STICKY FINGERS

Sticky fingers went to town,

Around the food stores he hung,

Pockets like sacks, both sides of his gown,

Vegetables that caught his fingers, in the sack flung,

Onions, meat, spared not even salt.

On way home, glassy eyes in guilt rove,

His kitchen spectacle made his feet halt,

Ha! Another sticky finger had stolen his stove.

Written by: Kunle Omope

Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

A LETTER TO TWO

************ A LETTER TO TWO ***********

Dear Sirs,

Congratulations so far. A wise man once said that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Following these words, I have tried to peer into your souls as your eyes stare at me...at us, from posters hanging everywhere.

I looked long and hard, yet came up with zilch as regards the goings-on in your minds. I am sure your followers must share my testimonial ignorance even if they choose to hide their heads in a pile of saw dust, for we are only but puny humans with only two spiritually myopic eyes.

And so it baffles me, when some of these aggressive followers of yours have agreed to kill their neighbours for your sakes.

How am I sure of their murderous potentials? Simple! Have you read their comments on social media? Don't they just reek of blood curdling anger ? Have you seen them argue and insult one another at the news stands, with eyes flaming and veins bulging from their hungry necks?

Dear Sirs, do you really love these followers of yours? Will their deaths add more feathers to the caps they have worn you because of the words you have said, and the promises you have made? Do they know you so well to die for you?

Sirs, are you not but humans capable of breaking your promises and deceiving us all. Can't we be hoodwinked by you?

Another wise man said, "see one lion, you have seen all lions, see one goat and you have seen all goats...but see one man and you haven't seen any man, as a matter of fact, you have just seen one of his many sides".

How much of you does A know to kill B his coursemate and buddy way back in school because one sweeps with a broom and one carries an umbrella?

Because of you, your followers have decided to 'change' to murderers and 'transform' to killers in the dark craze for changing transformations and transformation changes.

One of you is going to be President, but whom will you preside over when all are dead?! Will you be a President over young graves?

It will really be nice, if you and your family members would lead in front as we go into this avoidable and senseless battle.

Have we not died enough in this land? Must we continue to die for men whom we can't see their hearts?

Sirs, how many orphans and widows will 2015 manufacture? You alone know your real intentions, your driving force...but are they worth our blood as broth for flies? Must we be meals to vultures to put smiles on your faces?

I have more questions but can't find the answers in your smiling mouths and eyes that hold many secrets.

I will not kill whom I can eat eba and okro soup with because of you whom I may never be able to eat a crumb from your table, eventhough I do not know whether he has poisoned my cup of water because we are on different sides of the fence you built to divide us on the same dining table of hopelessness

Fearfully yours,

Kunle Omope.

HARLOTRY AND THE MARKET FORCES (ARTICLE)

********* HARLOTRY AND THE MARKET FORCES ***********

The day has gone to bed, the eyes of the night flick open to stare at the black blanket stained by spangled stars.

Distant sisters wear make-up on their faces to take up the trade at the market forces of harlotry.  

They paint their cold eyes and gloss rouge over lips that pout a beckon.

A dash of fragrance clings unto their skin and skimpy skirts, escorting them as they sway and sashay into the streets. Vermilion talons at the ready to bore holes and trap the blood and sweat in Messrs Randys’ wallets. 

Over breezy miles across a sleepy town, distant brothers rise up(and they rise up with their masters too) to demand lust at the night market of supply.

The hypocritical world with horse whips for tongues, lashes the Supply at the market. They don't know her story, yet they tell it in corners, before assemblies and on tabloids.

Without Demand, will there be Supply? Doesn't a rise in Demand lead to an increase in Supply?

If Demand becomes responsible and makes himself unavailable, would Supply supply herself to Supply?

If a fall in demand leads to a fall in supply, imagine a world where demand for harlotry is non-existent.

Yet, two holes on one double speaking body speak opposite languages. The hole in the head, slaps a lip over incisors onto the other lip, to utter self-righteous, pseudo saintly obscenities against the pleasure supply merchants.

