See the golden Leopard with the spots!
The golden cat of the cliffs!
See the Leopard with the bulging cheeks,
The golden Leopard with the wide face, I-Face-
Nothing,
The particoloured one, I-Climb-Into-A-Small-Tree
I rip off the eyebrows!
Clawer am I, dig my nail in deep,
My enemies I leave behind, saying
`This was not one leopard but ten!`
Mr
A Story from Boccaccio
I.
FAIR Isabel, poor simple Isabel!
Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love’s eye!
They could not in the self-same mansion dwell
Without some stir of heart, some malady;
They could not sit at meals but feel how well
It soothed each to be the other by;
They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep
But to each
This morning a cat—bright orange—pawing at the one patch of new grass in the sand-and tanbark-colored leaves.
And last night the sapphire of the raccoon’s eyes in the beam of the flashlight.
He was climbing a tree beside the house, trying to get onto the porch, I think, for a wad of oatmeal
Simmered in cider from the bottom of the
Elephant, death-bringer!
Elephant, spirit of the bush!
With his one hand he brings two trees to the ground.
If he had two hands, he would tear the sky like an
old rag.
Spirit who eat dog!
Spirit who eat ram!
Spirit who eats palm-fruit, thorns `and all!
With four pestle-legs he flattens the grass,
Where he walks, the grass cannot
First, suicide notes should be
(not long) but written
second,
all suicide notes
should be signed
in blood
by hand
and to the point—
that point being, perhaps,
that there is none.
Once made a fairy rooster from
Mashed potatoes
Whose eyes I forget
But green onions were his tail
And his two legs were carrot sticks
A tomato slice his crown.
Who came home on vacation
When the sun was hot
and cooked
and cleaned
And minded least of all
The children’s questions
Give me a chair
and let me sit in in your midist
and praise poverty
and want.
The face of poor man
stays all crumpled up
by reason of the hunger and thirst
which are in is stomach.
A poor man knows not
how to eat with a rich man.
When he starts eating fish
he eat is head.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Is there a whim-inspired fool,
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
Let him draw near;
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,
And drap a tear.
Is there a bard of rustic song,
Who, noteless, steals the crowds among,
That weekly this area throng,
O, pass not by!
Be nobody’s darling;
Be an outcast.
Take the contradictions
Of your life
And wrap around
You like a shawl,
To parry stones
To keep you warm.
Watch the people succumb
To madness
With ample cheer;
Pleasure of the night laid legs on my honeypot
To bring alive my unborn children from heaven
Groaning of the day deeper my soul into spirituality
Claw of incantation serrated my waist with beads
They fed me with strange herbs and lizard eggs without honour
Clapping and dancing on naked breasts to their gods
Still and still,
Without you
My love would have slept alone in a desert
I would have seen you on the street
Without knowing that we are meant for each other
Without you
I would have flown away like a bird without a nest
I would have been in those fruitless places
Nursing hope on how to behold an angel like you
It’s a decision, it’s a choice
It’s a silent whispering voice
As clear and smooth as a sail
Telling you that you must not fail
It’s in your heart and your mind
Right in front of you and not behind
A zeal from which you can’t get bail
Telling you that you must not fail
It’s your strong prayer for success
Which
Old pirates, yes they rob I
– sold I to the merchant ships;
minutes after they took I
from the bottom-less pit.
But my hand was made strong
by the hand of the Almighty;
we forward in this generation
– triumphantly.
.
Won’t you help to sing these songs of freedom?
’cause all I ever had: redemption songs, redemption songs.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home!
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home!
I looked over Jordan and what did I see?
Coming for to carry me home!
A band of angels coming after me
Coming for to carry me home!
If you get there before I do,
Coming for to carry me home!
Tell
My six children’s
thirty-six grandchildren’s
one thousand two hundred and ninety-six great-grandchildren
thank you
whose skin is more extensive
than all the sheets of paper in the world,
whose body is broader
than all the tombs in this world put together,
and whose smooth flesh has these moles,
marked like ancient script on birds’ eggs.
Thank you for the warm
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks
When that rich soul which to her heaven is gone,
Whom all do celebrate, who know they have one
(For who is sure he hath a soul, unless
It see, and judge, and follow worthiness,
And by deeds praise it? He who doth not this,
May lodge an inmate soul, but ’tis not his)
When that queen ended here her
Oh so well!
Your heart desires of me
You painted me so well on a canvas
All those dripped paints on the floor
and those dried up paint-brushes,
whisper in my ears
How much I was present
Even when not present in real
Oh! The way it smells
It smells the same as I do
I appreciate the art
Not
In vain your bangles cast
Charmed circles at my feet
I am Abiku, calling for the first
And repeated time.
Must I weep for goats and cowries
For palm oil and sprinkled ask?
Yams do not sprout amulets
To earth Abiku’s limbs.
