Culture Poems
Dirge of the Last Lap
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
I
The loud, cruel laughter of dirge
besieges us so greatly in the face of
wanton humiliation.
It comes mightily, crashing our aged
city walls, unearthing the foundations of
churches,
tolling bells in pulsated grief . . .
......
A Stranger's Prayer
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Silly wisps of her raven hair flutter
In the winds of the long-short corridor of summer;
They snivel with the whims of cosseted sots,
Sinking in the futile harmony of winking beasts.
Pretty whiskers, soft with the ague of age, and lean
From frazzled grey.
A halo of white cotton crowns her fine dome, revealing little.
She paints the inky images of Al Hirschfeld —
Among whited, slit, black smuts needed for art’s emphases.
The greens of the season, lush and dreamy,
......
Blood, Sweat And Tears
by Susan Mary Robertson
Think just think, of all the blood, sweat and tears
London has shed with the passing of years.
The dirt, dust and smog, the noise and the grime.
Poverty, slavery, squalor and crime.
Ambitions and hopes, mad schemings and fears,
Disease, depravity, vice, wines and beers,
Arts and culture can pass the test of time,
City of contrast from base to sublime.
......
Messages
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
When at dawn I find three stones at my
Doorstep, I smile at dawn
Prayers, in haste, come to my lips
My eyes rove wantonly and behold a
Poet caressing a naked virgin.
When at dawn I find three stones at my
Doorstep, messages rustle to my ears
I prepare a costly repast for a palmist
My smile is faint.
......
Oh! Mr. Malthus!
by Stephen Leacock
"Mother, Mother, here comes Malthus,
Mother, hold me tight!
Look! It's Mr. Malthus, Mother!
Hide me out of sight."
This was the cry of little Jane
In bed she moaning lay,
Delirious with Stomach Pain,
That would not go away.
All because her small Existence
Over-pressed upon Subsistence;
......
Dirge of the Last Lap
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
I
The loud, cruel laughter of dirge
besieges us so greatly in the face of
wanton humiliation.
It comes mightily, crashing our aged
city walls, unearthing the foundations of
churches,
tolling bells in pulsated grief . . .
......
A Stranger's Prayer
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Silly wisps of her raven hair flutter
In the winds of the long-short corridor of summer;
They snivel with the whims of cosseted sots,
Sinking in the futile harmony of winking beasts.
Pretty whiskers, soft with the ague of age, and lean
From frazzled grey.
A halo of white cotton crowns her fine dome, revealing little.
She paints the inky images of Al Hirschfeld —
Among whited, slit, black smuts needed for art’s emphases.
The greens of the season, lush and dreamy,
......
Heiligehuisjes
by Mario Odekerken
Langs de route verschijnen ze,
onopvallend en heilig tegelijk.
Bloemen in vazen,
kant op tafels,
beelden onder gewelfde doeken
alsof de hemel even afdaalt
tot op straatniveau.
Een stoel,een kruisbeeld,
het zachte kaarslicht
......
Verandering 02
by Mario Odekerken
Er was een tijd dat ik op de straat liep
en de wereld om me heen
voelde als de mijne.
Blonde en bruine haren in het zonlicht,
blauwe en bruine ogen die ik herkende.
Zondagen klonken zacht,
de klokken riepen ons samen.
In de kerk vonden we stilte,verbondenheid,
iets groters dan onszelf.
......
Veränderung
by Mario Odekerken
Es gab eine Zeit,
da ging ich durch die Straßen
und alles um mich herum sprach
wie ich dachte,
klang wie ich fühlte.
Blondes Haar im Sonnenlicht,
der sanfte Klang
vertrauter Worte
in einer Sprache,
die mich großgezogen hat.
......
