There is an old man drinking palm- wine squalidly under thatched tenth. He chews a bitter cola as his son approaches:

Son!
Who wouldn’t say the sun was black;
it was green;
and was clear like my liquid sea the day you were made
From my old mouth you see the sea burnt
the ashes should be my witness

From the heat was this glistening labor
your moistened face wasn’t spared;
neither the pain of the wigging streaks
Could you say this was like this?
The murky skin!
The hanging thickets!
The innocent sea wouldn’t blame your words
Father, I’m fuddled with your heavy thoughts
Are there no wines to wash off my pores?

Ah!
You’ve tilled aside your faith, son!
The little eyed not the grey
Weren’t the cold patches of the green:
the gloomy color of your melanin;
and the plastic sea borne from the sun?

It laid so cold like a gentle breath
Like the skin of a peaceful goddess
Like your eyes, father!
Your muddled eyes
With the vision true to who you are:
The vision of your culture
It is true it soothe
But I would consent this’s the only place
Some unfathomable place; some place are better


Little son!
How many wines have sank into our empty head?
How many suns have blackened your eyes?
How many times have you seen the wraths of the gods?
The transmogrified day:
When no sun smiles
You would’ve prayed for your glistening skin
Were you bold like me—you would’ve prayed!
To the sun to burn you down
There are things inseparable;
Things you couldn’t live without:
The black skin;
The wines of your father;
Your women in their magical nudity

Why won’t you love yourself, son!

(c) 2003 Anthony Adeniyi
anthony.adeniyi@yahoo.com
(+234) 08069256743
http://anthonyadeniyi..com/

THE TRILOGY OF THE OLD MOUTH - PART 1

The Wine Sipper

There is an old man drinking palm wine squalidly under a thatched tenth. He chews a bitter cola as his son approaches:

Son!
Who wouldn’t say the sun was black;
it was green;
and was clear like my liquid sea the day you were made
From my old mouth you see the sea burnt
the ashes should be my witness

From the heat was this glistening labor
your moistened face wasn’t spared;
neither the pain of the wigging streaks
Could you say this was like this?
The murky skin!
The hanging thickets!
The innocent sea wouldn’t blame your words
Father, I’m fuddled with your heavy thoughts
Are there no wines to wash off my pores?

Ah!
You’ve tilled aside your faith, son!
The little eyed not the grey
Weren’t the cold patches of the green:
the gloomy color of your melanin;
and the plastic sea borne from the sun?

It laid so cold like a gentle breath
Like the skin of a peaceful goddess
Like your eyes, father!
Your muddled eyes
With the vision true to who you are:
The vision of your culture
It is true it soothe
But I would consent this’s the only place
Some unfathomable place; some place are better


Little son!
How many wines have sank into our empty head?
How many suns have blackened your eyes?
How many times have you seen the wraths of the gods?
The transmogrified day:
When no sun smiles
You would’ve prayed for your glistening skin
Were you bold like me—you would’ve prayed!
To the sun to burn you down
There are things inseparable;
Things you couldn’t live without:
The black skin;
The wines of your father;
Your women in their magical nudity
Why won’t you love yourself, son!

(c) 2003 Anthony Adeniyi
anthony.adeniyi@yahoo.com
(+234) 08069256743

THE TAYLOR

He writhes the night in a peignoir of crape
Drew its clouds to the volcanoes of fate
This shan’t dwell no more in the heart
Squirmed in the prurient glove of hate

He was a thunderous day
That riled the heart with a prussic of hate
I’ll beg the holy moon to suffer him in haste
There shall be no more of his simian grace

He was clothed in ironic filial clod
Bellowing the voracious drinker of blood
His man etched the grueling stoles
Covered with his metallic-malady like flood

If nature had cursed this decent leave
I’ll pray not in grief

Who’d preached his bonny-inane?
In the camp of the strange talking mane
Who’d felt they were in no odor
What saw him in the entangling chain?

