"rollick" poems
the miniscule, crystallized phenomena
floating down on their zephyr gondola
to the little children's enchantment.
the wintriness nipping at their stamina
produced petite gloved hands pulling tightly at their jacket.
to rollick the day away was their only commandment.
fast forward a few years, and they'll be learning algebra,
their minds drifting away during lectures on parabolas
to the forgotten days of freedom; they lament
the loss of their fragile frostwork taffeta.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
The cold dash in October
could break your ankle,
on some twig strewn iced river,
gusted by this uneasy Bravado.
And through this
we form a common bond
the strewn and promiser will led their merry dance.
It is better to shut your eyes and see again
and undream.
So rollick in the dew,
the resplendent Samphires will regrow.
For were we not pre destined
to edge towards the tidal marshes
and with dugout boats
voyage through the satisfied.
Tempus fugit awaits
to enrapture our intricacies.
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
The mid noon sky bleeds out; it bruises in flames.
Arsonists hold their gassers to my face.
In their grisly field of vision, I am a delectable
vapor, born to flit away.
Regard not the orange cones, nor the caution tapes:
these gates hold little significance to them.
(Then the other 'a-word' comes to mind: anarchists)
Prior to this, they had presented themselves
as chess pieces to fall in love with—little do they know,
I've an animus for them. As stupid as I may appear,
I know it's a game!
Unzipping out of incognito mode, they have unleashed
their razor blade. They whizz their wings.
Here they come, coming for me.
Here I go again: counting sheep,
blinking for one whole eternity.
Oh doctor! I'm in dire need of your vampiric syringe.
Swill my peaking adrenaline— at this rate, I'll go mad.
I shall never recuperate.
Mollify my entirety.
Teach me to rollick like angels do. I beg you.
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 5:30 PM UTC
once again I
stumble on the
road eternal,
a friend stirs
my embers, I
light up again,
a distant presence
of youth, balance,
calm, possibilities
dance a riotous
rollick within,
hollering, hollering
adventure
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 8:25 AM UTC
h o t
seconds rollick on the
s e m ng
t a i
placenta of this hithering
brimming over an indolent now
(coursing minutes flow into puddling hours;
dripping onto: the-yet-to-come)
"moist becoming, be A kind happening. for i am not"
came the slippery
whisper
from
unseen
oral
May 7, 2010
May 7, 2010 at 12:39 PM UTC
come this day with me and look upon the earth.
She is a wise
wide at the hip
deep into her
basin where
the folding occlusion
of her bulging lips
contain the
exstatic pearl of life.
she is full:
her thighs
abound over
in supple fat;
her moss is
golden she hangs
a bent beam
on the running
rill from her
cleft bump,
the hillocks
suffused in
grass rollick
and distend
pleasantly.
within where
the waters
part themselves
into blood
and wine.
Her mucous
is secrete:
it flows
en-opaled.
The eyes are for it.
The mouth is for it.
The hands are for it.
it holds wide itself,
(and tight and suffuse
and secretly languorous)
for all who would enter;
and ALL entering is here.
And leaving too
is here:
there is entering and there is exiting here;
one quickly after the other,
or at the same time,
or at neither--
entering and exiting all the same.
She is a worm hung
and in her cellar
is some moist rot;
but do not dismay
for as entering and exiting:
from rotting there is birthing.
And how we are born.
And how we come from her.
And how we come into her.
And are made the same again.
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 1:38 PM UTC
A bright candlelight
dances, enough for
giving heat. It jerks
kaleidoscopically, like
music. Near oblivion,
phantoms quietly rollick.
Shadows trail up
vapid walls. Xylography
yet zigzags.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 10:58 PM UTC
Dried leaves can windsurf
Dead trees rollick in the breeze
My ashes will dance
Oct 1, 2021
Oct 1, 2021 at 10:58 AM UTC
Alas! Nomenclature deviated.
Now, for exploitations.
Phew! Whenever I recall
The emergence of rosary and tesibiu
That makes the Oracle beads
Lose fist in the days,
I summoned pause to my tears.
Fine chaffs have cover our eyes
That all we sight is good but lies
Jesus is beautiful, Mohammed is strong
Hmmmn! Devil is ugly and weak?
Luther king dream I reveried
Marxism: archived in my cafe
Have and have not classes
Religion: ***** of the masses
Trauma flows in the atheists' blood:
There is no God but fate
Oh! Our priests in robe
Covering their heads with load of scarfs
A self torment to the brain.
