"tiding" poems
The world was never going to end
in fire.
It was never thought to.
Now. Thunder comes on.
The raincoat boleros around the street.
Momentous,
One two slow slow one two. Earth splits
/ an avocado, molten core discarded.
In the southern hemisphere they are waving flags.
Complimentary colors crawl up the sky tiding in.
They are dancing.
Ba-cha
-ta,
Me-ren-gue.
Their hemisphere Charybidises,
trees genuflected.
Quiet. The puddles are sleeping.
In the north. The hemisphere has run aground.
It capsizes. All the bands are going
down playing.
Rain panics off the timpani
prisming.
The brass cherubs in the clouds.
The strings red shift.
At the equator,
an umbrella floats:
1 bird inside it.
She prays in single syllables. Help.
Please.
Quack!
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 3:10 PM UTC
My dear, do you want to know
why this stream shall never cease to flow
why this countenance shall know no smile
why in vain you realease torent of bile
for eternity shall my face tarry behind the sun
and ever shall be till this ugly scenario run
cut off from every string joint to my mind
to recall no more that gruesome day
Limbeh turned a cadavar awaiting decay
how my heart tremble while my tongue relates
the incident that turned an early widow late
the night before, cried a owl across at nightfall
grandpa beheld and discerned the mysterious call
tapped he my shoulder and opened his phangs
look beyond the pregnant night in labour pangs
waiting to birth a child as mysterious as the cry
Ekumbo! May i live not to witness that melancholic night(he sighed)
a thing unheard of in Aweh beyond countless centuries
worth plunging a kingdom into an endless misery
frightened, departed me with my ribs to my cradle to fall
holdin his words to await he upon whom the lot shall fall
so as the pregnant night did flipped
departed then this poor widow to her field
to gather bread for her fatherless kids
then in agony their lips they bit
as their eyes rained in torrent
and their sobs grew even fervent
when the fatal tiding was unleashed
a thing which feared hearts and andrenaline released
how she bent beneath a dry iroko gathering yam
in her distant and lonely farm
a branch uphigh cracked
turned she to see the source of the crack
behold a log fell on her skull
pouring out what was left of her brain- all
keeling rightward, she fell as her spirit transcended a plane beyond
a place so gray, so blund
now poor orphans, as poppies to be shared
departed they to various kins to be rared
and daily this dirge about her goes
as villagers their drum beat and lyre blow
forget not the story of the unfortunate widow
who for the door, took the window
and drank not from the spring of old age
nor for her maternal labour achieved a wage
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC
Fainting... fading...
Time re tiding
Lonely, gloomy
Sink **** my heart
Adieu,
My UN sailing heart
Heard tock of your beat
but d tick sigh solely
Adieu... .
Smashed heart
Clipped wings
Noble mind turning sour
No door I see
My sight is gone
Adieu...
Moremi has fallen
Adieu...
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 5:54 AM UTC
Sometimes the summer comes, sometimes the summer goes
Sometimes the heat beats down upon your cheeks and they turn to rose
And sometimes lying on the grass under a tree is all we need
Summer days and flowers hiding in the greenery
Sometimes the spring does bring news of warmer days to come
Dripping dew from rain that came before the rising sun
The rain that came on full blue moon and made raindrops look like stars
Falling from a sky as black as the street leading to lands afar
Sometimes that falling leaves of autumn creates carpets to walk upon
Bringing early tiding of colder days like beams to the coming dawn
The colors blending in a stirring wind that brings you closer to me
So that my arms might not feel as barren as the leafless trees
Sometimes the winter comes and chills the very bone
Blankets of white pushing us together within our cottage home
And the seasons come and go like clockwork, unpredictable as they come and fade
But my love, my hold, and my time with you will remain constant through the days
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 3:35 PM UTC
Weighty lightness, solid levity,
Primordial soup,
Some ancient rite, draws me
To the foam.
Its celestial colour,
Its effervescent overflowing,
How it teases my buds,
Not like water,
Like honey
As an insect encased
In amber
I am within,
The tears of sunshine
And Olympian folly.
