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Poetry Trilogy: early mourners


early mourners i

Before the morning crow is set
and the grey dew drops in thin shreds,
i recall my mournful longings
and the melody of sadness;
that which came with my pleased longings..

'N' on those pure greens, with sacredness
of natural breathing. i thought
out; that these drops washes 'sterday
in the pelting of melting snow —
so do i, in my longing wish.

and when i rise while i rest there,
my soul had left me in myself.
and my thought longs in nearness, that,
ev'n a dew will fill my basket...
may God console morning mourners!

early mourners ii

Voices made me cry;
their cacophonies
and when i was tears.
when i was those drops
of knitting needles,
when i, nobody.
yet still. i still live.
and when i hear their
voices like the pant
of a crying dove,
and when i flash-back
t' when my soul left me.
why will i not cry
as if they ne'er were?
when my fa├žade fades
like a rinse of muds.
so why will i n't wish;
that which i once felt
my foe should ne'er feel.
and pain still exist
yet joy does too, and
when the sun 's sleeping
it wakes a walk'ng moon.
you are the yellow
wake the tired blue.

early mourners iii

What do i seek in a night when
my sorrow leaves me not? if i
know, would i not 've cozily slept?

What do i seek in the morning
when know i not where to go? if
the mirror stares, would i not look?

I am a bird, that sings to th' world
but they do not hear, 'cause my soul
is not there. i am like the dead

Not willing to live. yet i want
to live like the fish of th' water
but my time, my time, grieves my soul.

"words from the innocent mind"
Akinwale Peace Akindayo
Philip Peace



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For Ikeoluwa.

I have sailed in the ocean — on
your body's warm drenched spot axis,
and i have felt the touch of your
freezing burning hands and cold words:
you said some soft words gently in
my ear on a cold night. and my
body is a tree, it rustles
when winds beat. winds like your mutters.

I have a whirling desire
that we are over the 9th edge;
grabbing, rocking, licking, tasting —
and the passion flows 'n' action shows.
your whole body defines a lot
even when i see nothing but
the voluptuous pillows of a
tired bed, calling me to sleep.

Slowly, this pace beats rapidly
like a running fire. and i'm
burning coldly on a meet with
your whitish round thorax muscle.
glorious! your body is a bike
and i'm good at riding roughly.
slide and glide, make a symphony
of our salvation on this cold night.

Akinwale Peace AkindayoPhilip Peace