And then, in the dark,

and in corners,

and in clandestine red light rooms.

when eyes are turned away,

 the hole that protrudes from the waist seeks the Supply’s succulent southern lips to empty a flow of that which he left unsaid. What a well-fed, well-clad, shiny faced piece of hypocrisy.

For the Supply stained society to be sane again, there must be a deliberate death of Demand. At least the laws of the market forces imply so.

Written by- KUNLE OMOPE.

Photo from google

KUNLE OMOPE DEFINES POETRY

Poetry, like a skilled seductress,

creeps on me from behind,

kissing my neck with moist inspiration,

shivers race down my fingers,

as orgasmic muses in febrile semblances,

cascade salaciously on paper.”

“Poetry is an elixir; a soothing balm to life’s plenteous maladies; a shoulder that drinks up the tears of our mind’s unkind tragedies.

It is a bloodhound, sniffing, seeking, the lifeblood of villainous questions.”

“Poetry is like fire:

It burns a tyrant’s ego

and heals a soldier’s wound.

It purifies gold,

and beautifies clay.

It awakens Morn,

and sends Night to sleep”

IMAGES IN THE DARK (POEM)

Walking in the dark forest at night,

Melodious chants and whistling winds tumble in fight,

Keen look, bright lights in the night,

Jungle illumined, south to north, left to right.

Sniffing danger, I took to my heels with all might,

That I may not behold an unsavory sight.

The faster I ran, the harder the dark bit.

Ominous thoughts in my mind, a spinning kite.

Before me, stood silhouettes clad in moonlight.

Alas! I became a condiment of the rite!

In utter fear, I stared at the images in the dark,

Petrified by the ones flowing from the Iroko’s bark

With the speed of a wounded lark,

Feathery sheathed clubs met their mark.

Wracking pains boomed in a million sparks.

My body screamed as I was skinned inside.

I lifted a heavy head and life went blank.

Next thing, I lay on fresh human stack.

So much regrets, too many pains, for choosing Black.

Only blackened hearts see images in the dark!

*The regret filled story of a confraternity initiate, who discovers THE HIDDEN TRUTH on the brutal initiation day.

Written by: Kunle Omope

Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

META HAIKU (POEMS)

Stars twinkle softly

Like fireflies on summer nights

When loving eyes meet

The dew, hail and rain

Like arrows shot by Cupid

Pierces the earth’s heart

Soldiers’ unknown fears

Hidden flames behind the eyes

As they march to war

Written by: Kunle Omope

KASALA (POEM)

The spirit of Kasala,

Has come to town.
Doors slammed, windows shut,
Destruction looms,
As a warhead booms.
Danger screams aloud,
At fainting hearts.
Then, nightfall shambles in,
As fear wears her makeup.

Kasala! Evil phenomenon,
Dancing wildly around our nation.
Azonto in the north,
Galala in the east,
Suo in the west,
And Yahoozay in the south.

Kasala! Ye unwelcome stranger,
Yet your fiery fury is pinched,
By blood eating hypocrites.
We pray the oceans drink you up,
And the wind violently shove you,
The sandy Sahara you go.

Kasala! We must fight you.
Be cursed by our mothers’ bleeding breasts.
Stand indicted by the hopeless loins of the grey haired.
You shall be no more!

I open my eyes wide,
Still it looms,
Yes, it hangs, still in the air,
Like foul breath.
So what is this?
Wishful thinking or fantasy?
Perhaps a purposeless nightmare!

*Kasala- common street slang synonymous with chaos or anarchy
*Azonto, Galala, Suo, Yahoozay- Afro- HipHop dance styles.

Written by: Kunle Omope
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

STRIKE (POEM)

In the great market place of minds,

Emptiness and echo loiter around.

Silver bowl of milk and honey rusts away.

Zealous fingers are limp in idleness.

A forest has become desert,

So that the boss can gorge his constipated stomach.

Written by: Kunle Omope

Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

BRAIN DRAIN (POEM)

 He sat on a pile of books,

Lucubrated wrinkles cracked his looks,

Geometry’s jugular, he clutched in a vice grip,

And a crowd of tongues sprung from his lips,

Yet frayed linen embraced his lean frame,

As he squeezed little bread from his great name.

