*THE BLEEDING PEN ANTHOLOGY 75*
*POETS’ WORST NIGHTMARE*
My pen is castigated of no melody_
My ink is lambasted of no harmony.
I am jinxed of low and quack ink
Which never for a second blink.
I watched with undiluted tears
Traveling with no comic cheers.
Just by latching on to the pen
Clues flood her psyche, redundant muse
Her pen spurts like an open vein
The paper too rejoice over its utility.
She envisions, she sets-up, she indites
What then is her worst nightmare?
His pen betrays him
As the might of his imagery seemed like an absurd film,
His spell for words opens no doors but displays radical flaws
As prose rises to fame while poetry’s head is smashed to stinky walls.
Still helpless in the chain of no creativity
Sweat annihilate papers as his strategies seems useless like a soured tea.
Sans inviting, I got a nocturnal visit
What should I do but to accede the visit
Now on the way to visit my spirit
Y. A, OLAWALE
Like the stream goes shallow,
And the rain keeps flow,
It all seems that it is going to end with no mend,
My heart keeps pounding like the music keeps flowing,
But I never dances to it rhythm,
cause it gave me no deem.
The walls of his blood broke into solitude,
After running into series of rude,
For not walking out of bitterness,
And gathering one word into sweetness.
When shall we speak of fire?
Because my hands are beginning to rust like wire,
With much dissertation,
You can die like a roll of meditation.
For his mind is a battle field;
There truth and error, right and wrong meet in strife.
The pen is his sword yet without shield
As he fights for the team of life.
To stand alone against the world in this warfare:
Remains the wordsmith’s greatest nightmare.
To my betray,
Feeling the weakness of my array,
i sneak close to my disarray.
silk letters envelope in word no more,
Eating nightmares of solitude like unfolded pasta.
Linen of home critics, arms me like a foetus.
Just trying to create my worst nightmare ever:
But I always feared one and only mathematics;
No matter how hard you try to derive equations,
It spits you back some more to find solutions;
Yet, the formulas too share a great part in it,
I’m obsessed only with creating a nightmare_ Which never existed.
And remember, often this is what happens to a poet of high calibre.
Emotions arrested my heart,
Muse got me right on time,
Virgin paper, to bless the scribes of art,’
And a pen, ready to sail to and fro.
Words dancing in the balcony of my brain,
All signs, absolutely point to writing.
Muse is gone, tune is lost,
Amidst all, Word is lost,
Needed to be recovered or all is lost,
Shock from which is of a shot of word,
Fired from the one least expected of us,
On this special day, the worst of all…
RASHY DA PRINCE
From afar I watch a poet
In his most noble med garment
Dangling of his pen I can’t forget
The shade in his eyes like a falling comet.
His luscious lips, a taste I covet.
From afar I love a poet.
The pinches in my flesh,
As i sat on a bench,
Free fallen thoughts of aching fire,
But never my desire,
The thousand stones it cast,
Stingingly moving not quite fast.
Wondering what it will look like,
When my inks dry
Never want to be Samson,
Or leave without reason
While my ink flows in every season
And my words are well seasoned.
When I was a little bae ,
When I was naive,
When I think life was a piece of cake,
But lost person I am for I knew not life is a race
It was all daunting,
For all are gradually fading.
Above the sky my head is laid,
Frantic alarm awake me to race,
Where to go seems dogmatic,
Oh! Noting than a dream trick,
In the street the sound I hear,
Awake! The wind whispers to my ears,
Caught in frustrations net
Struggling to escape the bet.
Tick! tick!! says the clock
Time is flying, am surrounded by flocks.
I am short of words
My muse is out of the world.
I’ve seen beauty, her was distinct.
Her nimbus radiate like a bright new day.
Her love humble my high rank pride.
Was both at night on couples’ playing ground.
The stage was set, the referee about blow the kick off whistle.
When suddenly her cute v-shaped figure assume the shape of a meandering river.
The house smelled of death,
Specter of murder filled a dark path_
The air echoed with agonies;
It haunts souls every night in their dreams_
Bile rose to my throat, my heart came to a stop,
Fear curl through my limbs as a shadow makes blood drip.
In a night of bliss
And a day of peace,
Glorious numbers in torrents pour
To a mind of invalid and blessed.
It was a fear and a grace.
His worst nightmare, unbidden pour.
I was asked
What haunts my dream
And makes me scream
I was asked
What introduces the virus called fear
Into my genes
And injects the bacteria called terror
Into my blood stream
I answered and said
My biggest fear is not darkness
Or creatures that creep
Neither is it silence
Nor do spiders give me the creeps
It is not heights
Or water that is too deep
E. D. OGHRE
Y. A. OLAWALE
E. D. OGHRE
RASHY DA PRINCE
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