ROSE – (Poem of the Month)
try to forget the seed
try to forget that your body was soil
that your arms were nursery
that your sweat was rain
and your blood nutrients
try to forget that your eyes were sunlight
try to forget that out of your lips came gentle breezes
that his roots find their origin in your backbone
that your prayers were psalms
and tears dew
try to forget the way he grew
try to forget how he swayed
that he was once a bud between your breasts
that his stalk once stood tall
that in a few years he would have been a rose bush
and now he is blood red petals on asphalt
Ogbe
Misan
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FLOWERS
The way it is set in the graphic reminds me of Flo; not
Florence, not Firenze- the Italian principality, but the greatest Flo of them
all- that will be Nightingale- but here
I am concerned with Flo-Jo Griffiths.
Did she graft or was it drug stimulated grift?
Who knows?
But she was certainly poetry in motion.
Locks, talons and barrell.
Literally, barrelling her way to insurmountable,
by even, the East Germans of the era, records.
Flo Jo with her flowering, flowing together colours and her
altogether brightness and vivaciousness.
Gone to soon, but remembered as a flower that flowered too
briefly like Diana's candle fluttering or flickering or blowing in Elton John's
wind.
Not forgetting the Kenyan flower- Rose, interestingly enough
might have been her given name.
Reminding me of the flagrant Mary, wife of the somewhat
salubrious Jeffrey.
Fragrant as to her personality or maybe just her flowery
perfume.
Again you have to examine the Judge
to know that.
Drilling down to the Birth of a Nation and the flowering of
hope, resurgent and revived.
The discovery of 34 minerals ripe and yes, flowering for
economic exploitation.
A thing which has been known, but refused fruitage for lack of
will and presence of private capitalistic and cannibalistic avarice.
So, no flowering, no flourishing, just desiccation and granular
disintegration!
ANDREW
WHYTE
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WE ARE
FLOWERS
If we are men
The eloquence of our voices
In crystal clearness like purest spring will
resound
Speech will be more than music
And our singing a sound of Heaven on earth heard
If we are men
Our virtues steady and firm
Like the foundation of a mountain
As we commune in one vase
Bringing emotions so true
In every situation
We are a reflection
Perishable
A marvel in full bloom
The densest replica of life eternal
Where our speech is more than music
Our existence is Heavens eternal chorus
Ifeanyi
Okwosha
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A ROSE
IS A ROSE
People are different people with different people
But a rose is a rose
Whether it’s in the hand of the rich or the poor
The beauty of the rose does not fade
Be it in the soft hands of a king
Or the callused hands of a pauper
A rose remains loyal in its diversity
Beauty and thorns
She never fails to prick the hand that holds her too
carelessly
Perhaps you may liken a woman to a rose
If you treat her right
You will never know the meaning of scorn
A rose is a rose
Every petal a mystery of creation
Do you know the strength of a rose?
It lies not in the thorns adorning her stalk
Her strength is in the beauty of her being
A silent enduring strength
A knowing that she bears so elegantly
And if you say the same of a woman
I suppose you would be right too
Kemibon
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FOREVER
WITH YOU
(a reply to ”The Move”)
My
"Yes, I do!" for this day
that you make 'the move' to be us.
I love you with the passion of hate
and hate not to love you a second less.
I like
to wet your flowers
and shade you from
the glare of the sun
I like
to the walk the moon
and back with you.
and stretch
it a mile further
with you on my back,
damning gloomy days,
and making the worse, better.
Ours
is a pact; far from the reach
of death, doing us apart,
away from the fear
of life, casting us asunder.
For
this day and
the rest of my days,
I choose, forever with you.
Amami H.
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A
CREATION TO BEHOLD
When a flower appears on a tree,
It is time for it's fruit to blossom.
You are my flower!
Cos' your presence makes the greatness,
within me springs forth.
You are priceless!
The beauty of any plant is in it's flower,
I say, you are my flower!
Cos' though am ugly,
But with you, I can boost of beauty.
Cos' you are ravishing.
The pride of any tree is in it's flowers,
Cos' it's scent extract both men and insects,
to behold it's presence.
