Awfully Broken | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 195: AWFULLY BROKEN
I've seen butterflies zigzag around flowers
perching and sipping nectar
only to be trapped in the mouth of a toad.

I've felt the intense sweetness
of one soul mating another
and then peel apart with shocking fierceness,
I think life's too long to have just one.

I've tasted honey in honeymoon
and danced salsa in my room:
but the loss holds a stronger stench doom,
that preceded the loss of you.

I've lost many and gained a few
I've pulled sundials off the blue
I've once with divinity been in sync,
and then lost touch with everything.

Like deep rooted guilt and inbred fear,
I'm a new moon afraid of light.
Like dreary tales I dread hold dear,
I'm flora bloom that see no night.

True that, I laughed, I loved, I live,
but oh, I lose me everyday!
although for peace I'm desperate,
For though I laugh, and love and live
and lean like lines on loose logs,
no tear erupts from my tear ducts,
and my burden lifted not at the foot of the cross.

I know there's crimson left for me
though I run late and undecided.
Yet I cannot feel sorrow as deep as He'd love
before He lets lose my share of crimson.
I'm forgiven and already washed, maybe,
but I feel no single joy
for I am awfully broken,
beyond repair, maybe.

#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician
#SSA

Comments

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies" "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat" After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?" "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold patriotis...

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....

Jaachi Writes

Search This Blog