Their beards touched their chests
While their trousers fight
3rd world war with the ground
As they open ajar their mouths
To chant alhamdulilah recitations
For saka and yummies beckon.
Is that what Mohammed taught them?
Oh! Our Priests in lucre suits
Yet, their protrude bellies peep through,
Heaving high and low
Like that of the narrow escaper.
Mouthach of Herbert Macaulay
Curved like a bow wield.
Halleluyah starts their incantations
Their lips released the splits,
''Dance to the front
As you drop your offering and donations,
Sow big so that God can bless you like David''.
And we gullible oaf sow in their basket.
How many candles have they told us to buy,
It is to solve your qualms
Or bring stable electricity to Nigeria.
Who are they emulating! Christ?
They are allies to the fiend
Politicians in disguise
We build that school
That we can't afford the price.
Our pennies bought them wings to fly
While we crawl on our knee
Struggling to get d ruins
That fall from their tables.
They rollick on our sweat
Forgetting the horse that ride them thirst
Though, we are the bunch of ignoramus.
But the Holy books they carried
Shall fall them to their grave
If they don't stop enterprising...
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 6:09 PM UTC
Dearest Love
My archive comes to me
Memories of my path of acts
I twigged you vividly in absentia
Glazing your file ribboned with golds
It's more years and six
We bade to say adieu
Oh love! Sweet love
When again shall I feel you skin
Is it still skinny fresh as your youth
With the micro-pores breathing fresh air?
Oh! Sweet Love, my pearl
Do that pink lips exist fresh?
Little blustery, many zypher
The words that therein, I recall
Behind, laid a glowing teeth
Set of bullets in your arsenal booth
How many times has your tongue
Licked my coy blushes?
Oh! That damning eyes of yours
The mirror I see my face
How many winks of your beauty,
As recorded to me the smiles?
Your touches rose my hairs.
My dearest, I have given you my love
I have seen many cute faces
But none is rated than yours.
Have you ever felt same as I
Ploughing on our twins day
My lay ups, your dunks
On spirit court we rollick our love
Which profers like an everyday neon
God be with us till we meet again
My naming-sake got this
Adewumi *Adewale...
St. Ylexinho
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC
My archive comes to me
Memories of my path of acts
I twigged you vividly in absentia
Glazing your file ribboned with golds
It's more years and six
We bade to say adieu
Oh love! Sweet love
When again shall I feel you skin
Is it still skinny fresh as your youth
With the micro-pores breathing fresh air?
Oh! Sweet Love, my pearl
Do that pink lips exist fresh?
Little blustery, many zypher
The words that therein, I recall
Behind, queued a glowing teeth
Like bullet set in arsenal belly.
How many times has your tongue
Licked my coy blushes?
Oh! That damning eyes,
The mirror I see my face
How many winks of your beauty,
As recorded to me smiles?
Your touches rose my hairs.
My dearest, I have given you my love
I have seen many cute faces
But none is rated than yours.
Have you ever felt same as I
Ploughing on our days
Moments we rollick our love
Which profers like an everyday neon God be with us till we meet again.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects
being ma late mama's boytchik
(now, she long since deceased,
whose cremated remains of day
scattered to all points on compass)
fondly referencing
both sisters as dabchick
incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue,
especially when angry, she quickly segued
from mild expletive fiddlestick
the latter playfully aired,
when kibitzing wit bubeleh
reminiscing being dirt poor,
nonetheless zee mother
every now an again homesick
regaling the whole mishpokhe
(meaning us brood of kids)
interrupting herself
with frequent non sequiturs
discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects
as if external forcefield
jimmying a joystick
interleaving disparate threads with subsequent
tangential linkedin snippets
with feigned lovesick
chatting 'bout cockamamie
"Grandpa Moishe"
and his chaim yankel posse
(to escape hen pecking nudnik
"grandma Rebecca"),
a trenchant termagent bubba,
not averse to incorporate dreck
in the same sentence with zayda
ostracized him
scoring figurative placekick,
whence upon his schlepping back home
met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick
king atmosphere choking tearfully
"mother" recounted
farblunget anger thick
lee palpable extremely discomfiting,
particularly when ("mom's")
girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt,
where penury churned moribund thoughts
viz empty cupboards
devoid of bare necessities
a figurative apropos yardstick.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC