with myself
just like a mad dog
that bites its own tail.
I plot a lese majesty but
is the monarchy a
travesty or is it
me?
Moving on to the stadium
it radiates,
a symposium under an open sky,
I wonder why
I am here.
Then a cheer echoes from the throats
of those dressed ties and fancy coats
and floats noisily,
just like the ocean that crashes lazily
into a sea wall.
I fall,
a thermometer and
try to gauge the temperature,
it's as cold as a tomb and no room
for the footslogger or the tail he
tries to chase.
The sound of the clock that turns
around a closed in universe
appears worse in the mornings
when I wake.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 7:34 AM UTC