On dry days
I seek the incendiary agent,
Brooding bout,
Pint-sized, el niño
And his brews
Come soaring
After the downpour,
As high-tiding winds,
That **** contented days
And spin spirals round
Cups of complacent
Hours, the whine
Eternal,
Only seems
Like spilling
Blood.
Draw me, the dram.
The dram of what?
Ale's the thing!
Falling,
Overboard,
No drowning man was so ever
Esteemed,
Ever so buoyant.
How the vessel becomes
His captain.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
The nights are long but the days are longer
Only in her sleep does she exhale
The rest of the world loosening its grip
She thinks of false promises and shallow hopes
Things all too familiar by now
And swears to do better for her child
The baby on her back now a young woman too
Still her precious light and hope
"My only sunshine" in the dark
She feels her bones and flesh aching from the race
Her heart beats stronger than rising tides
An indomitable force pushing at an irrational object
And so she wakes, smiles at the sky
Fixing sunny side ups for her kin
To get by in spite of everything
is sometimes the bravest act of all
Oct 28, 2021
Oct 28, 2021 at 6:29 AM UTC
See Seesaw Sea, Swing in ecstasy
Rhythmic tides, Rhyming strokes
Soothing breeze, Pleasing nodes
Surfing banks, Boxing waves
Tiding ebbs, Ebbing tides
Unabated buzz, Ferry minds
Merry crowds, Downing sun
Cooling beach, Evening dawns
Immolating sun, Immortal journey
On double shift,
Off side wakeup call,
On side adieu
Pushed up moon as a parting gift
On alighting night
Good oh the heavens!
Kudos to the Ocean Park.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
<>
***"having found a white coal seam amidst the black bunting
that decorates their glum apprehension of tomorrow's tidings"^***
the computer tablet recognizes as I essay,
the "tomorrow" word
as possessing a reality, with time sensitivity,
please, somebody help us, almost
an inevitability
the possibility of a realizable event,
as if the poem composing was
the future's assuming a 99% probability, right ready for scheduling
offering me two choices:
create event or view calendar?
as if the next shooting, bombing,
and my glum apprehension thereof,
as if ''tomorrow's" tidings were mine own doing
of my undoing,
somehow my fears create or anticipation of
the "next one" makes me a guilty part
my heart cracking with despairing moans
knowing that this is foolishness
but
not to me
for as we think upon it, that tiny extra precaution,
'tis already the small death of me
each death a cut in the same spot,
and the pestering wound ground deeper, bone closer
find myself
jailed in a place with no view, insecure and unprotected
no view, no window to crack, no window no view
no to letting in fresh air, hope or something good,
and yes to no,
I know about this and that and words
intended to offer up optimism,
albeit on a small scale
I am careful not to mock
the words and those who offer up
but seriously,
don't
I came to,
I came to this place to write
only love poetry silly love songs
and some black angel sideswiped me in the left lane
writing now in stead of ways I'm dented and unforgiving
feeling stoopidly foolish even as
I try and I try to find the seed germane to the connectivity between the horror hallmarks of these times and the ******* window is just stuck stuck stuck
I'll think I'll change my name,
honestly,
only love poetry? cries out ridiculous
this is no poem, more a teacher's note of surrender,
come back with a new identity or just a new field of endeavor
so I put that on my calendar for tomorrow
and it appears right away, right after:
6:00 am Check on Glum Apprehensions
and it appears that I'm too late
confirming I've missed my appointment so too late for my kind of tomfoolery. and that white seam, glimpsed but not grasped, illusion noxious,, I can't seem to locate it anymore
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
In secret
Words prepare dialogue transporting emotions like pilots
With no mercy words turn around and get messy
Placing Vaseline on dry throats speaking levy
Lips on skateboards sniffing the ground for reality’s ride
Electrifying plots against blurry words with
no physical basic thoughts thinking dialogue cravings
Untidy tiding plots buried in baritones hurried to hire imaginary thoughts
With no mercy things get messy
Stainless inks get messy
Poetry comes in speed bumps
Never the less poetry comes in speeds
Bumping speed bumps
Bump all slumps
Bluffing word bumps
Bump all stunts
Puff them hard till words provoke gumboot sounds
