POEMS READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 11 EPISODE 10 - FLOWERS

 

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

 

////////////////////////////////////

 

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

//////////////////////////////////////////

 

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    

//////////////////////////////////////

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 

/////////////////////////////////////////

 

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.

 

//////////////////////////////

 

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

////////////////////////

 

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

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////

 

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

//////////////////////

 

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

 

 

//////////////////////

 

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

 

 

////////////////////

 

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

 

////////////////////////////