Patriotism died, he fled the Motherland,

Now strangers drink the soup of his hands.

Written by Kunle Omope.

Edited by Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

THE UNRIGHTEOUS CLIMAX (POEM)

1.

To find our stolen Peace, we light the torch of war.

Until War carries a flamy head, we can’t find Peace.

Arrogant fingers poked the eyes of our law,

Only a dance upon graves shall appease and make us cease.

2.

Anger aches our eyes, fury poisons our blood,

Muscles stretch with no rein, nostrils spew and fume,

Bows made taut, our stony hearts whet the sword,

Amulets boil under the skin of our battle costume.

3.

Tonight, our bloodlust shall lie amorously on their land,

A bounty of terror and tears they’ll get.

Souls a legion will sink from our hands into their sand,

On their hearts we’ll feast without regret.

4.

“Doom!” roars the drums of war “no going back”.

Like an old rag, her spirit rends the air.

We shall hurl our hate in lethal attack,

Daring, duelling, dying and decaying without care.

* This poem does not endorse war in anyway. Its aim is to poetically examine the minds of warmongers, thereby highlighting the fruitlessness of war.

Written by:  Kunle Omope

Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

RICHLAND (POEM)

Atop the house stood I with glee,

Imaginative anticipation in wild sprint,
Gin to sink, smoke to flare,
Head be soaked, mind high and spin.

The mansion, a nest to a poet,
Housing hungry desires and selfish fulfillments.
Meat gobbled, bread reduced, wine slobbered.
Laughter shook and merriment soared.

Richland, a terror centre to trouble,
Its shooters and lookers.
Herein, journeying nuisances rests their heads.
Chattering so cheap, even simpletons buy.

Grassy flames bite quiet ambience,
Evoking delight from hypocritical vagrants.
Innermost inn, a suitable den,
Where Wahala and Surutu knot their ties.

Retribution busts in, landlord imprisoned.
Opportunists forget heels in Richland.
Market becomes graveyard as flesh become bone.
Emptiness reigns with the shattered recluse.

As master treks to find Amnesty’s home,
Roaches pay no rent for their tenancy,
Unhindered weed creeps in with no invite,
House hollow with the howl of Lost Glory.

All things come to an end my friend.
If your flabber is whelmed,
Do not let your over be gasted,
For the world passes away like Richland.

* The author’s campus testimony.

Written by: Kunle Omope
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

JUNGLE HERMIT (POEM)

JUNGLE HERMIT

He lived alone in a room of trees,

Cocooned by a blanket of leaves.

The sun licked life into his sleepy face,

His tongue sated from a buffet of wild fruits.

The canary created rhythm,

And the robin weaved blues,

While crickets and nightingales,

Strummed melodious lullabies.

The sheets, pen and ink,

Were his lonely friends.

His dream carried his eyes to the mirror,

Of Yesterdecades’ bitter heart.

Pen and fingers murmured in his sleep,

As ink crawled painfully on sheets.

About the horrible they told,

Man’s many troubles, they unveiled.

Outlaws dining with kings,

Knaves merrying with lords,

While patriots are famished,

With a belly full of empty promises.

Greed is a mannequin in the State house,

Clench-fisting communal gold.

Rogues lounge in a penitentiary of praises,

And traitors are compensated,

In the hard currency of encomiums,

While their victims wear indelible welts.

Religion fortified an excuse,

That dogs may eat dogs.

Masquerading in tribal cloaks,

Man kills self, self kills man.

When chiefs are crimson with rage,

They feed their subjects to Wars.

Do medals disinfect pains?

Or wreaths wrestle down bereavement?

As the night breeze takes a cold stroll,

The jungle hermit dozes off.

Before eternity handcuffs him,

His tears scribble audibly.

“Solace is leaping home,

Nemesis is guzzling energy drinks,

Karma is tearing down her mask,

Virile, strong and persistent Messengers,

A certainty with unarguable expectance,

Amidst lunacy and perversion,

In spite of a mad people and berserk world,

Vengeance is sure, retribution is unstoppable”.

Written by: Kunle Omope

Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

KASALA (POEM)

KASALA

The spirit of Kasala,

Has come to town.

