IN A PLAIN LANGUAGE

Within the breached economic peak
The regional peace and powers to speak
As thunderclouds anchor at the aerial port
For nature to embark on the deadliest of sport

With peace hanging on the upper lip
And peace roadmaps from our fingers slip
With high temper harmonizing with those up
Leaving the grassroots drinking with a bloody cup

The bleeding rays wrapped up in ash
Breach the once glittering national cash
Through our hydrocarbon skins we all weep
Like the eyelashes having the pupils to sweep

Our currency is prequalified to ail
Like a dying cat holding a whale’s tail
A troubling scene embraces the dark night
Like the nightmares unveiling the heart’s Knight

Fear and panic pair up in the air
Like the brilliant flowers born so fair
Their broken heads on the tomb they lay
Like the hard fingers verifying the broken clay

Oneness speaks under the tone
And lies motionless like an ancient stone
Unity soars on an indefinite merry go round
With no portions on the revolutionary ground

The sickening moon has come in
Dropping lamplight into the dark bin
The beaded wings have perched upon us
Like brides carted away in the matrimonial bus

Transparency has gone off the age
Where merit wrote for the front page
And harmony has nothing for souls to eat
Our economy snores on the discarded back seat.

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WEIRD VULTURES NURSE OUR DYING LIFE SPAN

The thunderclouds rebrand our breads
And break us with burdensome dreads
Like materialism theologically spewed
Upon the ignorant souls blindly pewed

Realism is exorcised from pure cultures
Tagging our consciousness for ruptures
The sages’ ages are ruined far and wide
For insanity in ignorance to trudge wild

Our breakfast flees from domestic foes
Counter-signing our coin with frog toes
Our eardrums elope with recycled tales
With infancy death swallowing our tails

Sunlight has lost pure potency to breed
For a noontide moon and star we bleed
Weird vultures nurse our dying lifespan
Like courtyards in the blazing frying pan

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THE FALLOUTS OF EXTREMISM

The new extremists’ chartered flight
Refuels nothing but globalised plight
For old peace stands deaf and dumb
Offering games on the furious bomb

From woeful land-mines burned teat
We fool-pick binary missionary teeth
To enumerate our electrocuted team
Cast on the skyscraping fire to steam

Distanced from their fraternal belief
Bloody lyres and deaths they believe
Hawking flaming faggots’ cold strife
For conflicting processes they strive

Touching down upon weird evil axis
Offers hail of bleeding migrant axes
Theirs are the woes without a brake
On bloody dawns without day break

Maternity double-clicks a date death
Travailing upon the date palm dearth
Like the month downed on the week
Hanging a year with threads so weak

To souls peace is the dreaded rumour
And warfare the pride-driven humour
Within flames of fires our lives anchor
Reading the mails penned for rancour

—————–

LIFE IS BURIED IN THE ROCK

The moon is a renowned editor
In the night’s publishing firm
Spotting eyes of the janitor
In the pain relieving farm

Cautioning proofreading stars
He points out his sharp pen
To the night’s scary scars
On the drowning hen

He engages the brilliant sun
Huge volumes to market
Like the wandering urn
Feeding on his racket

He places readership in nature
Like the embryo in the cock
To the refreshed creature
Life is buried in a rock

Sitting on livers’ centre spread
Pen has potent stories to tell
Spent on a towering dread
Soul dreads the cold bell.

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Poems: Adeola Ikuomola
Image: Pixabay.com