obinna tochi

Sisters at fight...
daughters of quarrelling thunder.
have mercy our lady the queen of silvery rainbows
laugh not brothers at shiny cloud.
...

in the hornets nest stirred he of the forgotten song
at the tiger tail gnawed she of the saltywomb.
my ears are spread as mat to the ground
as my eyes have thouht become.
...

Grinding corn in a mill
Creates only sheep
For a fox I see not...
...

Under the sun making hays of ideas
For raining days of no hays.

Enemies cluster as pots of locust swamp,
...

Holding your undying legacy,
Your undying legacy I held.

Nnemmbala!
...

Taking the snuff of memory,
The goddess of memory I wooed.
For ‘she' hour has come,
Nwaokikeudobi my grand forest.
...

As I wash myself in you,
Our everlasting river,
Of whose sacred saliva,
My progenitors drank of,
...

You are a rose among thorns.
Feed me with your love lest I die.
Like a wild deer in the desert
I am utterly dead…
...

The dancing city
In a dancing mood,

Filled, she is with poetic orgasm.
...

As my head journeyed,
Journeyed through the rugged face of the desert,
‘Tired, I am, of wandering, '
Said she.
...

Oh! He kicked the bucket,
Of course not by the musket,
In a place at the market,
At the cold hands of a machete.
...

For thee who saw the grain in thy pod,
For thee who saw the flower before her blossoming years,
For thee who saw the cooking pot before she turned black,
For thee who saw I, in my cradle.
...

Around I turned …
About I looked…
Little did I know I was alone,
Not until I had felt the stung of sorrow.
...

From to against fro!
All seems good.
Alas!
Our good is worse than worse.
...

Man created ‘God'
As God does created man,
‘God' is the most fearsome of man's creations,
So also, man is the most gruesome of God's creations.
...

The burning grass in the grass field.
Our gazing grass in a great glassy green grass region,
Even as our grass, grass pass your stingy green grass,
In this haven of a many glassy green grass, growing.
...

WHO: kpọm! Kpọm! Kpọm! {Knocking at her door}
Do you have any rubbish in stock?
Her: who are you?
WHO: I am the refuge dump killer,
...

`
...

Why be a poet…?
When you can be poetry.
...

‘Tick tack tock tick' I thought,
‘Ouch ohm loom pooh 'she sounds,
My hood a stage outside my mat,
Before the rise of aphid ‘Robert'.
...