In passages of animistic rites poem by Simpa Omoluabi

XXX

In passages of animistic rites,

In profundities probable with lights,

A priest influence a look of two rivers

And the guardian inaudibly whispers:

The heart of the loom is the place of birth

And the light of life quenches unto death

Where darkness is heartless save for a bloom,

Primeval flower where all things find doom.

And I feel this must be the sight of it,

A glimpse of doom where all our longings meet.

In this place is an uncanny meeting,

Your face a confluence of lust and sorrow,

In total an inspired moment fleeting

With powers that heed not to our tomorrow.

I was told by the lover you left poem by Simpa Omoluabi

XXIX

I was told by the lover you left

At foothills of a mountain, and bereft,

That when love was young and love was ashore

That this song took most on whistles you blew.

The last we saw was the evening of you,

Night encroaching your eyes forevermore.

You beside me, hand-in-hand in sunset,

I watched as your eyes drift away to dreams,

Twilight for now are lids light for my beams

Seeing how much with dawn could come regret.

By the altar made soggy the prophet

At his bloody duty quenches his taste

For violence, the grapes draining on the poet

And Winehouse says the deepest is the first.

For a war journalist-photographer poem by Simpa Omoluabi

XXII For a war journalist-photographer

When you’re not with me I’m the poorest shot,

I’m bound to miss you. I think to search,

Without you how I could aim and miss not.

I took routes, highways, rough lanes, research

To find what way that you are my target,

The eye; in these routes there is a common price,

That one would lose sight is the compromise.

What else when one shoots the eye should one get?

For you I will take a shot in the eye

And then cover it up with a black patch

Like a crime, then stride like a proud villain,

Even as a model in arr’gant march

Across the runway of a coming plane,

That you cost me an eye before I die.

Outside of his remit poem by Simpa Omoluabi

Sonnet III

Outside of his remit he gave gift

Expressively from the exclusivity

Of executive avatars, for a rift,

Immortal wound, as with a trinity,

He created in the affairs of spirits.

To what purpose do these wired hands fetch fire?

A plexus duty the fuelling inspire

To a passionate steal he bore in grits.

From these black hounds you flee, a thieving hare,

For you’re accused of an immortal theft,

Done, from hearth of the gods snatched a flare,

Heading so fast by the road at the left.

Shall these demonic winds out of this way,

Your palms unable to bear make you stray.

Behind blindfolds poem by Simpa Omoluabi

Sonnet II

Lurking behind blindfolds he wore the gods

He absconds with a gift of aureate tongues.

The heavenlies unanimously gave nods

And sent strong dogs of winds out of their lungs,

Gestapo polizie sniffing the ways,

To quench the stolen yolk in the split pod,

A titan’s hand bearing a brassy clod

To incinerate the darkness of days.

The ired government beyond gravity

Tried to reconcile the giant in penance,

Having with a daughter of humanity

Fallen in love against all repentance.

An unearthly bloom, an ethereal token

Against whishes of gods has been stolen.

From the tree poem by Simpa Omoluabi

Sonnet I

From the trees, from the grooves, from the fountains,

The brides are compelled to a weaver’s shed.

Who are you with queer workings that detains

Ghosts, leaving chores to observe you instead?

That a deity finds challenge in your eyes,

Have contingencies: by feats are gods made.

What has a goddess to prove ‘gainst a maid

That she appears disapparent in lies?

Official idols are promethphobic,

And have their stooges who pry for the proud.

Should the gifted be apologetic

That an areola aureate does becloud

Her senses, his brain, that a fate tragic

In such a dubious way appeals poetic?