The best poems are those,
Which are not understood,
By normal human beings
Readers take a life time,
Trying to solve the puzzle,
What did the poet really mean?

A sudden spurt of ideas ensues
And
Critiques earn their dues,
Trying to resolve
And
Take credit,
For what little they themselves know

I grasp my cow, it's tiny scow
so when we think, despite the sink
you grow your toes, in desperate throes
and try to make a disk of it

If when we turn, without a burn
and tackle every scullery
we skip on vile skullduggery
and that's a daisy's mis-turn

I grab your foot, without a thought
and try to make it relevant
so give up verse, and then traverse
Some broken glass,
and raise an undead revenant

ON EAGLE'S WINGS

Once I was made of steel
my voice was strong , my spirit bold
my visions clear.

I soared blue skies on eagle’s wings
seeking worlds unknown to imagination
my songs were the power of creation—
my death and my resurrection

On this road we've come to crash
did you really think we'd last?
we've still got a chance
and i'm fighting but i'm losing

they said we'd never get this far
now just look at where we are
do you want to prove them right?
it's too confusing

would you do it all again?
are you ready for me yet?
tell me you're not over this
no more than a friend

your arms hold little room to breathe
distant fingers strangle me
of all these answers
none are right

here I come
in rowanberries hair with coffee in the eyes

we play hide and seek

we are children
and more adults than ever

someone asks me
to dress my love for you in words

I am not sure though I do it
every day

and every day I choose you

it would hurt me
to try to resist

before you I am humble,
my eyes in love

with you I am better than ever

you are my inspiration and
I am your autumn girl

Xeno: I was never phobic
Foreigner, Stranger, Guest.
Of your long, inquisitive forays
into yet, another conquest

I was laid open
My heart that hearth of rest
Although my reason hunted you down
I was there, at your bequest.

I will plead for you in the jester's court
although there's nothing I can do.
Abrogate seared scraps of love
or cherish every last inch of you

until DNA traces you
to scarred city, dead next of kin
this door is open -
stay out if you mistrust these words

I'll take Rhiannon's lead and do a limerick

The poet was truly appalling
his peers broke his legs now he's crawling
they ripped out his tongue
and then it was flung,
to the fishes who gave it a mauling

In the not so distant future
from a past not far away

where the "twain" does meet and greet the early dawn;

and the "well at purse" can do no worse
but fetch a castle high;

with his minions outside shivering on the lawn,
hence greet the early vagabond.

Back then the primitive did hail
we've not flagged too far since

obligated and elated either way;

but you tell me if you'd agree
if we'd have half a chance

I once owned a horse we called Fred.
I feared he was slow in the head.
One day, he'd not ride,
so I sliced up his hide,
and proceeded to beat him 'till dead!

When the sound of big ekpo drums
Reverberated from the village square
Talking drums conveyed messages
Cracked by trained ears of initiates
The cult ensured a peaceful social order
And guided the steps of men for good

Everywhere became black and dark
Not by threatening rain cloud, nor smoke
But by masquerading guiding spirits
Of our customs and values in the clans
When criminals and evil doers were nailed
From head, pinned to the ground, in disgrace