Poetry From A Poet’s Tree
Which should I pluck? Oh my shaky fingers, snatch my soul’s Eve with your serpentine lies
Thus the Oracle teach us to number our days!
Prophesying that, family tree is not just three score and ten,
But seeds yet ‘unsown’, hearts yearning for love, desperate for death
Poe, Emily, Tennyson, Yeats
Blake, Nikki, Emily, Wilde
Hardy, Maya, Shakespeare, Keats
Ikpi is a descendant of the Southern Child
If a man is a crown on a woman’s head, he’d be laid down a lot.
especially at the moments she wants to be true and sincere
the times she wants to be rid of foundation and pancake,
the times she takes it all off.
In the magic of tranquillity,
Words coursing through my veins,
With a penchant for sensuality,
I tango with each till I climax.
Poetry from a poet’s tree
knead my heart with words delicate
break her into forms amorphous
to unwind like thread on the loose
from this loom of a poet’s thrill
Not all ripe fruits get to fall,most times you climb up the tree.
Since God’ the true vine let him decide how the fruit gon be.
We all don’t have to be extroverts,
Melancholic, or solemn.
Its always the way you see it, a lullaby,play, or a poem.
I am the founder of the sonnet
the heir to the throne of her ballad.
I am the root of Abiku,
the leaf stuck to this tree.
Words like apples hanging on a tree.
Strange fruits of good and evil
Eat that thine eyes may be opened
And in the shades of words refuge is found.
I can see the love in her eyes as she stares.
Adorable sound of her voice dropping into my ears like intravenous therapy.
I look up to the heavens, staring at her kinky hair.
With her beautiful nails penetrating into the ground.