Doors slammed, windows shut,

Destruction looms,

As a warhead booms.

Danger screams aloud,

At fainting hearts.

Then, nightfall shambles in,

As fear wears her makeup.

Kasala! Evil phenomenon,

Dancing wildly around our nation.

Azonto in the north,

Galala in the east,

Suo in the west,

And Yahoozay in the south.

Kasala! Ye unwelcome stranger,

Yet your fiery fury is pinched,

By blood eating hypocrites.

We pray the oceans drink you up,

And the wind violently shove you,

The sandy Sahara you go.

Kasala! We must fight you.

Be cursed by our mothers’ bleeding breasts.

Stand indicted by the hopeless loins of the grey haired.

You shall be no more!

I open my eyes wide,

Still it looms,

Yes, it hangs, still in the air,

Like foul breath.

So what is this?

Wishful thinking or fantasy?

Perhaps a purposeless nightmare!

*Kasala- common street slang synonymous with chaos or anarchy

*Azonto, Galala, Suo, Yahoozay- Afro- HipHop dance styles.

Written by: Kunle Omope

Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

DRUNKARD"S PARADISE (POEM)

DRUNKARD’S PARADISE

See the drunkard in a paradise of his own

A paradise in which nothing is known

A paradise where he trudges inside a bottle

Where he mumbles, fumbles and stumbles

A paradise where he wears his robe of shame

And paints in mud his family name

A paradise where his mother’s heart is rent apart

And his father loathes him like pungent fart

A paradise where he is crowned Eyesore before men

And Tiara of despair to his children

A paradise where vengeful maladies stalk his health

And he offers a handshake to uninvited death

See the drunkard in a paradise of his own

A paradise in which nothing is known

Written by: Kunle Omope

Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

ANGELA'S VIRGINITY (POEM)

ANGELA’S VIRGINITY

Mama is no more, Papa is sick

Room filled with gloom from a dying wick

To cure Papa’s cough of old

Physician must have coins of gold

Palms slap in helplessness

Willing pockets cry penniless

No hope of Papa getting well,

Unless articles of value we sell

But only thing left in dingy vicinity

Is Angela’s innocent virginity

Written by: Kunle Omope

Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

THE HE(ART) OF THE BUS CONDUCTOR (POEM)

* THE HE(ART) OF THE BUS CONDUCTOR*

1.

The Park Broadcaster.

Throaty thunder tears through the air

Encircling the traveler's anxious ankles

Guiding with hesitant vocal manacles

To bus-stop cities far and near.

2.

The Prophetic Economist

Dealing in desperate demands of demanding crowds

To inflate fares living in lean wallets

And when infertile assemblies have scarce heads

His profits fall dead like weighty lead.

3.

The Contorted Accountant

His hidden head hangs in his metal office

Giving givers credit for debit received

And to balance the sheet without a shout

He weds strangers in the registry of joint accounts.

4.

The Unmedalled Athlete

As Sergeant Lastma(n) waves a hungry baton

He backsteps and floats on flip flops

Blowing past, calves in gazellic grace

To reunite with his bus across the town.

5.

The Unwilling Pugilist

Amidst Agberos, he lifts fists on unsure wrists

Black eyes are bartered for broken teeth

He sleeps only after the highway snores

Roused at dawn by spirits in the bottle of hustle.

Written by:

KUNLE OMOPE.

Photograph by:

JANET ORILUA.

EIYE ILE MI OWON (POEM)

****** EIYE ILE MI OWON *******

1.

Eiye ile mi owon,

Dearest of mine pigeons.

Again time has come,

For you to leave home,

And journey over plains,

Resurrecting love slain.

Kiss sunshine, sniff weather,

Strutter and flutter your feathers,

Stretch claws, flap wings,

It's a lovely day, dance and sing.

Now you must proceed,

Healing hearts that bleed,

Planting affectionate seed,

Fulfilling passionate need.

Bring memories of glorious days,

When eyes did and tongues could not say,

Days in fantasy, night in sweet dreams,

Heart throbs and tear streams.

Your feet is shod, this letter take,

And forget not your homemade cake.

2.

