THE BOMBER TOO DROWNED, in his ripple
Among the heads, at the belt’s attunement to rage, at the last dead chant–
HEAD TO THE SCHEDULED FEAST ON virgin demons; breaths– doused in limbo,
hurried on shrapnel; incenses of vengeance against the webs…
HE TOOK THE AIR, yes he did, he took some damn lucky ears
he took too, his pound of antigens, his potpourri of flesh.
HE WAS A MESSENGER AMONG the passengers,
needing a ride to Hades; needing this ride, needing that ride…
THE BURIALWAY IS A LONG TALK to the thighs of Rosemarys,
to the kisses among Rosemarys…airbuses, rail-crowds, prayer-clots–
sure-cuts to the waiting dance on Babylonian nuns…
THE TRIMESTERERS TOO WERE STRIPPED, up to the foetuses,
the gray-grand passengers of last planes, RIP-ped back to dust
where they head in wholes, except in these pieces, except in these blood…
STONE-HEARTED FOR THE MISSION, skill-footed to the mission
sweat was blood on his brow, blood on his brow, eyes restlessly veering,
mind bent on the belt, bent on the vest, to take pounds off flesh,
naked of tanks, pounds off antigens, naked of thunder…
HIS HEART TOO DID RACE TO SHREDS, his sightlessness saw late in the tunnel,
and yes, there were smoke after the thunder…
HE BURNT AWAY SMILES, yes he did, blazed off mothers
crashed couples in cuddles, gave each the memorial of tears in the terminals…
THE SKY WITNESSETH, THE LANDS WITNESSETH, the seas, the survivors witnesseth,
drums of the beast, drums of the beings, onion to my lids–
THE WEEDED ONES WERE NO WEEDS AT ALL; they were no weeds at all,
they were owners of tomorrow, cleared today by the bomber
KLINKE TOOK A HOLE in Dybbøl, Klinke took a hole, the bomber was Lot,
he took to the Towers; one he named Sodom, one he called Gomorrah, he took Domodedovo,
he took Sai Karbala, he was Lot, he was lost, did not look back at the ashes…
The Price…
(from “Sequences”)
1
The price is two strides to hades.
what seizes fits like seizure, what chases is the air one gulps,
the skin I bear.
moments are that were douse in transit, moments untamed,
tailing the tale that trails.
the eyes on the time rip overwhelmingly, lack in me responses,
the clockway is mudtrack for the swim, standing in eye-places,
the shame is stretched and dusty, scarring, lonely…
2
The days bend to death across boulevards,
paces flung fling farther to pieces,
running is ruining, is the breath, the bend…
A higher fire, mightier than me
gushes on the hedges, takes the rock–
I am the ash that is left to tell…
3
They had beckoned with dream-voices
to the shrinehold, the inner-place is weeds and rust…
and the goddess hangs, wasting in wait for Ogha–Omudan,
the priestline reneges…
they are the paths in the bare, the shrinemaids in eve’s clothing,
that set to heat what hangs low, set for the oil and grass
of the shrinehold–
they are altars ascended, upon which the fire descends,
the altars ascended, for which the fire descends, for which I am ashes…
My pacemaker
(for WA) I
Echoes of her mists selves the shoresky nares,
beachcombers out-stretch selves against clouds, above the shore-sands
the negatives of mates negate the evening monocle,
stroll the beach-films,
and swim the pluripotent seas of combers…
Her sounds of jasmine seasons the breaths of the beach
into a memorial…
(Incense to breezes, incense to sun, incense to all;
that is tender on my doe)
I pledge my stems along this line…
II
Come, make your nest turtledove, between my shoulders,
let me bear the pleasure of your love and kindness.
I’m your John leap at Mary’s voice…
my sea has lost its pluripotence, to commit along you.
If between rock-clefts, if among thorn-trees or thistle-bushes,
if the needle should signal Cush or Sheba, my soul will yet extend
to fetch you, my Onarami…
______________
Kolade Ajayi (Ajayi Olubunmi Kolade), lives in Ilorin, Nigeria. His Poems has appeared online in magazines like Istanbul Literary Review, Sentinel Nigeria Magazine, Saraba Magazine and Klorofyl Magazine, among others.