Come… let us poem it out – I
One could begin with the present and
Say “the beginning of this poem is lost
Like the knowledge of God’s beginning”
What matters is the message to be melted
Like rubber– smooching fire, into the
Ear of he who needs to hear the news.
If this poem was in stanzas, the first
Could be a prostitute– seducing readers
With her body & layered deep. But
A prosy lyric like this explains a call
To poem(ing). Whether of grief, whether
Of laughter, let it rain from your belly
Beyond romanticism. Tell about love–
Daring/ deadly. Tell about death– hot/
Halt. But do not forget to baptize your
Work in a river of crystal portraits &
Milled metaphors– salted with simple
Spices of similes for a satisfying
Consumption. The success of a poem
Is what happens to a reader after the
Come… let us poem it out II
Every good poem deserves an
Acceptance. Acceptance here, can
Be a metaphor– a libation to pacify
The uptight in the soul of a poet.
Imagine how a poet holds a poem–
Stoned at him like a palm tree–
Ricocheting a catapulted stone, on the
Shoulder and kisses it still. The
Rejections of multiple mags & blogs
& Minimum applause of readers have
Taken no feather away from the
Lovebird. A poet says “perhaps, the
Beauty of this bird is a jealous one–
Meant only for her author”.
Chronicles of every poet
Like the parable of the sower, every
Poet is a seed – burgeoning from
Different surfaces. Some fall by the
Road side – yelling lines & stanzas
Beneath the feet of every passer-by
That press a scar on them and the
Consolation of morning dew. But
there’s this spotlight from the sun that
Leads a flight of birds to dine on them.
Some – in the mountains. Trained by
Tough tutors. Burning like tongues of
Fire. Brilliantly. Their roots try to dig
Vehemently, but the sand of instructions
Blows away with the wobbling wind.
Oxygen goes out of their flames.
Others struggle within thorns & taunts–
They scribble the venom of the peak
Of pains & grief. For this is how they
Loose their souls. They do until their
Doings begin to undo. Undoing is the
Song they chew back in their throats
Like dried plants– retreating back to
Earth as a compost. Yet,
There’re the addicts. Products of
Masterclasses and self-lab. Trees–
rooted in the black soil of art. Bleeding
Night & day. Literary robots– programmed
To read & write. In & out of season.
They don’t retire with suicide. They
Can straw away like lost lambs. Yet,
Poetry remains a strong tower.
Psalmuel Benjamin wcfr. (Word Commander Of The Federal Republic) is a young Christian sentimental scribe from Nigeria. He has written and published a whole lot of poems and other writings. EskimoPie mag, Lion and Lilac, Allegro, Shuf Poetry, Communicators’ League, MixedMag, Nanty Greens, Kalahari Review, My Woven Words, Fieryscribe Review and others are places where you can find his work. Aside from writing, he draws, paints, teaches, edits videos, and designs graphics. He is the Vice President of the Godly Steps Family. He also made it to the 5th Stage of POF4 (Pen On Fire2021).
Say hi to him on Facebook: Benjamin-psalmuel Oluwasheun.