Eiye ile mi owon,

Cleverest of mine pigeons.

He has seen her and would not stop,

Today he screams from the rooftop,

The days are slow, nights are long,

Lovesick soul needs a wedding song.

She know he can not be another,

Life is beautiful, they'll be together,

Through boisterous days and stormy nights,

Hand in hand through life they'll fight.

Unbending on a sloppy ride,

Teamed on a steepy tide,

Before the storm their love unite,

Overcoming, side by side.

Pigeon tell them it must remain so,

Even as love in splendour grow.

Loving eyes and glowing smiles,

Sailing beautifully mile after mile.

Your feet is shod, this gift take,

And forget not your homemade cake.

3.

Eiye ile mi owon,

Most discerning of mine pigeons.

Loveboats are rocking,

While some stand a mocking,

Remember promise, pledge, oath,

Be patient, struggle to keep afloat.

A thin line is between love and hate,

Apologise lest it'll be too late.

Keep minds open and listen,

In silence, learn what's missing.

If you could praise, if you could pray,

Things will turn out the right way.

Gloom flees, anger flies away,

To the dawning of a new day.

Fathers inculcate, sons emulate,

A splendid home, a lovely estate.

I say to many who see a puzzle,

With God all things are possible.

Your feet is shod, this plea take,

And forget not your homemade cake.

4.

Eiye ile mi owon,

Most tenacious of mine pigeons.

Patriach grey, Matriach grace,

A worn body and a wrinkled face,

Arms bear young with twinkling eyes,

Laughing bellies and contented sighs.

Mama's back, straddled babies,

Future nobles, tomorrow's ladies,

Women of honour, men with right attitudes,

Savouring success in humble gratitude.

A testimony the world bears,

Fear is seared because God is near,

Eternally remaining so very dear,

Through thorns, roses, pickles and pears.

Forgetting mistakes and forgiving wrongs,

Divine rhapsody, victorious songs.

Friendship mending, wounds curing,

Union everlasting, peace enduring.

Your feet is shod, this award take,

And forget not your homemade cake.

5.

Eiye ile mi owon,

Most blessed of mine pigeons.

It is glorious to live your life,

Relished with your youthful wife,

Through intimidations and shackles,

Against Earth's clenched tackles.

You could have the choicest husbands,

With ironclad wills and clasped hands,

Journey far, road stretched,

Secret unravelled, not far fetched,

The Lord wills you, be together,

Through trials and unfriendly weather,

Living happily ever after,

Basking in love forever.

He has said it, He tells no lies,

Give Him your hearts, he makes stronger ties.

You will not gnash and shall not wail,

For He promises and never fails.

Your feet is shod, this invitation take,

And forget not, your homemade cake.

Written by KUNLE OMOPE.

photo from google.com

THE CONSUMMATION (POEM)

****** THE CONSUMMATION *****

Looking through empty spaces of the hall,

Wundia and I enclosed by the walls.

Dark but so bright, slim and elegant.

A castle's ornament, any man's want.

Lips of charm, eyes of attraction.

Skin of silk, smile of affection.

As love ballads serenade atmosphere,

Inhibitions helplessly wear and tear.

"Blackqueen of angelic appearance,

Come close, let's have this dance".

She steps to me in feline grace,

My heart beats at aquiline pace,

Around my neck her slim arms lace,

Goosepimples all over my body trace,

Covering feet to waist, navel to face.

Our eyes meet, our lips collide,

Increasing in us the erotic tide.

She sheds her lingerie, I peel my coat,

Nude bodies in sensual bliss float.

Today so blessed, tonight so warm.

Our souls unite, our bodies become one.

Written by KUNLE OMOPE

*Dedicated to the Wedding Night.

photo from google.com

AKURUBEBE (POEM)

Happy fathers day. Here is a poetic freestyle. Enjoy:

********* AKURUBEBE *********

1.

*Akurubebe!

Seed of my loins,

fruit of my youthful strength.

My child, my buddy,

sharing my laughter,

my wisdom, pain and joy.

Let my thick lips,

kiss your cherubic ears.

Suckling your heart,

with wise counsel.

