I Am But A Poetry God. Poem by Olamide Adebayo

Who would date a poet?
And have her name grow,
As a garden's eden history,
Have her lips comply with ink that smear'd,
Ears breed on a poultry of recitations,
A fun-fare of words abridge.
**
Maidens wish all to be,
Such from his gourd of honour shall you drink in perissos,
Such from his robe, and by all tongues,
Shall your name convert'd,
A new age of fame, on a beauty brick,
A spade a spade,
The new beauty queen!
**
Then minds might date back to Venus;
Beauty-borne of Dione,
And non to dare you to a contest, as Arachne,
But in Argo, you and me will thrust,
When our ears begin to drown by Arion's love song,
What more an odyssey do lasses crave!
**
And if by the phoenix of Astarte you wish,
Then thy trust is mine a pleasure,
Cook not a phobia of distrust,
Grab my hands as heartily,
For I am Apollo, god of these bleeding lines.