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Esteban D Pitre Apr 2014
Looking up, I can see the old moon
In the arms of the new one.

Here I stand, at the edge of my demise
Overlooking the city on this building,
To gaze at how the bustle of this metropolis
Begs for release.
I will be the first.
I stand on the edge of my demise,
Its crowds of people faltering between
Fate and struggle,
This city of revolution
Where blood has been spilled on its streets.
I overlook the hustling crowds and see,
Down below,
               The swinging lifestyles,
               Thieves and soothsayers on every corner,
               Talebearers and backstabbers along the sidewalks.
Standing at the edge of my demise,
I long for wings to fly away
Like a dove, harmless and at rest I would be.

Atop this elevated place,
The light of early morning shines along
These towers of terror.

As I lift my foot to step off the edge,
I notice a puddle next to me.
Staring into this small basin of identity,
It reveals what I have missed–––
I remember what I have missed in me.
My face is unlike the rest of those
Who populate this hustling city.
Tosin Atoyebi May 2020
One fateful day,
I flew far, and far away,
From a spindle, unscrewing the bolt in my nut
Peace, patience, gentleness, generosity had fled
Spindle verged lousy replacement,
Mother flung me into a luminous tomb

Here are the movies!
The thrilling movies of tellurians,
In the tomb I was flung.

On seat, I spectated as a cinephile
Cobra venoms, I watched single file
Nascent awareness, dripping white!

I loathe talebearers!
It seemed they were absent
Behind my shutters, engines roared into a turnpike,
human chirped even under the twilights
The house; rooms and passages seemed placid

One day gone,
My doorstep was furnished with gongs
Talebearers weren't far from us
They were right there, peeping from walls
Bevy of women at my doorstep for conference
Hadn't they mistook preference?

As the days shrinks,
I becomes piqued as engines still brushes...
Rotund, slender and bony women glues buttoms
To my doorstep, chirping, that burns my inside!

Why had mummy flung me into a wrong tomb?
I never asked for where zero quiet loomed
At the yawp of talebearers, books becomes blank
At the rev of engines, ears stuffs with clanks

Could the shoes of intellect be polished
When the aspirational buckle had been damaged?

Being a nerd in Osogbo, requires jungle's lodge
'Why didn't you fling me into its jungle'
‘I hardly assimilate, when I study!'
‘Can't there be any remedy?'...
Gander vitally waddled into water.....
She was about beating me with anodyne brows!
Curtis Delk Rose Mar 2018
The tall tale teller team that told
the triple towered temple town the tall tales turned
turned terribly to telling thoroughly tempestuous troubling terrors
trying to trash the Truth
turned to trying to twist the Truth
to totally tear the treasured Truth to tidbits
turned to treasonous tall tales
then to tattle-tale telling
that the triple towered temple town's tall tale tellers team then told to themselves
till the triple towered temple town's townspeople then took them to task
turning them to teeny tiny tricksters
thoroughly thoughtless tattle-tale talebearers
that they then toppled
turning them topsy turvy
toward the triple towered temple towns
traditional trashpile

“TOORAY!! TOORAH!!
The thrilled triple towered temple town's
tipsy tongue-tied townspeople trumpeted triumphantly

ONEHUNERT TWENNYNINE “T” WORDS!
COUN’EM YERSELF!  C if i ain’t rite!
THE TRIPLE TOWERED TEMPLE TOWN TALL TALE TELLER TEAM'S TIME TO TUMBLE

— The End —