To stand firm in this fiery earth,

discernment must be your friend,

to lead you between the seductions,

of good and evil,

pride and poise,

helping you adorn the robes,

of attitude and disposition.

Blazing the true African,

shimmering through your ebony skin.

2.

Akurubebe!

Lovers would be enamoured of you,

like bees over a flower.

Their charm may assault your tender heart.

It is the way of this life.

Innocent smiles, seductive eyes,

tempting chats.

Even when you close your eyes,

the window of your soul,

heartbreaks still lurks!

To find that soulmate,

eyes, ears and mind must be ajar,

so, love's angel fly not past.

3.

Akurubebe!

Be friendly,

but not with friends many.

To that fellow, pay no mind,

for, to you, he chatters like a canary,

then dawn harvests, like a parrot,

about you he chatters.

A secret retains its name,

when cuddled within the walls,

of a single mind.

Laugh when it's funny,

Cry without shame,

it loosens your heart from hurt.

If you have to lift your fists,

do it well, punch home your point!

And never quit, because,

quit and win do not live in same house.

4.

Akurubebe!

Not everyone deserves,

your stew of respect,

nevertheless invite them to dine.

When trudging up

the mountain of success,

some serpents at the top,

sits at the bottom.

The you, you see,

is the you, you should be,

for there shall be no other you.

Seize knowledge by the collar,

grab her in her fleeting flight.

If it makes the Lord glad,

then do it!

5.

Akurubebe!

It is a journey in futility,

to make all men pleased.

Even the Messiah was not loved,

by all and sundry.

Of a truth, they would gossip,

and spread rumours like a mat.

Be grateful to be their living subject.

Campaign for and be allies with Truth,

though it comes as bitter bile,

but therein lies men's freedom.

When you sleep away from home,

on that strange bed, keep one eye open,

best friends make worst foes!

6.

Akurubebe!

Eat with pleasure,

drink with gladness,

have a pleasant tumble with life.

There is just one Akurubebe.

One Akurubebe!

One Universe!

Music pampers the soul,

slake a heathy dose of its rich brew.

Thoughts of sorrow beclouds the mind,

while picturing joy give strenght to your smile.

For this one blessed chance,

live life to the fullest!

7.

Akurubebe!

Your burden is heavy to bear alone,

so, I offer you back to my Helper,

from whom, you came as a gift to me.

Into His Hands,

I deliver your spirit, soul and body.

He is The Invincible One.

Now, by no cause, curse,

omission or commission,

shall harm waylay you,

because of whom you are,

Akurubebe my child!

* Akurubebe- an affectionate name for a little child in the Yoruba language.

Written by KUNLE OMOPE.

photo from google.com

URCHIN (POEM)

******** URCHIN ********

Society calls us urchins.

They call us brutish and mean.

Some say we are Area boys,

We hate it, but have no choice.

They that bore us in hamlets dwell,

The city is filled, an overflowing well,

Youthful muscles have no use,

And now, we swallow societal abuse.

Society calls us urchins,

They say we cannot win.

Without hope or skill,

Why bother when we kill?

Written by KUNLE OMOPE.

photo from google.com

POETRY (POEM)

******** POETRY ***********

1.

Poetry like a griot from ancient lands,

Spits magic with a music wand,

Spins wisdom like a weaver's hands,

Sprouts greenery from thirsty sands.

2.

Like Robin Hood of mythical times,

Her fiery arrows judge gilded climes,

Robbing the greedy of every dime,

"Nay", I sigh, "Poetry does no crime".

3.

Like a chameleon, a moment a hue,

Like the seasons, the times are due,

A tasty buffet of broth, fondue and stew,

Let's feast, for Poetry creates all anew.

*Dedicated to all lovers of poetry.

KUNLE OMOPE.

Photos from google.com

TEARS FROM THE CROSS (POEM)

*** TEARS FROM THE CROSS ****

1.

Two millenia ago, Blood bathed wood,

Today, It sheds tears like the morning dew,

Because our hearts wander away, our eyes too,

Will our souls care? Would our hand do?

2.

