Disappointment Poems
Public Clocks
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
At first his anger was hotter than July
Or, rather, he was plundered by the weight of
Sorrow —heavier than the ice of January;
The kind of stolid ice that thickened Niagara Falls
Like frozen soup.
He was tall and lissome, bespectacled, in
Dark suits, a brown hat, worn-out shoes of fraternity.
A folded umbrella accompanied him like a touring child.
No wristwatch.
He doesn’t wear them.
......
Nightmare
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
I saw in her eyes the sallowness of festered love.
My drum had beaten to the resonance of celebration,
Of the deeds of love evaluation.
Her art bemuses me, especially when spoken and
Sketched to the rhythms of assayed hollowness –
Mottled balances echo silently on withered spots,
And the words she cherishes lie way below frontiers of enchantment.
How short my éclat reigned!
And my blood congealed!
Do I lay prostrate to hypoxia?
......
The House of Fame
by Richard Randolph
I waited outside the House of Fame
as there was nothing else to do.
Then, when nearly all hope seemed lost,
an important woman noticed me there.
She took my hand and said I had promise
before disappearing into a well-lit hall.
Soon afterward, the large doors closed
and it was very dark, and I was cold.
But I could still hear the music playing
and see people dancing on a moonlit balcony.
......
Resignation
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
As the hours stretch slowly and with
Sloth’s irredeemable tempo,
The earth, lacking appetite, nibbles at her meals
Which roll upon the fulcrum of the grand star
And discerns all inclinations
Towards us brittle souls —
Souls which peregrinate
On circles of death
And life . . .
......
Drummers Return
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Like the comet —far gone —
they return,
accompanied by wavelengths of torture
and secreted grief;
on their tired shoulders
weak and pale faces of drums, slung
with the sombreness of traded pride,
and, rested, their countenances dimly poor;
and also pale among them.
the fast-setting sun.
......
Public Clocks
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
At first his anger was hotter than July
Or, rather, he was plundered by the weight of
Sorrow —heavier than the ice of January;
The kind of stolid ice that thickened Niagara Falls
Like frozen soup.
He was tall and lissome, bespectacled, in
Dark suits, a brown hat, worn-out shoes of fraternity.
A folded umbrella accompanied him like a touring child.
No wristwatch.
He doesn’t wear them.
......
Resignation
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
As the hours stretch slowly and with
Sloth’s irredeemable tempo,
The earth, lacking appetite, nibbles at her meals
Which roll upon the fulcrum of the grand star
And discerns all inclinations
Towards us brittle souls —
Souls which peregrinate
On circles of death
And life . . .
......
Drummers Return
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Like the comet —far gone —
they return,
accompanied by wavelengths of torture
and secreted grief;
on their tired shoulders
weak and pale faces of drums, slung
with the sombreness of traded pride,
and, rested, their countenances dimly poor;
and also pale among them.
the fast-setting sun.
......
Along the Line
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Snooze of peace reigned on a collage
of sacred impulse for serenity of shelter —
bower-girthed and soul-inundated —
but along the line, a stampede, peccant
and harlotic,
framed the sun.
Longing for Mountain's Peak
by Riley Hoover
It happened again.
I was doing so good
About avoiding it too.
I thought I had removed
All the people who
Would do it to me.
I didn’t.
I never will.
......