You are my flower and pride,
You always attract the attention of onlookers.
They wonder, how did I get you?
A creation to behold.
People place flowers in a vase,
to beautify their homes.
You are my flower!
So take your place in my heart,
and beautify my soul.
Joseph
Amami
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THORNY
FLOWER
I presented myself to you in a
blue-brown ribbon taped with
an inscription from my father's
grave:
"Je t'aime"
the only French statement I know.
I was only eight when father kicked
the bucket, when he swallowed the
candies the Grim Reaper served him.
We—my mother and I—were there
bearing witness to his smiles
in between gulps from the water
of life, or so we thought.
I built a brewery on his grave. Everyday
he took a step further into the
darkness, I drew him back with
a bottle of Hennessey. With the scorn
of a bathtub gin served on a day
whose sun slaps our faces, a treat
inviting strokes from the palms of dolor.
Father's dying words were:
"remember my admonitions—
the petals under your
garment"
I used to be a home to many petals
but when life happens
promises become like remnants
of a fire outbreak // of a sank ship // of a dead animal
When you happened, you crushed my petals
& called it love
& called me your first but
I made me your last,
It took just a bottle of hemlock.
Olaitan
Humble
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WHEN
FLOWERS GROW TEETH
..for Ronke...
I smell death. I tread on blood.
I am last on the procession line; the last line of code.
The light has come and gone,
and the programmer will never return.
Some dreams die before they are born.
Arrows in flight may never return.
So I ask: ‘Who writes the algorithms of our fate?
Who plots the graph of our existence?
How can we measure our lives in binary?’
They aimed for his head,
lodged lead in the nursery of his brain,
and they found out he did not bleed in pseudo-codes.
His mnemonics had their binding time.
They have come again//they always come.
Assemblers/compilers/seeking to decode the language of memory,
daring to dissect destiny//They ask: “when is the end of eternity?”
And some long for a look into the infant’s eyes,
longing to read the past of tomorrow;
yearning to know the future of yesterday.
When flowers grow teeth,
Lord, let my flesh not pass for meat!
Who will write the Messiah’s iteration?
Who will program the day unknown,
now that the light has come and gone
and the programmer will never return again?
Soonest
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MYSTICAL
ROSE
In a misty garden, stood a mystical Rose
In an elegant stillness of a spiritual repose
Like dews, I perch upon your golden petals
Sheltered, nursed and nurtured at your portals
Ododo mi, Olubọ mi, Ologbo mi
Fair as the moon, brilliant as the stars, bright as the sun
Here, fruits and gifts; grits, graces and glory are reborn
Inebriate me with fragrance, intense pollens of eternity
Enfold me, be my tower, my immense mirror of beauty
Onukwu mi, Ọnukwu mi, Oli-ọkọ mi
A hillside-rose with dusty crown of powdered gold
You duplicate Eden, a perpetual memory to hold
I am the hero rising from the ashes of the old stars
Enwrap me in the blood-dimmed blush of your petals
Urọ mi, Uyọ mi, Unọ mi
Michael
Achile Umameh
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SEEDS
IN FULL BLOOM
Dressed in flowing shades of green
Hair full of sunflowers and daises
Her eyes the loveliest of carnations
A cute red ginger nose
Lips the brightest of anthuriums
Teeth a perfect row of lilies
Tulips in her arms
Beds of marigold, gardenia and daffodils at her feet
Beautiful
Natural beauty
Standing in all her glory
In full bloom
He plucks her
Moves her
And plants her again
She gradually fades and dies
Erhio
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NO CAP!
I am a Baldy, but no Cap! I will wear my head with pride!
As my grandfather would say
E a buru fori kan de fila fese!
However much the head is plagued, caps will not be worn on the
leg!
Flowers are for sissies, he’d say!
But those were the days shame existed,
Ask around today, Non binary gender is the new woke!
Reminiscing, he’d quote the flowery words he used in wooing my
grandmothers,
I’d laugh, because now, we will ask you if you could bathe the
children as well as cook!
Now that mushroom flowers are no longer fodder for the
gods but cash
It’s safe to say the world is now vertical!
Lolade
Oye Ajayi
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