Skip to main content

Fishes In The River | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu


POEM 325: FISHES IN THE RIVER

"there are many fishes in the river", grandpa hummed.

just yesterday, ese left my outstretched arms,
hanging in the air, like a rag hanging out to dry

the river was as long as Nile, grandpa loved fishing,
he grabbed a hook knotted the line,
dropped the sinker, bait strapped to the hook,
grandpa hummed, "there are many fishes in the river..."

I told him, the tragic tale, of how ese made her hair into a ponytail,
I told him the sun was going down, when ese, took my love to town

grandpa hummed
"there are many fishes in the river,
son, go fish on the other side"

his countenance, emotionless, a wry smile 
played hide and seek, on the corner of his lips

but who wants date a fish?
ese was gold, a gem, my treasure chest of everything bright and beautiful

sun sets on her eyes and rises on her lips
stars twinkle in her voices and music is native to her kiss,

I do not understand why mortal me would dine with a fish
when ese, the goddess of enthral bliss
was my only candle wish

"I fished here"
Grandpa's husky croaky paused my reverie:
"on this side of the Nile fishes weighed in gold,
scales more beautiful than corals in blue seas, we were told.
Hook, line, sinker, I dropped deeper, 
I fished, too. 
I got gold, a gem too, a treasure chest that stinks too"

Grandpa signed:
"she slipped before my eyes, like catfish from the knife...
undeterred, son, I fished, again.
Your selfish self would with me agree, 
that all that mattered was what you feel.
Son, this river is home of shrimp and whale,
crab and ell, seal and mackerel,
don't let the flying dolphin distract you
from sinking deep your bait-laden hook.
ese is come, ese is gone, 'there are many fishes in the river', son"


I am not a fisherman, oh grandpa of mine;
fishes in the river, who wants to marry one?

let me be a lion, and run jungles for her,
ese might be long gone,
but the tale's still in scene one.

mallet and dagger, two-edged cutlass.
variety of skulls still litter the dusty floor.

[this poem is still under construction]

#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician #SSA

Enjoyed reading? 
Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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...

Poemify | Haiku Writing

A haiku ( pronounced high-koo ) is short three-line poem that uses sensory language to capture a feeling or image. Haiku poetry was originally developed by Japanese poets. They are often inspired by nature, a moment of beauty, or poignant experience. Before I dive deep, I'd love to say this: I believe some of us here know what haiku is and what 'rules' there be that guide haiku writing. That's beautiful. We are here to learn, unlearn and relearn. So, I'd rather you keep your knowledge aside and learn something new today. Alright? Okay, let's walk over Jericho. Haiku is a Japanese verse in three lines. Line one has 5 syllables, line 2 has 7 syllables and line three has 5 syllables. Haiku is a mood poem and it doesn't use any metaphors or similes. Usually when haiku is taught, poets are only given the restriction of the number of lines and syllables. However, for good haiku poetry, more explanation needs to be given. This lecture is for poets who are willing...

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....