Martins Tomisin writes

THE SUN-GOD AT MOUNT HOREB

Sun-god

sitting still on mount Horeb

amidst the stark clouds,

sweeping towards the swept

open space between trees

and pawing at white and dark fleshy flesh.

Sun-god

your pale, smirky lemon face

like the grapefruit in Ago-Iwoye Market

scribbles dirt patches on my face

and makes my throat to swill water

enough to fill up a tank-container.

Oh sun-god!

I plead,

do not douse us all

from this buzzy day

only 'dap' softly softly

into the balmy, cozy night.

Moses and the Burning Bush -- Edward Knippers

Martins Tomisin writes

DEAD GUAVA-TREE (threnody)

The GUAVA-TREE at my frontispiece

Initially was intensely sturdy

Maturated

Full-blown

And dead:

Now sawed

With a sanguine chainsaw.

Its browned leaves

Playfully hovering amongst the windy wind.

Dead leaves beneath my feet,

Squashed with a regard plaintive melody repeat.

The squashed dead leaves of my heart

Reminisce the lost and bygone dreams

Hushed in the shadow of relic grit.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt;

Life is like a pinch of earless silk of corn

Or like that of a dead guava-tree

Sawed with a sanguine chainsaw.

Guava Tree -- Lawrence Daws

Martins Tomisin writes

STEAL A GLANCE AT THE SKY

Look!

Hey, look up

see the sun sitting still on the cloudy sky

flaring on the days of worry

and slitting through the sky;

eyeballing on the earth

with a beautiful smile

and then gyring on the placid sky

Look!

Hey, look up,

the sun is still sitting still on the sky

as the cloudburst withdrew

like a bat that must flinch

from the morning-rosette.

Look,

all you who draw hot tears

from its sad face

all you who draw sword

against your neighbour

all you who feed fat on bloody wars.

Look at the gyring sun;

sunny, while rain drizzled the earth

and unmoved by the cloudburst:

It glisters all day in serenity

and brings harvest to men.

  

Autumn -- Olga Rodionova