Littleboys'thoughts

LEAF This countenance is leaf, Dangling, with dewy youth, On the branches of tree; Wilted, rustle down from The touch of time's wind. It's zilch than soil manure. What essence is it emerald If it will wilt and rustle away. ©Nket Godwin

RAINBOW Earth's blanket bear the drizzle and sun, As the Chameleon's shell wore its streak, And the rainbow glared its concoction, While sapiens' hearts thwart bud's grafting; Bond turn mere smoke in cloudy wafting---- And they dreamed not of united rainbow, Whose faceted streak of ambience glow, But of water and kerosene----insoluble, Sprouting fluvial-like in torrential topple. ©Nket Godwin

#Poetry Of Nket Godwin PARTICLES OF TOMORROW Tomorrow has a mark in today, Glistening gaily, or hazily glare. The Kernel nuts will sprout aglow When the palm tree cease to grow, Thus gather the nuts for today, So it can be planted tomorrow, And its harvest shall ever flow. ©#Nket Godwin

THE VISIONER This shrub is a converged cave with torn shrine; It's a willow withering down from the river's touch. We are Whales shallowed on beach, seeking flow, Which way? Which way? Tell, for we can't bear us! Tell us---full manoeuvred fishermen---water's way, Tell our labyrinthine shrines, for it can't foretold the body. Tell it to hunt geckos and toads in the land of the fishes, Perchance its mug could be thunder-reflected mirror. We libate with torn calabashes----infected fowls and yams; Turned wayward wanderers wandering within our shrines, With Chameleon faith, forgetting we are visioners of ourselves. Won't you tell faith---that you are a creek---let it flow to tide? ©Nket Godwin

EGC: 31 DAYS OF POETRY- DAY 3- WE WILL RETURN- by Akinwemimo Idris

WHEN THEY STEP They are seldom on these branches, Their lives are hollowed with patches. On the these many intertwined footprints Their foots never denote many prints. Yet when they step the leaves do rustle, Their pugilists' foots make thunder rumble; Telling the cardinals of percussion turn, With reignited flames of wodge brawns. When they step, they leave elephant print, When they step, the stars cease not to glint, For there's tale to be told by genital throngs, With their lips gigantically coated with songs. ©Nket Godwin.

WHEN THEY STEP They are seldom on these branches, Their lives are hollowed with patches. On the these many intertwined footprints Their foots never denote many prints. Yet when they step the leaves do rustle, Their pugilists' foots make thunder rumble; Telling the cardinals of percussion turn, With reignited flames of wodge brawns. When they step, they leave elephant print, When they step, the stars cease not to glint, For there's tale to be told by genital throngs, With their lips gigantically coated with songs. ©Nket Godwin.

I RISE AGAIN They say kittens will never be borne Without the lineage furs on its body, Still I never bear it as dazzling as theirs. I am a fish caught with a child's ensnare, Yet with my slippery body I rise again. Between fallen trees and gusty winds From the dual edge of cardinal forces, Altering gaudy altercation on our gusto, Dreams drowned in uncertainty's ocean, Yet like the supremo of lion, I rise again. I am my abode captured by air-like hands, Its progenies withered like rustled leaves, For fierce forces from four cardinals fumed, Fumigating its shadow to blue, not black, Yet like ash-covered ember, I still reignite. I rise, I rise from the shackle of my abode, I rise from the unconvicted self prison, I rise from the ocean which flows from the Vein of my other father, hulked on our sofa, Gathering what will flow to us like greedy net. ©Nket Godwin.

I RISE AGAIN They say kittens will never be borne Without the lineage furs on its body, Still I never bear it as dazzling as theirs. I am a fish caught with a child's ensnare, Yet with my slippery body I rise again. Between fallen trees and gusty winds From the dual edge of cardinal forces, Altering gaudy altercation on our gusto, Dreams drowned in uncertainty's ocean, Yet like the supremo of lion, I rise again. I am my abode captured by air-like hands, Its progenies withered like rustled leaves, For fierce forces from four cardinals fumed, Fumigating its shadow to blue, not black, Yet like ash-covered ember, I still reignite. I rise, I rise from the shackle of my abode, I rise from the unconvicted self prison, I rise from the ocean which flows from the Vein of my other father, hulked on our sofa, Gathering what will flow to us like greedy net. ©Nket Godwin.