Poetry

November 23, 2015 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

By

Abasi Torty Tortivie

 

 

OF DYING FIRES

 

 

Not all flames that
die, brother,
are meant to be stoked;
Don’t blow some.

 

We stampede at
conflagrations in

 

The home,
or electric paranoia
breaking with
laughters,­­
doing Christmas fireworks that
dart Godward and curve
down in ominous varicolour.

 

You might just
be stoking
the cynical fire
of the glow-worm.

 

There are, however, some
red red coals a
mother tosses on a thick
wood bark and carefully guides
a neighbour’s son to take

 

Home to his mother’s
fireplace,
while eye-smarting fumes
trail him.
That, brother, may you stoke.

 

 

 

 

 

 

RECALLING OSAMA’S HOME-CALL

 

 

In a mole-hill,

bush-rats have estuaries of

burrows, including one

 

Specially stuffed with palm-nuts

around the skin

for an exit hatch.

 

BUT.

 

If a good hunter

spots the sight, he pitches

a smoking-cup device &

digs.

Its guarantee

 

Of skilled escape is killed &

disposed in the ocean

 

Within twenty-four hours

according

to Quranic tenets.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Abasi Torty Tortivie

Abasi Torty Tortivie studied English at the University of Ibadan, and University of Nigeria. He is a Nigerian. He loves poetry of the traditional genre.

2 Comments

  1. Leticia November 24, at 09:11

    Abasi, I share this same sentiment about the rain. There is a sense of awakening and tranquility being in the midst of a rainfall where one need not take cover.

    Reply
  2. Leticia November 24, at 09:02

    Abasi, your poetry calls us to not readily act at the first sight of a burning flame: BEAUTIFUL. I agree, for some flames come from within our souls and struggle to simply light up.

    Reply

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