Posted in hope, disappointment,, Poetry

Song in December for Decembers gone

By Noel Ihebuzor

December is here. It caught me in a hotel room in Monrovia. It sent me on a time travel to those dry cold days when naked trees stood mournfully by haze draped roads & tall grass cackled and swayed all the way from Abaji to Okene to Ewu as bushmeat raiders commenced their hunt

Why do the trees not run away after sacrificing their leaves to the gods of time. Why wait for the yearly cremation when hot flames will lick their thighs and arms and frightened rabbits and bushmeat become easy meat for lovers of lean meat? I still can hear December sing.

December’s songs still sing slowly and soulful but not like before. They sing and sound different. I hear them with my eyes, I hear them with my nose and I feel their painful taps on my tympanum. The laughter of children has now been stolen by our toothy Grinches full of grouses

December, a time of plenty is now a time of penury. Mr Grinch has stolen the jingle bells, child suffering soars, hunger hooks children’s necks like tight bow tie, tummies are naked as the naked trees that used to announce harmattan….and I sit in Monrovia mourning incompetence

The road to Abaji is in mourning, the Ewu junction wails, the road past Uromi is red with grief and the bridgehead has lost its swag…I hear it singing that there was a Christmas but not any more.

NAI

Monrovia, 01/12/21

Posted in Poetry

A song on waiting

By Noel Ihebuzor

 

The evening limps on dragging feet

slowly, the enlarging darkness of night

overruns the day

urging the dying day to bed and rest

the lights die out

as silence enfolds the enveloping darkness

and she waits

 

 

Time crawls on millipede feet

seconds last long like sluggish minutes

sadness and worry rest heavy

heavy on her restless pacing feet

(occasionally stamping feet)

as a damp blanket

 

Between pacing, stamping and sitting,

she stays on, stays up, eyes heavy

soul heavier, spirit drooping

wrestling with the harsh hands

of hurt and reality

that now strangle her dreams

and choke her soul

 

she checks the hum of every passing car

ears straining and acute

hearing the silent footfalls of footless spirits

responding to the call of the night

as they glide to their nocturnal haunts

 

And she wishes she could go forth like them

but she cannot

worry has hollowed her eyes

self pity erodes her soul

creeping doubt slowly strangles her self confidence

but courage and hope prop her up

 

and she wonders which company keeps him today

what outside tall tales inspire his loud laughter

what colored claws and lips

trace well perfected caresses on his frame

and bring sparkles and glitter

to his otherwise dead eyes

 

and she wonders

where all that intensity has flown

where, how, why and when

all that “we go die together” died,

where it was buried….

and she wonders and worries

as her mind wanders, and waits and hopes

 

 

and she sits, stands, sits,

sighs and waits…

waiting for the car lights in the drive way

for the well feigned contrition, the well rehearsed tales,

the unreliable car, the low battery…..

dreading the smell of alcohol and strange perfumes

and just wondering how long…yes, just how long before!

Posted in Poetry

Heed my need and hide your truth

by Noel Ihebuzor

 

Hold me strong

So that I vibrate

Hard non-stop

You the same,

but sad I watch your eyes speak

thoughts of another

 

The facts your

eyes sing differ from mine

the smooth truths

tumbling from

your lips are covers that hide

the truths in your soul

 

Facts and truths

exist, truths unfurl

change with time

children of

perspectives, emotions and

needs seeking strong stoke

 

Trying to experiment with Shadorma as a form  – but this is a disaster! Critics, the singer and not the song, or should it be the other way round?

Posted in Poetry

Haiku Prompt – “First”

By Noel Ihebuzor – three haikus

1.

First always resides

in the past but conditions

present and future

 

2.

First sings best where souls

script rich lines in shared colors,

that merge past and now

 

3.

First hands etch deep marks

on soft canvas of fresh souls

marks that free or freeze

Posted in Poetry

A song along the beach

 

by Noel Ihebuzor  

I jogged along, hearing but not heeding tiring feet,

tuned into and turned on by my untiring mind

On the horizon

Where as far as the eye could see,

the awakening sky draped itself in colors

lent to it by the awakening sun

dipped into the wrinkled rippling ocean

The young rising sun painted masterpieces

on the canvas of a willing and wide sky

Here and there, it oozed through the sky

there it streaked through it,

cut through it

like a golden laser,

a dazzling jeddai sword

and over there it streamed

through huge holes

pouring gold-like rays like they were flowing

through a colored sky into the ocean

that rippled, danced and welcomed it,

regaling in the generous hues of rippling silver on gold

with which it was adorned,

The blend of rippling silver with a golden touch

beautiful to behold,

inspiring awe and wonder

And the slow moving ships

in different sizes and shapes

in measured paces and distances hung around

the harbor gates

patiently waiting their turn to be called into the harbor

And I wondered what lesson in life their patience taught us

to learn to wait our turn

For the ships are called into harbor

According to when they arrived, first arrive, first enter

and so each has learnt to wait

to sail into the harbor in the order in which they arrived

as I mused over this

my mind strayed to another journey

when people are called into the final harbor of life

and I wondered why this call

did not follow a logic as neat as this

where you go into the harbor

in the order in which you arrived

and then I thought I heard a voice

break into my thoughts

speaking with soft compassion

“my son, my aging son,

why do you seek answers to questions

beyond the confines of your mind

your restless mind strays

from the path of acceptance

away from the assured safety of trust in me

and the logic of faith.

must my logic and the harbor master’s be the same?

is the gardener not free to walk his garden at will

and to pick the flowers he planted as he wills,

randomly and by his own wisdom and logic

which are above yours

as the heavens are above the earth ?

can the prettiest and brightest of flowers

with its petals dazzling the earth and sky

challenge the logic of the gardener”?

How I miss these flowers!

How their beauty and feel haunt me!

How I miss them

I must have said it

Did I say it?

His question meant that I must have

For I heard the same soft voice say

“Or would you want to see these flowers, to feel them

For to do so, I must call you too into the harbor”

And at this,

I thought I saw the faces of those

whose voices I no longer heard

Whose voices I longed to hear

And whose smiles I longed to touch mine

Faces that I miss so painfully

shake their heads in unison

as if to say

“Say no”

And I saw their faces against the silvery skies,

familiar and loved faces bathed in soft glows of silver halos

Of those who sleep well….

As dear now even departed as in life

All who I once held and whose memories I still hold

All signalling by vigorous sideways shakes

Of the halo surrounded frames

“say no, stay on

Emeruo emeruo ka nma” ,

their silent lips all said, all sang

And I found my own voice

Heard myself saying

to the silent approving murmur

of the rustling speaking ocean

“Call me into the harbor

After I have run at least the three score and ten you promised all,

not before

For then my debts would have been paid

And I can sail into the harbor strong, free, strong, slow and steady

Mind free, soul full and spirit willing,

But your will, supreme gardener, supreme harbormaster, not mine”

I jogged on, the ships sailed on

In their order and logic,

The ocean rippled,

The waves raced to the beach

The rising sun now bolder

trying as if to drown the ocean with the intensity

Of its warmth and embrace

And I jogged on, in the embrace of life

embracing the living and

still remembering the departed.