Bump all ink pumps and thirsty thumbs
Speed bump conclusions jumping resolutions around
words spoken in gibberish gigabytes per seconds smelling leverage
Amplifying televised revolution on repetition far from average
Paralyze those walking eyes
Bumping rhythms
Dusty broken chests serving overcrowded greeting lines
On solo mode
Flirtalicious solo chaotic modes
Bumb connections around chairs warmed up by bums
Speaking the same womb and rhythms
Brothers and sisters chained up in pairs and bums
enslaved by messy word poetry speed-bumbs
Words get messy with no mercy on lip bumps
Those messy words camp behind bushy brains
Rail track through lips with no vibrating mercy veins
Affiliate with true bones
Crossbones carrying history's forgotten side bums
Instrumental bones
Stinking hip hop bums speed flossing word stunts
Words dig up chaos with no mercy
Armed with no rounds
Pounds stolen before two rounds
Sheriffs secretly scared of their own uniform sounds
Shortlisted words saving society's bums
Words are just messy and profound
a.s.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
By the old garages near the railway sidings
slipping or sliding, through the tiding hiding
away, or near to the solemn aspects of ******
with ease, she can tease the eve of your heave-
** or go, no, stay, she says, just today, or all
of your tomorrows shall be forgotten
Lonely was the name on a tag, lagged, left
forgotten at the bottom of the river, where
she lay, today, floating away-
But he stays, the way his spirit lays, let( )down
or all around this town, how it lingers;
the memory of love or lust on drunken Friday
nights by the fright of old Frank Alight, setting
alight the houses in furor, or moor the more
he bores by the moored shore of that amour
armoured, charmed, alarmed at the speech
patterns in the night sky, as she lay down
to die, or to cry, questioning why, Frank
could try and do this, Brutus, brutally
mutually assured destruction, social construction
or constriction, the friction of hands
around the throat, she never floats, just sinks
corpses stink, porous ink stained every lane
leading to the place where in disgrace, he beat
her face, and replaced the lace, in the place
leading to the lake
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
*Weighty lightness, solid levity,
Primordial soup,
Some ancient rite, draws me
To the foam.
Its celestial colour,
Its effervescent overflowing,
How it teases my buds,
Not like water,
Like honey
As an insect encased
In amber
I am within,
The tears of sunshine
And Olympian folly.
On dry days
I seek the incendiary agent,
Brooding bout,
Pint-sized, el niño
And his brews
Come soaring
After the downpour,
As high-tiding winds,
That **** contented days
And spin spirals round
Cups of complacent
Hours, the whine
Eternal,
Only seems
Like spilling
Blood.
Draw me, the dram.
The dram of what?
Ale's the thing!
Falling,
Overboard,
No drowning man was so ever
Esteemed,
Ever so buoyant.
How the vessel becomes
His captain.*
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
"Indeed you were built strong and brave
Like a warrior bashing through a cave
Of sorrow and of emptiness
Crying when the world is bright to believe theres no such thing as darkness
Dealing with the challenges and mistakes that life throws at us
But learn from every single mistake anger-less
Stop giving into your weaknesses
Stop thinking about those who forgotten you and treated you effortlessly
Senseless and affectionless
Let no wasteful man put you down with meaness
Only because your personality fashions a spark of joyfullness
Consume every wisdom with aggressiveness
Shed a thousand years of tears in a state of loneliness
Only so you can feel you inner self with consciousness
Be ready at what ever life throws at you with eagerness
You never lose. You either win or reflect with perceptive-ness
And just know to trust your lord with wholeness
Keep grasping upon the hardships you dealt with in the darkness
So you can look back and recall the roughness
Recalling every memory buried in your heart from all the sadness
And stand proud with your toughness
Once you overcome your glumness and drown in a deluge of pure gladness
and give glad tiding to the strangers"
© S Y A
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 5:43 AM UTC
Sometimes the body is contagion
To the soul. Stars in their mission fall
To seed the fertile flesh, ignite
Blue waters of sulfureous hearts,
And so the flash is set to cancel
In the flood.
