A Word is Born

The quil blots its ink and a word is born

Hot Ether

whose gorgeous aura burns lambent like ether set on fire

Girl in Mini-Skirt

because a nubile girl in mini-skirt just walked by;

Spirit Soaring

and the Spirit soars in seminal poetics;

Poet's Muse

as the Poet's mighty muse parts the skies;

Universe Rattled

then the Universe is rattled avant-garde;

Whispering Hands

as two anonymous hands whispered to a heart;

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MY POETRY HOME — trespassers welcome

couple Still Skeptical?
(To S. A. Adenike, After Skelton)
Written at Home (GRA) Ilorin — Nigeria.
(Sometimes in 2002)
If we were to have illimitable
time in our life, perhaps it would
not be a crime for you to remain
so coy and indecisive:

perhaps I could then afford to
woo you for a period that extends
in time from Noah's Flood to the
second coming of the crucified Lamb;

perhaps you could then call me
outside everyday and sit me down
and unilaterally declare any of your
numerous laws that you make;

such as your law that forbade me from
speaking to you last week;

such as your law that forbade me
from touching your ivory-smooth
legs ever again;

such as your law that
forbade me from staring at you
"in a strange way";

such as your law
that declared my words
"corrupt and untrue"...

Yes, I could wait for eternity,
but mortal men do not have such
ample time in life;
for in a short while soon we
shall be called to our
respective walkings,
and not long thereafter
the toils of life would take
their toll on us;

and we shall find ourselves at
that stage of life where
opportunities abound for us to revel in
the delightful passions of Love,
but the capacity to do so would
no more be there;

because then the flesh would have
worn out thin and smooth legs
would have wrinkled and withered off.

Therefore come, be of brave courage
and suspend your decision no more:
let ours be a love that is neither
disguised nor deferred.

Come now while your legs are still firm
and smooth and while your willing
youthfulness still transpires at
every pore with instant fires.

Come now while we still have our
potent capacity and let us rather not
languish in this coyness anymore,
but guiltlessly taste the many
colours of love's sport which,
though not saving us from old age
and death, will nevertheless help us
fulfil the purpose of life.

© 2002, M-Auwal Gene III. All Rights Reserved
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"He that does not love a woman sucked a cow."