He’d suffered the dear mother
Her fruits to her chest in gruesome murder
He’d lived with his metallic thirst
Was there no black; was there no brother

He drank from the flute of deceit
Or, knew the fashionable weal of defeat
From which portion he’d mustered
He received in an elusive fleet

There’re dreams that tell the secret of lies
I wished you’d none to survive

Between the east and the West
Stood that glorious hill some detest
With tongues in racial colors
That soon calls the Arabian quest




I’d call a laugh to their tears
But a scowling star liven no tears
A spiteful night be above the knight
That cut the hill to a zero with his shears

I long cursed the Arabian zeal
For despair and racial scream
But was it not in the knowledge of them

that he traded our mothers’ metal to the East?

(c) 2003 Anthony Adeniyi
anthony.adeniyi@yahoo.com
(+234) 08069256743
http://anthonyadeniyi..com/

THE DEPTH

Shallow minded they walk on
Not seeing beyond their noses
All man grabbing for himself
An endless circle of bottomless needs


Emptiness covered up in superficial smiles
Brightening the face; darkening the heart
A gnawing shallowness within
Silently groaning to be filled

People dreaming and forgetting to live
Meaningless competitions; dying spirits
Some all, some few and yet some none
Still the circle steadfastly rotates.

Real people gold to find, designed people about
Each hoping to be real someday yet fear of same trembles
Hoping that a change would come

Yet that change cowers to be.

(C) 2015 Orebiyi Temitope
temitoperose@yahoo.com
http://anthonyadeniyi..com/

BROTHER OF THE BLOOD LUST

My soul weeps for you
Brother of my inglorious
Days are night
No star for your fires
These tears will be water
Cleanse your purity tonight

When he stand in thorns
And he lost his thoughts
The miracles seem hung beyond
To be a man tonight is falling off the sky

Tribulations is so hard
O my brother you’ve so old
These eyes shrivel beyond the age you owe

This miserable blood must’ve earned these:
The negligence of the scornful heart
Ferocity had made things of waste
And with this might, he’d laid siege to waste
Heart to blood
Blood to heart
This immortal heart must’ve confirmed
His supernatural prowess unarmed
To the mother who rest her slain slayer on her breast
A silent night is the night for the rest
And the valiant cells to the mother’s breast
Feeding her till they are depressed

O my brother you’ve so old
To be a man tonight is falling off the sky

I know you’re solid
Still solid Brother
But how long will this dwell?
Who milked your mother in crucifix has come with thorns
Too well for this wells

On the safer I should say you run
But where must you be without those things?
Run from this place without a thing
Who knows how they’ll explore the land
And walk stealthily in
One condescending to the other in no way
Far from the flame watch the golden hand
And with thorn he made blood a thane
The scotched humbled head will see him to the stake
And with pleasure, the heart made him a golden flame

To be a man tonight is falling off the sky

If I wake up at dawn and perceive the sun rising-heat
The innocent bed will be my refuge
The morning speak of a mourning break

To be of nature is be of calm
With our own act they’ve been so strong
My blood in Sudan! In Rwanda!
My blood in Congo! In Liberia!
And to where left the shambles
Here we build gruesome castles
ever for our strength to be futile and idle
Hail! The king of entrapment
The earth we loved at your physique
breathing heavily that armored chest
the machinery amour: to most is a early grave
You’ve pledged this unceasing affection:
the daughters are sexed with no interest and affection
Lust! Making dogs out of our beauties
We watched them fell in fields
The maternal breasts ruffling as the killer kills
O heavens! Be the most compatriots
Of the falling heroines
And the infant that milked be of a greater sense:
The gain of a disparaging sex

Here I’ll pray for you’re so beautiful
To see you again will be so wonderful

To quell the shandy aggression
To us be senna with compassion
Though spruced up in our diamond and gold
Nothing be good like holding our peace
This tear’s been too old
Making these nations grow too slow
Insurrection won’t be ill:
the price we’d paid for the guns is too ill
The golden hand will go in peace
The crown bestowed is the treacherous heart
Who’ll wait us taking the risk
But he’ll fall in pieces into the pit


O brother! Tell me what you want
Maybe tonight I could be your only light

I deign for this childish words
I should know you need peace above the worlds
Sooner you won’t wax stronger
These insurrections with guns ever flowing
Of this red sea I won’t drink:
No mercy sprouts from its brink
The evergreen of my mother’s breast
Make me sick as the red sea is fed
This clattering minds to the death
And the dismembered self I gazed with fright
To my feet I give my soul
Before me severe: mountains and cliffs