Sometimes the lip of soul onto seal
Will not hold, before he first knocked
And let flesh enter, thorny pegs
Pricked nerve and pierced bone on his climb
To the rose, yea, some stars odd as
Meteors crash.
In the swan-sea, song-sangy-frame of crib,
Rough hewn words bent mold to scrape, like
Blasted coral, stood half-submerged
Amid sea and sky, for between the leaves,
Behind the eye, there are little stars
Shining like existence.
In a circle world he fashioned green
Blazons about the darkling day,
Fostered by celestial navigation,
Wrote a language for music, on a map of love
And charted the force of green in a wind-
Rose of discovery.
Sometimes the soul is not contained, it
Bursts in silent sound like well water
From the source. And of men in streets
He saw the pennies in their grumble
Eyes, and of love and its course he rubbed,
Tickling dim stars.
It was his thirty ninth year in that fall
To heaven when the steeping cell,
Refused to push in its tide. Homeless
And free on scaffold of bone the middling
Man retracted from sun to sink
With the moon, turn-tiding-toward sea
Like a changeling.
And as ever, nor often, unwavering eyes
Sprout through shifting grains. And as he spoke
Quite rimless, Dylan Thomas was petrified
In undying light, and solid set within a rill
Of reef sparkling in concert betwixt gas
And sea, so becoming in purple sleeves,
This constellation of mute singers all,
Dried five-fingered-fish, bright embryos
Returned to the shell, they burn between the leaves,
Beset the grounded skies and show sprite flashes
In the dark where He has left his imprints, burning
Above and plastered below. The first rock stars!
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
He brought us up with dovish love
He cautioned us to be serpent wise,
He took us to schools each of us
In a genuine dream to forestall future misery
He fed us well from his meagre earnings,
He discriminated not love among the siblings
We grew up united in family bond,
He made us all to walk tall and proud
As sons and daughters of credible father,
He taught me in particular to read Mahatma Gandhi,
He inspired me with love for Napoleon Bonaparte,
He named me Alexander as a nomenclatural ritual
To procure spiritualities of charm and intellect,
He did us good and indeed we must all agree
As evinced in the love he gave to our mother,
We saw no fearful stress of threatening estrangement
As our mother always clang to us with superior enthusiasm.
He only began to feel pain on every swallow,
Saliva, other liquids and solid stuffs he painfully swallowed
He lost and lost weight on each day as we could do nothing,
But his wisdom and sense of humane picked,
Phenomenally usual precursor of impending death,
He got emaciated and weakling, his feeding decimated,
I desperately took him to hospital and surrendered him
To a man wearing humongous glasses on his bearded face,
The community of that place called him a doctor,
He checked my father and came out with a stark tiding;
Young man, your father has throat cancer!
The barium swallows has indicated all these,
There is eminent presence of tumors and carcinoma
Known for their foul perpetration of oesophagus cancer,
I received this dooms day news with mild trepidation,
He was discharged back to his village home
He died two days later in his hut, on his marital bed
The wooden bed with wick-work of strappings and strings
Crafted from stone hard animal hides and skins,
And it was Christmas day of December 2000,
At three in the afternoon, when my father died
Succumbing to death caused by throat cancer.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC
get
this cold
take it inside
feed it
to those
you are traveling
with
through this space.
tell them
love is a glacier
it endures
and is not remembered.
halve
the cold minute.
nurture it
and then set it free.
in
its absence
the warm
will return.
a tiding
a small child
who laughs
at the bitterness
of the
crime you hold.
a song
to be
rehearsed
a
misstep
to be
forgiven.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
Sometimes the body is contagion
To the soul. Stars in their mission fall
To seed the fertile flesh, ignite
Blue waters of sulfureous hearts,
And so the flash is set to cancel
In the flood.
