Pat Ashinze Poems

THE SYCOPHANT

The sycophant raves
At the zenith of his voice
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TALES FOR NO EARS

We all have stories we will never tell
We all have tales we shall never narrate
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My Mother…

As my shrieks ran through the house
She skittled-skettled me around to placate my howls
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A VOICE FROM THE DEPTHS

Deep down in the intricacies
Of our corporeal minds
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OH MY GIRL…

She paces and strides warmly with rotund delight
Her coral beads sparkle tenderly in the sky's light
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COME COOK, MOTHER - A folkloric narrative

Come cook for us, Oh Mother
We have filled up the heathen clay drum
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MYSTIC PSYCHOSIS

He was born free, and raised with warm hands
He lived in reality; with great goals and dreams
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Darkness thickens
Daylight wanes
Sunshine weakens
Nightfall reigns
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A MAN MUST PRAY..

The meat in the pot may be much
And life may be so kind, it gives in
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GAIA ROTUNDA{The Earth is a Woman}

The Earth is a Woman
The mountains are her bones
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