Hard times Poems
Florence
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Florence has warm blood
and cowrie teeth that seldom clatter,
even in the chilled, fluttering dance of July rain.
She’s an element of Shiloh
in weeping quest of a promising Samuel,
and for this,
walks through long and clammy paths in July rain.
July, a month of sacred yams,
......
Stillbirth (Memories of 1987)
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Within my own axis,
It did not slant
It did not drizzle.
The void shunned the grey clouds.
Lightning was rare.
Thunder turned mute.
Leaf-tops shook with the sleepiness of
Shameless drunks, casting ghoulish shades,
Causing affrays among wild species.
Rivulets rippled in hunger and in thirst,
......
Lockdown
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
The world came together as one —
Or rather, acted as one, like in the
Days of Noah, in the first lockdown
Following the first pandemic of flooding.
There was the smell of a virus.
Thick and heavy, it held the lungs hostage.
There was a confraternal mass, and between heaven and hell
An iota of odour, bigger than the sinking sun, hung in the stratus
......
Food Prices
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
They rise and fall
With the madness of seasons
They harden and decay
According to the wretchedness of harvests
Wars and stumbling markets harm them
They are like waking and slumbering
Sunrise and sunset
The palpitation of the heart
Rise . . .
Fall . . .
......
Rage of the Season
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Behold the white rage in the voice of
this thunder of
this January rain
Peer well through the window;
you shall see the fatted rage that wakes up
the somnambulist
The rage is distant but distinct,
escorted by bits of frozen clouds
......
Florence
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Florence has warm blood
and cowrie teeth that seldom clatter,
even in the chilled, fluttering dance of July rain.
She’s an element of Shiloh
in weeping quest of a promising Samuel,
and for this,
walks through long and clammy paths in July rain.
July, a month of sacred yams,
......
When it Rains
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Within this rattling of the metals above
And the heavenly grumbles, the grey void
The waterholes, frayed, loosened, dispatched . . .
Now, silences lose their grips.
It rains and there’s deep slumber
Tents’ pegs are mocked by watermud, recasting
Shadows of the primitive nights on days’ weakened rays
Silences, except for the rhythm known when it rains.
......
The Widow of Zarephath
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Flour and oil are running out
So are bread and butter
It’s been one pestilence of drought
Which causes wizened grass to flutter.
Food Prices
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
They rise and fall
With the madness of seasons
They harden and decay
According to the wretchedness of harvests
Wars and stumbling markets harm them
They are like waking and slumbering
Sunrise and sunset
The palpitation of the heart
Rise . . .
Fall . . .
......
Lockdown
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
The world came together as one —
Or rather, acted as one, like in the
Days of Noah, in the first lockdown
Following the first pandemic of flooding.
There was the smell of a virus.
Thick and heavy, it held the lungs hostage.
There was a confraternal mass, and between heaven and hell
An iota of odour, bigger than the sinking sun, hung in the stratus
......