The effulgence will soon cripple the night
She’ll come when the cloud could be her hood


In the sun if I feel the night
I’ll be back to the grass to make it right
And clean the fields of its seas
The strange sea which hold this ancient gore
With the mother we’ll play
Till the sun sleeps for her to be awake
Sleep brother, and wake to be my mother
A silent night is the night for the rest

(c) 2003 Anthony Adeniyi
anthony.adeniyi@yahoo.com
(+234) 08069256743
http://anthonyadeniyi..com/

BROTHER OF THE BLOOD LUST

My soul weeps for you
Brother of my inglorious
Days are night
No star for your fires
These tears will be water
Cleanse your purity tonight

When he stand in thorns
And he lost his thoughts
The miracles seem hung beyond
To be a man tonight is falling off the sky

Tribulations is so hard
O my brother you’ve so old
These eyes shrivel beyond the age you owe

This miserable blood must’ve earned these:
The negligence of the scornful heart
Ferocity had made things of waste
And with this might, he’d laid siege to waste
Heart to blood
Blood to heart
This immortal heart must’ve confirmed
His supernatural prowess unarmed
To the mother who rest her slain slayer on her breast
A silent night is the night for the rest
And the valiant cells to the mother’s breast
Feeding her till they are depressed

O my brother you’ve so old
To be a man tonight is falling off the sky

I know you’re solid
Still solid Brother
But how long will this dwell?
Who milked your mother in crucifix has come with thorns
Too well for this wells

On the safer I should say you run
But where must you be without those things?
Run from this place without a thing
Who knows how they’ll explore the land
And walk stealthily in
One condescending to the other in no way
Far from the flame watch the golden hand
And with thorn he made blood a thane
The scotched humbled head will see him to the stake
And with pleasure, the heart made him a golden flame

To be a man tonight is falling off the sky

If I wake up at dawn and perceive the sun rising-heat
The innocent bed will be my refuge
The morning speak of a mourning break

To be of nature is be of calm
With our own act they’ve been so strong
My blood in Sudan! In Rwanda!
My blood in Congo! In Liberia!
And to where left the shambles
Here we build gruesome castles
ever for our strength to be futile and idle
Hail! The king of entrapment
The earth we loved at your physique
breathing heavily that armored chest
the machinery amour: to most is a early grave
You’ve pledged this unceasing affection:
the daughters are sexed with no interest and affection
Lust! Making dogs out of our beauties
We watched them fell in fields
The maternal breasts ruffling as the killer kills
O heavens! Be the most compatriots
Of the falling heroines
And the infant that milked be of a greater sense:
The gain of a disparaging sex

Here I’ll pray for you’re so beautiful
To see you again will be so wonderful

To quell the shandy aggression
To us be senna with compassion
Though spruced up in our diamond and gold
Nothing be good like holding our peace
This tear’s been too old
Making these nations grow too slow
Insurrection won’t be ill:
the price we’d paid for the guns is too ill
The golden hand will go in peace
The crown bestowed is the treacherous heart
Who’ll wait us taking the risk
But he’ll fall in pieces into the pit


O brother! Tell me what you want
Maybe tonight I could be your only light

I deign for this childish words
I should know you need peace above the worlds
Sooner you won’t wax stronger
These insurrections with guns ever flowing
Of this red sea I won’t drink:
No mercy sprouts from its brink
The evergreen of my mother’s breast
Make me sick as the red sea is fed
This clattering minds to the death
And the dismembered self I gazed with fright
To my feet I give my soul
Before me severe: mountains and cliffs

The effulgence will soon cripple the night
She’ll come when the cloud could be her hood


In the sun if I feel the night
I’ll be back to the grass to make it right
And clean the fields of its seas
The strange sea which hold this ancient gore
With the mother we’ll play
Till the sun sleeps for her to be awake
Sleep brother, and wake to be my mother
A silent night is the night for the rest

(c) 2003 Anthony Adeniyi
anthony.adeniyi@yahoo.com
(+234) 08069256743

Spring rot away
The silver sun won’t run away
Till the sound of the grueling feet be here;
Will run away