Amidst Heaven's Bounty, the Master hungers,

Robed in resplendent Light, He is clothed in tatters,

The One who heals, Himself in sickness shiver,

Before the glassy sea, He yearns a cup of water.

3.

Do you know, Paradise lives next door?

The Messiah cries from the eyes of your neighbour?

Shall we sit and watch His tears become a flood?

Or shall we dry it with our love and labour.

KUNLE OMOPE.

Photo from google.com

EVE'S TEARS (POEM)

******* EVE'S TEARS ******

1.

I dreamed a dream through the windows,

Of God's all seeing eyes.

And my blood stood in frozen flow,

As i watched ugly hearts file by.

2.

Yesterday's groom booms a doom in the bedroom,

Blows ride and glide over his new bride.

She bled like a river and was swished like a broom,

Marriage is fractured, because love just died.

3.

Little Maggie travels sweetly in seraphic slumber,

Greybeard steals into her bed, led by his phallic ember,

Her scream is strangled, as hymen lay in tatters,

All done by the wild beast she calls 'father'.

4.

I crept out of God's eyes and fell to the earth,

Deafened by the rumbling bellows of many weepings.

Eve's tears calls for help from this valley of death,

Does Justice look away, or is She sleeping?

Written by:

KUNLE OMOPE.

Photo from google.com

*STOP DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND RAPE!

ADIYE JE IFUN ARAWON (POEM)

*** ADIYE NJE IFUN ARAWON***

The beginning,

Cluck! We dug the earth for worms,
My hiccupped crow earned me a corn,
Though same feathers robed our naked form,
You clawed and pecked me with scorn.

The Sequel,

I am Robin, you are Nightingale,
I sing morn awake, you lull night to rest,
If dawn quenches my thirst with dewy ale,
Would not dusk cuddle you in sunset's breast?

The future,

In the wind's sea floats the falcon and hawk,
The sky, a sprawling estate for all,
Our wings need not wrestle in a lock,
Brotherbird, let's soar this celestial hall without a wall.

Written by:
KUNLE OMOPE
Photo from google.com

Inspired by:
Afam Bu Ifeanyichukwu's poem- UNDEAD DIFFERENCE.

THE UNSPOKEN PLEA (POEM)

**** THE UNSPOKEN PLEA *****

Master, make me maul this monster!

Blood of disgrace drips,

Matting my fur of steel.

A clandestine leash about my neck,

Bruising my zealous flesh.

Am drunk with a sealed bottle of wrath.

Master, make me maul this monster!

Like a scarlet yarn,

History spins a tale,

Of when i was your neighbour's guest,

And his monster dared me to test,

My clawed paws mauled their best.

Master, make me maul this monster!

My nose bleeds, my tongue burns,

From cowardly pelts of hate.

And my fang medalled khaki,

Is broken in shreds of shame,

By the slingshots of a rabid breed.

Master, make me maul this monster!

Monsters eat blood and get bolder,

My wounds sore, my morale colder.

Your leash strangles the warrior in me,

Free my spirit, let this victor be.

Master, make me maul this monster.

KUNLE OMOPE.

Photo from google.com

*Inspired by the views of a security expert, Rtd Capt Umar 'Blade' Aliyu, when he was a guest on Sunrise, a Channels Television breakfast show, on the 18-02-2014. He is of the opinion that, were the Nigerian Military allowed to operate unrestrained(without a leash) but within the rules of guerilla warfare, then, the Boko haram insurgency would have been history. According to him, compared to the Liberian Civil War in which the Nigerian Army performed well, the Boko Haram insurgency is a 'picnic'.

IN LOVE WITH MY KILLER (POEM)

*** IN LOVE WITH MY KILLER ***

Am holed up here,

torn from you,

like a beauty spot

you are torn from me

I bleed tears,

and burning threads

of crimson hue

run hither thither

north and south

of the seeing spheres

crested between windows

that lead down my soul

I breathe in damp winds

and sigh sluggish streams.

One score one dozen buccal pebbles

clap and dance to the melody

of the harmattan

birthing within my veins.

O Sweetheart, Love of my life,

when we make love,

you beat me blind,

and your icy fingers

choke me breathless,

yet I forgive and forget

then race helplessly in love

into your smoky embrace.

