Tade Ipadeola

Pages: 1 2 3 4

Annals of the Gambia

I

 

James Island:

 

That frozen phallus of a canon stares

Endlessly upon a fecund, ageless sea.

Witness trees, weather beaten and gnarled

Affinitize with the elements,

Whispering the songs

Of Neptune when the wind is high.

This is James Island,

Spartan as the sun

Where the fittest marched in chains to merge

With futures alien as the skin of shipmasters.

 

History was here, woven into syntax

Of the rolling, intrepid waves. History,

Ghostly now and fading, was here

Material as the mineral of the sea.

 


Pages: 1 2 3 4

2 Comments

2 Comments so far ↓
  • david udoinwang says:

    my hut’s
    by the beehive grove
    l love sweet honey
    but the bees wont let me be

    bee bee bee!
    your fangs are a dread to my breed

    in the midst of pomp
    and merry din
    i thirst
    in a dry
    and
    thirsty land

    for want of juice
    for want of life
    sweet honey sweet

    bee bee bee!
    o that i could
    but a lick of your comb
    like a man should do- Dav udoinwang

  • Chielozona Eze says:

    Beautiful. Man, you restore my faith in poetry as a source of nourishment for the spirit.

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