Crampons to mountain in feat
Beautiful roses cried his foots in the city
“Tis gold no one has climbed the feet
Brother—black in a Roman seat

To outpace the pacing sun
Lethargy dredged without the spiked shoes
There with the father, I, scrotal son
To you my hero—1960
Propitious night incite my hero
I, September 12, the ovarian—1960

Roman olives proclaim this glory since e’er
Perturbing run in menacing wind
To mollify my dearest heart forever
My hero’s heart be brothers’ blood;
The blood: brothers’ heart

Dearest brother
With this tear I’ll celebrate your pains
Elating pains as rain tears
Kissing the feet above in sea
Time nodded in eaustary
Taming the history—this history
Never in eaustery will there be this history
The love for my black; the love for my hero

Time has ran beyond the sacrifice
In me, I could feel you sacrificed
To smile the sun on my path
Take refuge my sole!
Take refuge my soul!
To have mortified the extolled

In my hero’s deed, this moneyed heart have learnt it all

(c) 2003 Anthony Adeniyi
anthony.adeniyi@yahoo.com
(+234) 08069256743

http://anthonyadeniyi..com.ng/

Nigh!
The Sun rings the knell
Blood to you reclusive lover queen
The whelk ever glistening erections
Took this peignoir for crape
The steps to the grave

The noble of the golden prince
His arms to the sprigged crape
To have crafted so well
The intricate curve whorls as well
And your fiend heart
Soon drenched in this flowing blood
Let say-off the whorls
And be contented with the whelks on the sea walls
To be of hydra pet: this buxom has not learnt—
The secret of magic rest

Who knows whom she’d loved?
To clear her guilt he retire
Savoring his lonely rest
O noble! O whelks
You’ve paid this lover with a step to the grave

This sylph is not nubile
The sea
It’s hostile
This hydra will feed on the chest
Till they are apart in distress
And the guilt done to your humble chest
Proved to the earth that won’t detest

Beautiful queen you must pay
Even your lover won’t delay
The hyacinth of the mother sea
Flown apart—this’s sacrilege at heart

Where is the lover of your nipple attire
who rode in wind through the mountain range?
In his face with the royal robe
He should have cleansed your innocent guilt

Only when night had swallowed the day
When survival breathe in sorrowful way
He’d shown his haggling face in no to play
Lighting and thunders his help in rage
Flowers of the love beach
This nutrient is too good:
the bloody libation
So pure: it’s too good
For your drinking pleasure
It’s too good
Noble of the golden prince
Ever known as the dreaded since
To you the narcotic blood
To her lover distaste
O golden prince you’re naïve of it:
Your father’s deed—the silver king
Before her head to her feet he’d rung the bell
She’ll have to fall with this blood on her feet
Drifting to the lover she’d loved

(c) 2003 Anthony Adeniyi
anthony.adeniyi@yahoo.com
(+234) 08069256743
http://anthonyadeniyi..com.ng/?view=magazine

Romantic wave recite for the golden shore:
the rhythm of her self concealed
The sun smiled enough to reside in memory shore
Swept away in the onslaught of wave

To your arm her most feline grace
Caressed to her willful desires
You must be guilty and crucified!
To my god at mountain range
To mosses and ferns in lynches age

Send her to her lover once you’ve loved
The windward wind to the jasmine in rage
Betrayal peignoir: her love for the golden prince
This wind should dearly pay, my lord!
Ingeniously it crafted the nexus
Beautiful Island of scenting narcissus

And lo! Lover indeed!
Through the climbing ivy and lo!
Night of no light but rumbling desires
With nicety through her nipple attires

And lo! Lover indeed!
Who had watched your departing deceit
Through the door—no furtive pretence
The royal stood for the queenly attire
Swayed in the grisly macabre
Lively lyre from the hydra vale
Playing melody of imminent blood
And the hyacinth of the mother sea
Soon flown apart for this dismembered self

Gather-ye strength to be this paling defense
Shadow of my lovely prince I’ll kiss
Those lips of my maiden love I could see
To unveil my nipples, this night will be so cold
Have had all that love could hold

To you my attires; I’ll sleep nude in whole

(c) 2003 Anthony Adeniyi
anthony.adeniyi@yahoo.com
(+234) 08069256743
http://anthonyadeniyi..com/