Sunday, 18 September 2011
Friday, 13 February 2009
Hiding under the
Pretext of rain, thunder,
And lightening grinning at
You and me, knowing
We dodged work this
Monday morning, feigning illness
Staying at home and
Listening to Sade, *
Exploring the magic of love
Burning incense as we
Join flesh and soul in the karma Sutra
The amber and purple glow
Of the lampshade falls on
Your breast, beatifying you
In divine symphony
Like the Nutcracker suite.
All the passion in the world
Explodes suddenly in my head
And I move to loose my roots
In your arms.
Will you ever forget me now?
Or I, you?
For this stolen Monday Morning
Under the excuse of Rain;
This is the best day of our lives!
- Omale Allen Abdul-jabbar
To : firstname.lastname@example.org
Crossroads sometimes bear destinies,
and my world stood still at a crowded one
like a ship with a confused captain
crippled in the bossom of a troubled sea.
Then I heard your voice; for the first time,
over the telephone, and recognized it.
Don’t ask me how, or where I had heard
music that sweet and uplifting before.
Perhaps it was in another dimension -
in a world now archived
in the secret places of the celestial.
Oh, I must not dwell on prequels
of something as amazing as what we share,
for a sane man does not ask his God
Why have you blessed me?
Future risings and settings of the sun
are hidden from me, as they are from you.
How long shall we be lifted by our laughter
or nourish each other with life and dreams?
I don’t know. I know that you don’t know.
Yet the answer is always there, constant,
mysterious - in the calm chuckle of God
that asks, 'Have I let you down yet?'
No, good Lord, you have not let us down yet.
Ah, how quickly lunch hour flies when
a man reflects on true love and friendship.
I must return to work now, Amy,
be happy, I have reserved you for myself
not just in the current incarnation, but
lifetime after lifetime after lifetime after lifetime…
time will consume time but we shall remain one.
- Nnorom Azuonye
London, 20 September 2007
Nectar pot, full of honey
You are the queen bee, I the soldier
Standing alert to serve my queen
Mother of my young son
Keeper of my heart
Warmer of my soul
Like wine, you age with grace
Full bodied and firm
Skin aglow like a cask basking
In the noonday sun
Eyes bright, like a star in full glow
Smile, and let my heart flutter again
Like it did at the beginning
When our feet danced to the lover's song
And our souls became entwined
Time has since passed
Waters have flowed
Yet our love has grown warmer, and larger
Like dough leavened in the stove
Like seeds watered in well fed earth
I ask, watch the night sky tonight
When you see a firefly illumine the night
Close your eyes and see me
I am the speck of light that reflects your glow
I am the echo that sings back your tune
Mine is the ring that binds your arm in a firm embrace
Yours is the band that circles my soul in eternal love.
- Malcolm Fabiyi
Saturday, 7 February 2009
Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Plans, credit, and the Muse,—
'Tis a brave master;
Let it have scope:
Follow it utterly,
Hope beyond hope:
High and more high
It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
But it is a God,
Knows its own path
And the outlets of the sky.
It was never for the mean;
It requireth courage stout.
Souls above doubt,
It will reward,—
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.
Leave all for love;
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor,—
Keep thee to-day,
Free as an Arab
Of thy beloved.
Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
First vague shadow of surmise
Flits across her bosom young,
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free;
Nor thou detain her vesture's hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.
Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Though her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive;
When half-gods go,
The gods survive.
- by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Futile the winds
To a heart in port
Done with the compass
Done with the chart.
Rowing in Eden.
Ah, the sea.
Might I but moor
Tonight with thee!
- Emily Dickinson
That's newly sprung in June;
O my luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love thee still, my Dear,
Till a'the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my Dear,
While the sands o'life shall run.
And fare thee weel my only Luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!
- Robert Burns