Nature At Call

Setting sun,
Twirlling west,
In scorching glee,
Upon all that scamper,
With no remorseful liniency,
As it rides over the lagged night, From yonder with feature promising,
Reflecting shadows in luminous hue,
Climbing hills with furtive bravity,
On hikes of limited distance,
And when it's bright and beautiful,
We're engrossed to its sufrance state,
Abidding as bidded by the creator,
The meadows, dainties and the yellow clovers,
Are though at pleasure,
Before winter wagon's near,
Autumn is an individual likeness,
We choose on positive reasoning,
Cuz it's nature hath we object,
And when it's gone that no man strive,
Our soul at war for what may forth,

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poem by Folayemi Akande
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Fountain of truth

I know of a soigne lady,
To me my maiden,
Priceless in her penchant frail,
Thus praise thy courtly hail,
To her forehead thus gaze my truth,
For I grain and yet, her empire still fruit's,
And then again sprawl,
My lady, our enamors we bear and nay,
That time may crawl On your lithe i pray,
To dear to thy heart and win,
Before the world halt's at spin,
This affinity thus hath we bound,
For I lust and again found,
In your presence still,
Whence I gawk into thy finespun eyes of steel,
I see enchantment of nailing hooks,
Fastening to my wings of serrated crooks,
To love you ten times,
And to your adulation all that multiples,
My svelte,

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poem by Folayemi Akande
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A Stranger in Spring Time

My soul is long elevated
At this remarkful prowess.
Did you settle in this motion?
Or toyour just path sought.
A dine with the avant-garde artist,
A night of splendor,
Upon a cloud so transfixed,
With wealth of questions scorching beneath the dinning mat.
For what reason should her path elude her taming sight?
Could the road be wayward?
I wonder so.
Her sultry innocent eyes at my naked lips flutter,
As each bawdy word reached her virgin ear,
With sensational delight.
But this night would stride forth
And the cadence cloud would at no stop halt.
So she would revisit
When this night water's under the sailing bridge,
To receive the dainty i promised. Hmm... I can tell,
Her soul is at my flirtings endeared.

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poem by Folayemi Akande
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Let Me Into Your Wonderland

The way in my cup you move,
Things in my heart you remove,
The way in my bed you grovel,
That aches in my heart might hovel,
The way you catch the light in my eyes,
The way you shimmer in the face of the sky,
The way you apprehend the strolling air,
The way you craft out from fragments of hemisphere,
To the bleakness of the night wearing a splendor,
That strikes a sky so dusk yet at backdoor.
Let's in our secret place congregate,
Let our hearts bear witness&conjugate,
To this nightly sweetness.
Let our lips understand the language of one-another,
Let my chest into your skin's silkiness,
And the softness of your breast well,
By your order,
Let me to your ears say, calm, mute and worldly things.
That your soul may to another time rise to the adulation of my twitchy lips..

poem by Folayemi Akande
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Demons of peace

A plebeian pleated tattered garment of whirl,
Dusky, rusty, embodiment of rage,
Lingering on indigo witty night,
Mourned by carcase of lingering cave,
White strobe light heaped on garment praise,
Aimed with capricious nebula of glee,
The pickled flower bud of shrub,
Caper in lively recedes,
Chattering as if a canvass of homage
Sniffing for raja-tama to merge their vibration,
A hell of pensive ominous sonata,
Muffling gait precedes the gale,
A blaring vociferation,
Growling readily for attack,
They satisfy their lust,
Raping naked vistas with crevices,
To assimilate black concoct energy,
With a condiment by sorcerers.
Transmitting distressing sounds like earthquake,
Or running there-in-there-out with no cognizance but torrent.

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poem by Folayemi Akande
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My lover yet unloved

Maria withers in the fold of languishing age
In my heart, this long preserved as of end of time enrage,
Abreast the clover of sustained beleaguered,
Thus, tide abound as my enamor amount in steamed upheaval,

And the wit of my flushing youth repent with penny power,
Maria, the patriarchy palm of time has supple wild at this nick hour,
Beneath a wandering gaze, shutter my niggling thoughts,
For my faith abounds in naught,
As of these confessional hour,

Alas! your wandering state lies in paradox,
Maria, please bequeath my gaze,
As of cloud-nine embrace,
My love is grave,
And by my souring heart engraved,

Maria, be elated in your spirit,
If your soul so bid well of me,
Be kindle,

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poem by Folayemi Akande
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When comes the season

The remains of the sky a-float
That which untrodden under earth engulf
A lurch of hope at least at call beckon
To this day rise on comfy facade of the sun
And bestow breath to the wounded twigs
The meadows shall again be tinted
The tree's pelt shall be chameleon-ed
By the augment of the sky
And the jade leafs shall to the tyrant boss sing the unsung melancholy
What have we against nature?
When farmers leap to glimpse backward on their tomorrows
Weary souls
Personification of dearth
Rhyming lullaby at the twilight
As if the sun to slumber evermore.

The deluge
At which our chattels cart
To divulge poor earth's wretchedness
And then as of the corridors of our essence

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poem by Folayemi Akande
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The singing stars

A dreaming song in winter night,
What a beauteous love so long
That slept astray my inward sight,
On a fluttering tongue,
To what might i gaze,
When in slumber i seek grace,
That this dreams of mine,
Illumine in pending while.
Fluffy sheets on dreamless night,
All is beauty on lasting white,
Smiling on throbbing glee,
To what might sweet a honey bee,
Shudders of shiver,
By my dancing thighs endanger,
In a moment of souring measure,
Forsaking our wandering pleasure
For all that we might conquer,
As the singing stars jazz funky,
Through all ears that slumber,
Whirling brass oozing in thrilling boogie,

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poem by Folayemi Akande
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Songs of the night

As these night climbs over the heels of our affection,
please tell me that my dreams will be devoid your smiling face,
O lass of mogul esteem,
Make not of my heart your flirtatious ground,
For I bear and fair in charmless glee
Your subtle smile,
Of cloudless clime,
Streaming down the state of my veins.

In this night of sweet, tweet, giggling hour of splendor.
My throbbing heart shall be our minstrel,
The moon and the stars;
By their luminous hue
Shall linger upon the Marguerite,
We shall be the audience,
or maybe a little minuet.
And then I shall delight in blushes,
Or maybe I shall blush,
In the way your eyes of marcasite and skin of emerald,
Saccharine at these lovely nightly hour.

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poem by Folayemi Akande
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Mr. Bushman

Mr. Bushman,
The king of jungle venture,
With wings of hope and dangling gesture
Slain'er of dreams
The archer of faith
The stalker of rears.
Tip-toe to mimic like wounded antelope,
With sight to kill.

Boom! Boom!
Sky high booms the hunter's Barret,
Wrath'ing against vistas,
Tearing down traveling wind with hooking claws
Amok, the jungle venture-rs run,
Flee, the travelers sky abscond,
And the jungle fever,
Now a curse upon the laps of rage.

Furious with thirst of spade,
Like a gladiator's wrath,

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poem by Folayemi Akande
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