Sometimes the lip of soul onto seal
Will not hold, before he first knocked
And let flesh enter, thorny pegs
Pricked nerve and pierced bone on his climb
To the rose, yea, some stars odd as
Meteors crash.
In the swan-sea, song-sangy-frame of crib,
Rough hewn words bent mold to scrape, like
Blasted coral, stood half-submerged
Amid sea and sky, for between the leaves,
Behind the eye, there are little stars
Shining like existence.
In a circle world he fashioned green
Blazons about the darkling day,
Fostered by celestial navigation,
Wrote a language for music, on a map of love
And charted the force of green in a wind-
Rose of discovery.
Sometimes the soul is not contained, it
Bursts in silent sound like well water
From the source. And of men in streets
He saw the pennies in their grumble
Eyes, and of love and its course he rubbed,
Tickling dim stars.
It was his thirty ninth year in that fall
To heaven when the steeping cell,
Refused to push in its tide. Homeless
And free on scaffold of bone the middling
Man retracted from sun to sink
With the moon, turn-tiding-toward sea
Like a changeling.
And as ever, nor often, unwavering eyes
Sprout through shifting grains. And as he spoke
Quite rimless, Dylan Thomas was petrified
In undying light, and solid set within a rill
Of reef sparkling in concert betwixt gas
And sea, so becoming in purple sleeves,
This constellation of mute singers all,
Dried five-fingered-fish, bright embryos
Returned to the shell, they burn between the leaves,
Beset the grounded skies and show sprite flashes
In the dark where He has left his imprints, burning
Above and plastered below. The first rock stars!
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC
Tis the Season I most believed in
The day I held onto
But this year I found the meaning
Of what I never knew
Yes,it ripped from under my feet
The reason I once had
To believe in only Christmas
How could it be so bad?
Like the Tree I dearly decorated
Like the magic of the Day
But inside I longed for meaning
And found the Truth as someone said
That they don't believe to celebrate
The day I thought was laid
But proved the Bible right
No where it solmen state
The real birth of Jesus
Yes the very excact date
Tis not only the joyous tiding
That the Angels brought that night
But the daily life of Christ
His birth-His Life he gave
Every day I found should be
The celebration to His Divinity
Not only did it end
On the day He came to Earth
But the tale of how my saviour Lived
That's the days that deserve
To be written in the heart
To be treasured most-more than gold
Of Jesus way of Living
Yes the Tale from very old
And so
I believe in Christs birth
But Christmas day alone aint worth
Its about much more than presents
Or the TRee
Or the date
Its about realising in Faith,
Brought my Saviour to Earth:
Yes Gods Hand alone
Gave Jesus us His Birth,
And His Every day Life spent
Till His triumphant Return
***
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 8:03 AM UTC
Weighty lightness, solid levity,
Primordial soup,
Some ancient rite, draws me
To the foam.
Its celestial colour,
Its effervescent overflowing,
How it teases my buds,
Not like water,
Like honey
As an insect encased
In amber
I am within,
The tears of sunshine
And Olympian folly.
On dry days
I seek the incendiary agent,
Brooding bout,
Pint-sized, el niño
And his brews
Come soaring
After the downpour,
As high-tiding winds,
That **** contented days
And spin spirals round
Cups of complacent
Hours, the whine
Eternal,
Only seems
Like spilling
Blood.
Draw me, the dram.
The dram of what?
Ale's the thing!
Falling,
Overboard,
No drowning man was so ever
Esteemed,
Ever so buoyant.
How the vessel becomes
His captain.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
Should grief be drowned in waving thrones of sea
bereft as me; shall boat and venture deep
until that ever spanning moat has me
then salty hearse's cleanse - that I not weep.
If seagulls flock the sky above this scene
then fly them lower here and feast debris
for little worth has lovers' break - that been
as sheathing sinks, the fishes then agree.