My family helps me hate you,

you help me hate my blood.

So they chained and caged me,

walled me within white walls,

bringing down a gavel of care

to smash our romance of death.

I shake, shiver and shout,

mama weeps wet weakened farewells.

"bring my love to me!" I scream.

"take me to my love" I plead.

I recite our nuptial vows

for all ears of eyes that read this,

"what Mr Junkieyard

hath joined together,

let not Madam Rehab

put asunder".

Written by: KUNLE OMOPE.

Photo from google.com

MISS MUSE AND ME (POEM)

*** MISS MUSE AND ME ***

For many morns in many moons,

I lay still, like steam in winter,

Dreams wring out of my eyes,

"Miss Muse, come to bed with me".

I toss, turn and grope with hope,

I grasp shadows and touch scents,

She whispers in distant darkness,

Voice sleep-walking on silent winds,

Miss Muse breathes under covers,

Our lips burn in the fire of words,

We moan verses in orgasmic bliss,

And stain the sheets with poetic ink.

Written By Kunle Omope.

Photo from google.com

AND SHE LAUGHED (POEM)

**** ........ AND SHE LAUGHED. *****

The skies, lost,

In blanket of blackness.

Arrows hard as winds,

Pierced the soul with gloom.

Unfriendly pebbles,

Cracked tired feet.

Fatigued bones sang,

With achy voices,

To sore sinews.

A bed was sought,

Beneath the earth.

...And then she laughed,

...The sun showed dimples,

All was well again.

Written by Kunle Omope

Picture by Ice imagery.

Model- Janet Orilua. —

ADUNNI'S MAMA (POEM)

                                                 ********ADUNNI'S MAMA******

Adunni,

The slowly sashaying scent

From your savannah of black flax

As you playfully pitter patter

Upon the path of my lonely dream

Drowns my heart in longing brooks

Turning my eyes into waterfalls.

Adunni,

Where doth mama's feet be?

In the quicksand of my past?

Lost in a crowd of today's stilletos?

Perhaps on the sun-baked plains,

Of tomorrow's undulating hills?

Adunni,

I borrow eagle eyes in eager search,

And mantis arms in humble prayer

That Mama be swifter than a swift

To drink from my bursting udders

Overflowing with the milk of love.

Adunni,

Birds have sung a beckoning song

To serenade Mama's feet home.

A score toes shall dance at night

And the door of old dreams shall open

To welcome Adunni home.

Written by,

KUNLE OMOPE

Photo from google.com

TERRIBILITA (POEM)

******* TERRIBILITA********

With words,

I cup the Pacific in my palms,

And swallow it down in one gulp.

I scream down thunder,

And it shrivels into the arms of the skies.

I squeeze Everest in a bear hug,

And it pukes lava all over the sea’s frown.

I evict lions from their den,

And hide elephants in my pocket.

I raise my head and wink at the moon,

She blushes and hides her face.

I fart and Antarctica goes up in flames.

And if you don’t believe me,

I shall come for you,

With words.

KUNLE OMOPE.

KOREKT COUNSELOR (ARTICLE:HUMOUR)

*********** KOREKT COUNSELOR ************

Young man: Sir, I am looking for a wife.

Counsellor: What kind of lady would you like to meet?

Young man: (looks up dreamily) I want a natural, beautiful, tall, sexy, fair skinned, intelligent lady with dimples, shoulder length virgin hair and an hour glass shape. She must be able to speak impeccable English in a sonorous accent. In addition, she must be able to cook local and continental dishes, must be very good in doing domestic chores. She must not be talkative, neither should she nag or get angry easily. Also she must be motherly, submissive, obedient and must have the fear of God. Can you help me find her sir?

Counsellor: Sure. (He gets up from his table and pulls out a long, very sharp dagger and approaches the young man.

Youngman: (scared) what do you want to do sir?

Counsellor: Relax, just raise your shirt, I want to tear your chest open and get you a rib, so that you can create the lady you are looking for!

There is no perfect woman anywhere. Love your woman sincerely and she will give you happiness.

KUNLE OMOPE.

Photo from google.com