Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu Poems

My father's house,
an adobe,
mud-and-wattle plus cowrie shell
synthetic mould,
...

There are no labyrinths in this zone above.
This even, the bifurcated, long, empty road
Reflects the orange,
Hung high, eluding us from the grey void.
...

Buoyed up by the syntheses of the past,
idyllic murals of green hills open paths
to a healing truth.
...

Further down,
treasures loom, including dead spavined horses.
Estaminets run under siege of currents with crested
bubbles, and hybrid specimens of thereunder
...

Dirges are honed on the whetstone of this
wild dance.
Refrains, gap-broken,
lacerate death, tongue-twisted
...

Craving the pulse of newness and
freshness of hatchlings,
dawn opens wide its door.
...

Calm.
Grinding gently, the ingredients of patience.
The somnolent waves mourn.
...

Machete salutations sweat
The rims of blades.
Sparks sprinkle fire-spittle
On the confused breath of hostile fumes
...

And the pulse of the tendril
grew with every rhyme of a
listening life:
...

Cries from its voice.
On its face, a mask of demon,
And its countenance, meanly dark.
...