No shrine would rise beneath the liquid tomb
the ocean bed shall crest my seams as shells
tho' here no flag nor plankton mark old bloom
concealed in sand, from shores and tiding swells.
The bay entices me, whom sprayed with brine
but I shall wander on; in shards of mine.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 12:08 PM UTC
Sometimes the body is contagion
To the soul. Stars in their mission fall
To seed the fertile flesh, ignite
Blue waters of sulfureous hearts,
And so the flash is set to cancel
In the flood.
Sometimes the lip of soul onto seal
Will not hold, before he first knocked
And let flesh enter, thorny pegs
Pricked nerve and pierced bone on his climb
To the rose, yea, some stars odd as
Meteors crash.
In the swan-sea, song-sangy-frame of crib,
Rough hewn words bent mold to scrape, like
Blasted coral, stood half-submerged
Amid sea and sky, for between the leaves,
Behind the eye, there are little stars
Shining like existence.
In a circle world he fashioned green
Blazons about the darkling day,
Fostered by celestial navigation,
Wrote a language for music, on a map of love
And charted the force of green in a wind-
Rose of discovery.
Sometimes the soul is not contained, it
Bursts in silent sound like well water
From the source. And of men in streets
He saw the pennies in their grumble
Eyes, and of love and its course he rubbed,
Tickling dim stars.
It was his thirty ninth year in that fall
To heaven when the steeping cell,
Refused to push in its tide. Homeless
And free on scaffold of bone the middling
Man retracted from sun to sink
With the moon, turn-tiding-toward sea
Like a changeling.
And as ever, nor often, unwavering eyes
Sprout through shifting grains. And as he spoke
Quite rimless, Dylan Thomas was petrified
In undying light, and solid set within a rill
Of reef sparkling in concert betwixt gas
And sea, so becoming in purple sleeves,
This constellation of mute singers all,
Dried five-fingered-fish, bright embryos
Returned to the shell, they burn between the leaves,
Beset the grounded skies and show sprite flashes
In the dark where He has left his imprints, burning
Above and plastered below. The first rock stars!
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
Weighty lightness, solid levity,
Primordial soup,
Some ancient rite, draws me
To the foam.
Its celestial colour,
Its effervescent overflowing,
How it teases my buds,
Not like water,
Like honey
As an insect encased
In amber
I am within,
The tears of sunshine
And Olympian folly.
On dry days
I seek the incendiary agent,
Brooding bout,
Pint-sized, el niño
And his brews
Come soaring
After the downpour,
As high-tiding winds,
That **** contented days
And spin spirals round
Cups of complacent
Hours, the whine
Eternal,
Only seems
Like spilling
Blood.
Draw me, the dram.
The dram of what?
Ale's the thing!
Falling,
Overboard,
No drowning man was so ever
Esteemed,
Ever so buoyant.
How the vessel becomes
His captain.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
Hate inciting, fate deciding that I should break this silence.
Your claims beguiling, creating violence that negates uniting.
But that wave subsiding,
a flame's igniting that will change the tiding.
Remain in hiding,
I will break the chains of all this rage and violence.
Rearrange your sacred writings,
transcribing silence with striking rhyming. Shine so blinding it would redefine your findings
This. is writing.
I deny dividing! Mankind defiling and I aspire climbing higher,
I desire
I am fire
Firing wires
that defy dividence
Rise in silence
Uninvited fighting
by simply uniting
to clear the sky
of our tyrant Lightning.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
as we
| | |
anointed
sons of an herald servant
still stand a'donned in armor, able,
as prey to the furtive fowl
among the tiding drift as many,
and with our perennial love as but
the choice to cherish mankind,
the untouched host of sparrows
seem to marvel
as we
| | |
fly
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
A hundred crows from all corners,
Flew into view, and whirled about,
As if the cracked earth set quaking,
As if the sky was tiding, sloe black,
What ominous undulations accrued,
What murderous tribulations due?
The very sound they made was tear,
Was tirade and all those black flecks;
Dark sparkles of sun, shadows of fear.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC