Community Poems
99. In My Perfect World
by Kea Campbell
In a perfect world, you and I could saunter— free.
Breathing fresh, salt-licked air.
Where the ocean reaches for our feet, and the sun melts into the sea, and the sky drapes over its long lost twin.
Where the forest and the sky and the land love humanity dearly, like a neighborhood that could thrive for eternity.
In a perfect world, there would be no bicker of capitalists and environmentalists— merely political empathy.
I dream of boring news channels.
When red, white, and blue don't seem so embarrassing, nor disgraceful to half of the country, and "liberty and justice for all" hugs "all" comfortably.
When the government is wed to candor bound by the promise of life and liberty, and diplomacy relieves, and monopolies fancy consumers' well-being.
......
The Chronicler (Tribute to Udegbu)
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Woman, you must rise at dawn and light up
your oil lamp, for here comes the chronicler,
who must not meet you and your babe in weak light.
He comes with his big book, where the lines and verse
of the dead and the living carry with them
the lengths of vicissitudes.
He comes with the anointing oil, his quill feather pen
and the noble ink, and on his head flutters the
......
Trafalgar Square
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
I detest a late appointment, be it love or business,
on the breath of the Trafalgar,
and with Nelson peering down at such looseness
on the revered Square, teeming with man and pigeons.
Imagine being on surveillance from such dizzying height!
Give me a break and come early,
Before Big Ben, the lone cockerel of London,
Crows with that huge metallic tone,
Ushering in dawn and her smiling, smouldering light.
Meet me at the Trafalgar with a bouquet of flowers
......
Rosemary's Wedding
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
This Sunday,
Before noon,
In my community church,
Wedding bells ringꓽ
Rosemary,
Daughter of our land,
Weds!
Grand invitations
......
The Dream Patrol
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
Willie Winkie lived in a land of magic, in the region called Butterfly Haven;
For Willie was a diminutive elf, like the violet blossoms, of purple fixation.
Willie and his beloved wife, Elvira, lived highly organized, pleasant lives;
For magic impels ways and customs to differ, like buds, as spring arrives.
Everyone called Willie Winkie, 'Wee,' since most elves were notably bigger;
But, he was Director of Dreams, scattering joys of plum night, with vigor.
Violence was completely unheard of, inside their peace loving community,
......
Trafalgar Square
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
I detest a late appointment, be it love or business,
on the breath of the Trafalgar,
and with Nelson peering down at such looseness
on the revered Square, teeming with man and pigeons.
Imagine being on surveillance from such dizzying height!
Give me a break and come early,
Before Big Ben, the lone cockerel of London,
Crows with that huge metallic tone,
Ushering in dawn and her smiling, smouldering light.
Meet me at the Trafalgar with a bouquet of flowers
......
99. In My Perfect World
by Kea Campbell
In a perfect world, you and I could saunter— free.
Breathing fresh, salt-licked air.
Where the ocean reaches for our feet, and the sun melts into the sea, and the sky drapes over its long lost twin.
Where the forest and the sky and the land love humanity dearly, like a neighborhood that could thrive for eternity.
In a perfect world, there would be no bicker of capitalists and environmentalists— merely political empathy.
I dream of boring news channels.
When red, white, and blue don't seem so embarrassing, nor disgraceful to half of the country, and "liberty and justice for all" hugs "all" comfortably.
When the government is wed to candor bound by the promise of life and liberty, and diplomacy relieves, and monopolies fancy consumers' well-being.
......
The Bridge
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
We call her Oma.
She’s a simple, old, haggard wooden bridge
In my neighbourhood,
On the shaved navel of the forest, heavy and solemn,
With the colour of an aged, wizened python,
Spotted here and there and striped there and then.
So ramshackle, but friendly, cosy to the naked feet,
With that royal smell of wood-cellar combined with
The health of ancient wine.
Nothing more . . . .
......
The Wrong Train
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
London fog, harshly early with strained warning,
Looms all over the image of the hectic city
There’s the smell of mists and the taste of
Frozen rain gathered before dawn.
Pulses brake and start,
And lungs are besieged by distilled grime,
Industrial tainting.
I can’t see well beyond five feet ahead of me
As I labour to walk,
But headlamps from crawling cars and buses
......
Annual Hymns
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Sisters of the grey night,
Assemble on the chest of the hill.
The heavens enjoy seeing your wild gowns billow along
When the winds hiss with humble pride,
And when your restless lips murmur praises
To the Most High —
In elevated voices and strength.
Remember the summons and hasten
Towards the crest of the hill.
Curse the viper’s mouth and spit upon its fangs.
......
